I haven’t had a holiday in ages.
OK, that’s a lie. I’ve actually been to Germany, Portugal and California this year, but I feel like I haven’t been away in ages. I’m one of those people who lives to travel, who loves to get off a plane in a new destination and who enjoys soaking up the atmosphere in another country.
The only problem is, I am also the sort of person who would love to believe that she has enough money to live like a princess.
So fantasy Belle’s plans are to visit somewhere hot for a few weeks, relax on the beach and stay in a beautiful hotel that overlooks the sea and has monkeys ( I love monkeys).
Reality Belle however is having a pain in the bum month. I am on a very strict life budget and the imminent prospect of my MOT on the crapmobile, plus the fact that my road tax was paid this month, means that all I can afford to do in my spare time is go to the gym, as this is already paid for. Which, if you know me at all, doesn’t bode well. I hate the gym.
Last week I went to the gym. And for the next forty eight hours I could barely walk, having strained every muscle in my body. I ‘daintily’ flopped off the sofa when I needed the loo, and walking was accompanied with a soundtrack of “owowowowowowow OW”. So I’m off there again tonight, for more ritualistic torture.
The worst thing about it is being flirted with by a bunch of sweaty Neanderthals. In my short time there last week I accidently made eye contact with the man on one of the bikes who had two teeth and a slight air of her majesty’s pleasure, which was a fatal error. While eternally running at a mirror you have the bad luck of seeing everything behind you, so I watched in horror as he made his way over, tried to make eye contact with me again, stared at my bum, lingered around the water fountain, and then luckily, buggered off. Or so I thought.
Then I went to do some sit ups and accidently made eye contact with a meathead trying to lift his weight in metal. He then kept trying to make eye contact again, in the mirror (goddamn the mirrors) mistakenly thinking I was checking him out. Yep, I like muscles as much as the next girl, but not on a man who is gurning due to the heaviness of the weight and looking like he might poo himself.
So I gave up and went for a swim. And who was in the Jacuzzi but Colin the Caveman, of exercise bike fame. I got in the pool and paid close attention to the wall, studying it furiously, trying to do at least a few lengths before going home and vegging out for the night. This went well till he invited me into the Jacuzzi with him, when I suddenly remembered that I had left the oven on/had an appointment at the doctors/needed to throw up.
They say chivalry is dead. I think they might be right.