It doesn't bode well. I went to the gym for the first time today - all excited bounciness and no verbal protestations whatsover* - and despite all reassurances from The God of All Finance, I don't exist. They couldn't find my membership on either of their shiny databases.
Customer service manager: "Your CEO has obviously pulled a fast one docked your pay but not set up the membership, hey?! Aha."
Boz: "Aha." (while thinking murderous thoughts)
Still. I think paying for padlock convinced them that I was not some fly-by-night gym swindler, and they let me use their shiny gym anyway.
Now. My first instinct after spending 45 minutes looking like a numpty on various bits of complex-looking S&M equipment was to run home and bash dementedly into my laptap "IT WAS FULLLL OF PREEEEEETTTYYY PEOPLE!!" but I shall refrain**.
It has to be noted though; there is something deliciously serene about wandering home through the back streets of Clapham, under the setting of the early evening sun, feeling holy from exercise and peacefully calm from a bit of huffy puffy.
So it wasn't all bad. If they decide I am really a member, I'll definitely be going at least three times a week***.
And further on the upside, this arrived this week - and it's a corker! On the day it arrived, several ungainly and inelegant titters escaped my lips while at work. UK? You are hilarious!
I've waited until the first rush has passed before flogging it again here; if you have not already got a copy then SHAME ON YOU. Go here and buy a copy immediately. It'll make you laugh like a drain, and who knows - your copy might just be the one to tip proceeds to Comic Relief over the £2,000 mark! Hurrah!
** Utter bollocks, obviously
*** Here we are again with the bollocks