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.
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.
I had skipped Friday so they were more than surprised to see me. The general assumption was that I was dead which I imagine is a common occurrence there. They had even gotten as far as looking up the death notices to see if I was listed.
The reason I missed Friday was simple enough.
Every session we are nagged about exercise. We are supposed to be hiking up and down mountains or swimming across the Irish Sea each day. We are asked fist thing if we have done our exercises. We all solemnly not and say yes, of course we have done them. Needless to say I haven’t. I have better things to be doing with my time.
Anyhows, last Thursday I decided that maybe I should try some honesty [not always the best policy] and go for a brisk walk. Off we went with Penny happily trotting beside me. Unfortunately I had chosen a walk that involved quite a hill climb so the sweat was soon pouring off me and Penny was lagging a couple of hundred yard behind me. We eventually got back to the car and went home.
I was fucked!
I sat while the room slowly revolved around me. Eventually my eyesight returned to near normal and the heart stopped palpitating. Herself even put the phone down, as she had been sitting waiting to dial 999.
The following morning I just couldn’t take any more so I stayed in bed. Exercise is grossly overestimated and frankly I don’t know why they are so keen on it. In my book, it’s bad for the heart.
So back to normal today. I did toy with the idea of quitting altogether but fuckit, next week is the last week.
We were told today that the dietician is still out with food poisoning or something so no early start or lectures on Wednesday.
It took me around two pico-seconds to think of reasons why this is an utterly brainless idea. It is so crazy that it is actually quite funny.
First of all, who owns the car? One in every ten people is going to be lumbered with the cost of buying a car, insuring and taxing it and of course fuelling it. In the meantime everyone else can sit back and relax while enjoying the benefits of free transport. Unless of course the full cost is shared amongst the ten, in which case there will be fierce arguments as to how the burden is shared. Why should Billy pay a full tenth when he only wants a lift once a week, while Jack next door uses the facility every day?
There is also the assumption that everyone wants to catch the same train or bus up to the city each day. Or what happens when Bridie wants to go shopping and wants to be collected two hours later? Whoever owns the car is going to have to do a scheduled taxi service all day every day.
It’s obvious that the brainless twat has never lived in the country and hasn’t a fucking clue what the world is lie outside his tiny suburban brain.
He apologised the following day “for the pain and anguish” that his plan had caused to rural people. Personally I’m glad he said it – it’s one of the funniest of his crazy ideas and I had a right laugh.
What concerns me though is that the moronic cunt is in a position to influence those who make the laws. That is really frightening.
What’s worse is that the tax payer pays him a massive salary for the privilege.
A couple of days ago I got a note. It was stuck in the top of the gate as obviously they couldn’t be arsed to walk as far as the letter box in the front door. Luckily it hadn’t been rained rained on or blown away.
It was printed with a Wicklow County Council header and had “NOTICE” in large [bold, underlined] letters across the top. It informed me that that “works will be carried out” from 9am to 3pm for seven days, starting on Monday. They also “wish to apologise for any inconvenience caused”.
Now the problem with this is that they omitted to mention a fairly important bit of information, namely what kind of works?! Are they going to install traffic lights at my gate? Are they going to rip up the lane so I am confined to the Manor? Are they going to be doing something up the road that won’t affect me at all? Or are they just going to litter the place with blokes breast-feeding shovels and staring into a pothole?
Anyhows yesterday a bloke called. I was out at the time, but I knew there was someone there as my CCTV pinged my phone. So this bloke arrives in a van and saunters up to the house. He went to the front door but didn’t ring the bell [Herself would have heard it and he wasn’t there long enough anyway]. So he decides to have a look around the back but catches sight of the camera [I have a clear capture of his face!] whereupon he beetles back out to his van again.
I don’t think he was from the Council as he didn’t have anything written on his vest, but it’s a bit of a coincidence?
I suppose I’ll have to wait until Monday to see what transpires
It was supposed to be about diet but the girl who was to give it apparently had a stomach upset. Not exactly a great testament to her culinary skills? She should mind what she eats.
Anyways, we learned all about exercise and what it does. Now I already knew that exercise is something to be avoided so the lecture made difficult listening. We learned what exercise actually does to the body and how we are doomed to exercise for the rest of our lives, or else we will drop dead.
Various suggestions were made as to what kind of exercises were suitable, such as running, walking, hill climbing, swimming and going to the gym. Frankly none of them appeals. I will run if necessary, such as catching some toe rag who has annoyed me, but running for a bus is out [I’ll wait for the next one, thanks]. Walking is something to be done out of necessity to get from A to B but only within the confines of the Manor. I have a car after all, and it’s a shame to not use it. Swimming? That’s out of the question. I could never swim and I don’t intend starting now. Gym? Fuck off!
We were told that the best kind of exercise is when we are doing something we enjoy. That is a relief as presumably lifting a pint glass can then be classified as exercise? They didn’t mention shagging which is strange as that’s supposed to be the equivalent of a three mile hike?
They did mention cycling which is about the closest I could get to exercise but only if I were going to the pub. There are two problems though – one is that Penny can’t come [unless I get an old bike with a basket on the handlebars] and the other is that I live on the side of a mountain. It’s all very well to talk about the Dutch and their keenness for two wheels but Holland is flat, whereas Wicklow is anything but. I would spend more time pushing the bike up hills than I would actually riding on the fucking thing.