In a flap

My body has never been particularly obedient. Even from a young age, it behaved in a fairly contrary fashion, growing in the wrong places at the wrong times and not nearly enough at others. But I must say a recent development has been particularly odd: I have realised that I have externally schizophrenic arms.

Over the past few months of gym efforts, I have put in a fair bit of work on my upper limbs, concentrating particularly on the stubborn bingo area (read: triceps) by repeatedly lowering myself in the reverse press-up position. As a result of my efforts, my biceptual region is becoming beautifully toned, to the extent that, if flexed in a particular way, it can be slightly reminiscent of the upper arm areas belonging to SJP or Madonna. But curiously, despite my specific efforts to target the triceps, the lower half of my upper arms remain stubbornly flaccid and sometimes while I'm running I feel suspiciously pterodactyl-like and worry that I might break into flight.

I can't pretend I'm not grateful for the new muscle definition featuring on 50% of the flesh surrounding my humera (I've arbitrarily decided it declines like 'bellus') but the contrast between the two portions is stark and disheartening. I have now abandoned all bicep work and am concentrating solely on my toneless tris. My fans have said they can't see what I'm talking about but that is because they're either over sixty, partially sighted, biased, indiscriminate or all four. When you fill the sleeves of a batwing jumper you know you're in trouble.