V Fun

Ow. Ow. Ow. That's basically what I've been doing fairly non-stop for the past 36 hours. You really haven't missed much. On Wednesday after work, Laura and I made use of two free guest passes she'd been given, and went to our local Virgin Active! gym in the City for an evening of intense exercise. Determined to get our money's worth, we optimistically decided to go to not one, not two, but three classes throughout the evening. We started with 30 minutes of 'V Core', which was basically a selection of really Sixties exercises like stomach crunches and press-ups, but with the letter V stuck in front of each of them to suggest some sort of unique and 'now' vibe. Believe me, holding yourself in push-up position with your elbows on the floor for minutes at a time is no more fun than it is normally when it's called The V Plank. Likewise, the V Crunch and the V Lunge can V Fuck Off.

Then was 45 mins of 'Body Pump' which is, for the uninitiated, V Hell On Earth. A perky woman with a Madonna headset plays bad house music and shouts at you to lift a dumbbell in time to the songs. The girl in front of me was unquestionably strong but had the rhythm of a drunk toddler. I resisted following her, determined to follow the beat of the music as I had been instructed, but because she was confidently doing the opposite to me, while being about a stone lighter than me and wearing serious gym kit including a top made out of some hi-tech breathable fabric and special gloves to prevent blistering while gripping the weights, the result was that I looked like I was the one doing it wrong. Livid.

I finished off the evening with an hour of yoga, which was fantastic, until yesterday morning, when I tried to sit up and go to work, and felt like I had been on the rinse cycle in a vigorous human-sized washing machine with several large bricks. It has been agony ever since. Thankfully, yesterday evening was a perfectly-timed and long-awaited treat: an after-work spa session at The Sanctuary with Em, my birthday present from last year. We saunaed, we steamed, we jacuzzied, we lounged with the koi carp, and we ate healthy food. It was blissful and exhausting and, despite an awkward incident when handsome young Pete from choir busted me on the tube home wearing no make-up, with wet, unbrushed hair and blotchy skin that made me look as though I'd been in a fight, I still managed to maintain my zen state and arrived back at the ranch convinced I would be dead to the world within moments.

So it was frustrating that my V Broadband decided to work for the first time since Sunday, as I was then unable to tear myself away from my laptop. I was faffing around with Skype for some time, and eventually got to bed just before midnight, where I became transfixed by the Presents for Men Travel Paraphernalia & Outdoor Leisure catalogue for Summer 2009. Always a favourite, I was sure there would be a gem or two therein, but even I wasn't prepared for the brilliance of this fanTAStic telescopic photo arm. I can't think of a time when I've seen two models look more like they would rather be dead. And who can blame them? Their product is the most desperately humiliating gadget known to man - if you can't read the text, the photo arm even includes a mirror to help you aim the camera. The kerchief alone is winceworthy enough to justify storming off the shoot but the guy's terrible faux-surfer necklace is equally terrible. The rictus grins say it all. I was so excited with my find that I didn't get to sleep until nearly 1am.