There are only three of us left.

Eight started the routine of torture in an attempt to get fit or something. Three times a week we are put through a punishing regime in an attempt to make us healthy but instead we are dropping like flies. Being somewhat of a stubborn old fart I am determined to see it through to the end, even if it kills me [which is a distinct possibility].

Actually, today wasn’t too bad. I’m not sure quite what happened but the round of torture machines wasn’t too bad. Considering they had upped the levels on the machines [I had started on 3 but today I was up to 8] that was more than a little surprising.

Even more surprising was that I wasn’t able to find parking despite circling the maze of car parks for ten minutes and had ended up going to a housing estate some distance away, which had the benefit of being free, but the unbenefit of requiring a long walk the the Torture Room, which meant I was sweating before I even started.

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I am just back from the library. A lovely lass runs the place and she is aware of my recent events. As a result she always asks after my health. I think she is more concerned about me than I am. Anyhows I mentioned I was just back from the Torture Room and she wanted to know all about it. She asked what happened when the session ended at the end of next week. I said nothing. I said I will be cast adrift by the health system and will be a free spirit to enjoy life once more.

“Will you be going back to all your old bad habits?” says she.

“Of course” says I.

“Good man yourself” says she.

She’s a sound lass.