I was lying in bed as dawn broke, mourning the fact that the last sip of tea had been sipped, the cup was empty and the kettle was out of reach. I felt a wave of self-pity wash over me as my discomfort was increased. One of those delicate messages from the stomach department, bought to my attention from some new bod in Tastbuds, informed me that a small snack involving a couple of sausages with a polite egg or two, a hint of beans, one or two mushrooms with a small supply of toast might just avert a full-blown attack of Hunger Pangs: the worst affliction known to sedentary man.
Mind you I speak with a new and unsettling moral authority. I have just joined a Gym after a recent discussion with some passing mirror, and am already enjoying a pre- pressup burst of energy. Some attention has been given to my wardrobe. Pyjamas are not acceptable, apparently, even though a brief post exercise nap is recommended by the wisest council.
There has been another small problem. Apparently these days, when you join a gym in the UK, at least, they like to take your blood pressure to ensure you will not keel over once you discover that the last slice of carrot cake was bought shortly before you got to the canteen, Leisure Lounge or Slackers Corner: I’m not sure of the description in your area. I was told to go to my doctors and get him to check my pressure again and sign a form saying that the medics would bear all the expenses if I keeled over within sipping distance of a cappuccino while on gym premises.
The doctor took my blood pressure and it was very normal, 120/70 for the pedants among you. “Why doctor” I asked “Would my BP have been so high in the gym and yet normal here”. The doctor leaned back in his chair as one already weighed down by the burdens of wisdom. “Carrot cake hysteria, as we call it in the medical profession, is responsible for many ailments. To be without it, is to flirt with madness”. With the smooth, and possibly supple movements of one used to waving the latest in toothbrushes around his head at crucial moments, he reached into a desk draw and removed a small plastic container. “I always keep an emergency supply with me at all times” he said.
Sure enough I could already smell that delicious creamy aroma seeping from the edge of the box. We looked at each other as people united by common values: comrades in search of relaxation. Without blinking he leaned forward and asked the reception to bring through two cups of tea. “Actions speak louder than words” , he said “Large slice or small”. My answer would not surprise you.