Good morning Negative SoundByters! I hope this finds you refreshed and excited for the week ahead; unless of course you are a Londoner relying on Southern Rail to get you to work this morning. From certain stations the service has ceased to exist due to on-going strikes by conductors, drivers, cleaners and platform personnel. Right about now I reckon those affected would choose the Indian railway system (frigging cold sitting on the roof of a train at this time of year but at least they run) – or even the South African (at a push!) – over this miserable excuse for a rail company!
The malaise has also now extended to the tube network now as well; the Piccadilly line has had severe disruptions due to a “shortage of trains”. Say what? How do you run out of trains? I think we need to ask Mayor Sadiq Khan, as he is responsible for Transport for London (TfL). Judging by a sample reaction to his plan to “deliver the best possible transport service for all Londoners” announced on Twitter yesterday we shouldn’t hold our breath:
• “It’s all waffle. You’re nothing but a lying narcissist”
• “I wouldn’t trust you to deliver Christmas cards let alone transport infrastructure”
• “Even on a Sunday the self serving PR queen is active”
• “You couldn’t deliver a pizza”
• “Five years! I could do it with 3 phones call but I’m not some snivelling weak product of a shit school in Tooting”
and my favourite:
• “Bollocks”
It seems that yuletide cheer does not quite extend to the Mayor’s office; but then only a snivelling, narcissistic, PR queen from a shit school in Tooting who can’t deliver pizza or Christmas cards let alone transport infrastructure would announce a transport plan on a Sunday! Bollocks!
And so if you are a Londoner all I can say is Good Luck and if you live anywhere else in the world count your lucky stars!
To this week’s anecdote we go….
Big love
Hoddy
In a previous blog post “Going Nuts in the Gym” posted on the 8 October 2016 (GHOST_URL/2016/10/04/going-nuts-in-the-gym/) I regaled you with my encounter with a rather enthusiastic gym-goer who joined me on the mat while I was stretching and began engaging me – or at least I think he was – in some sort of conversation. Although I don’t think it was an actual “conversation” per se – it was more like words coming from his mouth in no particular order but aimed generally in my direction. Thankfully my routine at the time had me inspecting the gym mat very closely so I managed to avoid eye contact and ultimately having to form some sort of words in reply.
This might sound harsh; but look, I am in the gym to train and push myself to the limit (yeah sure!) and talking to other men in tight shorts and vests with muscles popping out all over the show is not really my vibe. However if it was a Cindy Crawford lookalike in tight shorts and a vest and “something” popping out all over the show (Sorry Mrs H!) I could probably make an exception. But that never happens so we are all good….but back to the story…
So I’m in the gym. It’s around midday and the gym is packed with those of us “on career breaks”; no Cindy Crawfords in sight unfortunately. I have just finished a punishing workout and am stretching the chassis on the mat when who comes to join me….yes…you guessed in it….the crazy-assed muscle man from the 8th of October!
He’s jabbering away to himself - or at me (I can’t work out which) - while performing a set of abdominal exercises. He’s also decided that it would be best if he exposed his abs to the both of us to ensure correct form. I’m like “dude, not cool.” – in my mind of course. My only refuge is to turn Bryan Adams up to the max on the ipod and get into the deepest child’s pose that I can muster. Now that’s the pose that caused me to tweak a nerve in my lower back in the first place, so I am entering dangerous territory here. With “Everything I do, I do it for yooouuuuuuuuu!” resounding through my consciousness I manage to block out muscle mania and continue with my stretch.
Thankfully he doesn’t overstay his welcome and just as Bryan finishes up, crazy ass wanders off to another part of the gym to continue displaying his various muscle groups! I lie back and breathe….eyes closed….getting into the zen. I am just about through my breathing routine when I feel this dull thud. THUD! And again. THUD! And again. THUD! What on earth is that?
I open my eyes and towering above me is this woman – not Cindy Crawford (not even close) – with an Amazonian build covered in tattoos and black lycra throwing a medicine ball at the ground. She has a slightly crazed look in her eye, dreadlocks flailing, as she picks up the ball and proceeds to hurl it at the mat. Pick up. THUD. Pick up. THUD. Pick up. THUD. I am like….WTF? THUD.
This particular exercise concerns me a tad because if said medicine ball lands on my head it is likely to leave a mark. Not even Bryan’s dulcet tones are able to nullify my sense of foreboding. I look at her but get zero in response; just a thousand yard stare and a large medicine ball landing uncomfortably close to my kop. THUD! THUD! THUD!
Eventually she finishes her set, replaces said ball in the weight rack, and disappears into the gym. I pick my terrorised self up off the mat and beat a hasty retreat as well just in case some other lunatic joins me on the mat to fire up a routine that could well leave me with permanent mental scarring! Certainly the combination of the crazy assed muscleman and the dreadlocked Amazonian has left me thinking whether lunchtime gym sessions are the way forward or not!
OUT!
Pic of Week: We can but dream....!!
