Monday, 10 September 2012

The End of the Olympics, Prince Harry, The Duchess of Cornwall and an horrific accident involving Gerri Halliwell.

So it's the end of the party.
No more Olympics, no more Jubilee, no more festivals and the end of the party season in Ibiza.
What's a girl, a gay or a geezer to do?
How can we be happy when the party is over and it's left our spirits lower than a pair of saggy breasts?
We're going to get happy that's what we'll do!
I for one am going to get my spirits a sports bra and I'm going to hoist those tired old titties up to the sky again ( you do know I'm using metaphors here don't you? I don't have a pair of moobs. I've got pecs and they are ROCK hard, seriously ROCK hard).
The summer of sport is supposed to have changed the way we think, the way we live and the way we exercise. Hopefully it's inspired most of us not to sit around thinking "maybe I'll empty an ashtray" but to actually get up out of that chair, put on some spandex and run like we've stolen something.
An excellent way to motivate yourself to get fit and keep running is to pretend the police are chasing you but if that doesn't work you could always pretend it's a pack of wild dogs.
If you live on a council estate you could try the police and the dogs but if you live in leafy Surrey pretend you're a fox and the Duchess of Cornwall is chasing you. She could be on horseback or just barefoot, depending on how fast you can run and how angry you make her.
If you're in an extremely leafy suburb and you're extremely imaginative pretend you're a Las Vegas showgirl and Prince Harry is chasing you, although that would never work because most of us would immediately lay down and roll over.

I love Prince Harry, he looks like (he's got) two great big hairy balls of ginger fun.

Exercise is good for you and it's free.
Unless, like me, you pay an extortionate monthly fee to a gym which you probably never attend and only go there on a Sunday to prop up the bar in a pair of leg warmers and a headband. I have a love hate membership with my gym, in as much as I love going there but I hate all the other members. I find it extremely annoying that every single man in the changing room has to wander around with his penis hanging out so I'm seriously trying to find another gym with a better class of penis. Tiddlywinks is a game I played as a child, it's not something I need to be confronted with every time I go for a work out.
If you've got it then flaunt it but if you've never had it then put your pants back on and put it away.

None of us really need to pay gym memberships as the opportunity to exercise is always there every single minute of the day. I used to spend my morning and evening commute by doing butt clenches and heel raises. A packed tube train is the perfect place to do this, especially if someone insists on rubbing up against you. A few butt clenches in the right direction is the perfect place for you to get off whilst getting on the tube and heel raises are perfect for stamping on other commuters feet. The pub can be a great place to do star jumps and forward lunges, especially if you're short and the bar staff can't see you and you won't ever have to join "GymBox" or enter a boxing ring again if you have a problem neighbour. The times I've spent sparring and bobbing and weaving with my neighbour from hell would last me 10 rounds with Muhammed Ali.
"It's a knockout?"
No, it's not because you can't knock someone out who's already been bashed around the head with the ugly stick and who's idea of a quiet night in is "Motorhead's Greatest Hits" and a crack pipe.

I exercise at every opportunity. My life is full of press ups, pull ups, sit ups and squats. Why would I walk when I can hop, skip and jump? Why pass the salt when I can throw it like a shot-put? It's important to keep active and work that body. Why bother opening your blinds when you can spend all day twitching curtains? Use your kitchen appliances as tummy toners and dumb bells. Put your washing machine on a spin cycle and sit astride it, fill your cocktail shaker with martini and lift it above your head twenty times. Not only will you have the perfect martini, you'll have stronger thighs and vaginal bruising. There are a million and one things that you use domestically that are good for your fitness:
Why vacuum when you can hoover in high heels?
Pretend the dust is cocaine and your dusters are your nostrils.
Scrub the bathroom floor and tiles like you're a serial killer after a very busy weekend.
Don't just make the bed, jump on it.
Fight with your neighbours.
Get chased by the police.
Antagonise the local drug dealers dog.

All of these things will add to your general fitness and lift your spirits in this post Olympic comedown. We all need to remember the good times, the gold medals, the opening and closing ceremonies. We need to get over the disappointment at the snuffing of the flame, the sadness of handing the torch to Brazil and the utter disgust and fury that Gerri Halliwell didn't fall off that black cab when it took that corner a bit too sharply.
As a nation we all need to hold our heads up high, pull up our socks and look with hope to the future.

So here's to all of us getting off our fat, lazy asses and getting down the gym.
Shall I see you there on Sunday?
I'll be the one propping up the bar, in a pair of leg warmers and a head band.

1 comment:

  1. "What's a girl, a gay or a geezer to do?" My suggestion...? Let's have a KiKi. I wanna have a KiKi