Who’s that gut lord marching?

I made a terrible error of judgement today.

I'm something of a creature of habit, and because today is a Tuesday, I left work and headed off to the gym at about 18:30.

Ah.

It's January.

It was heaving - I had to wait for a space to park the car.

Why do people do this to themselves? Full of good intentions, they either join up at a gym or make a resolution to start going more regularly to the gym they have been paying hundreds of pounds a year for the pleasure of their non-attendance. Many of them have taken advantage of the shop on the premises to kit themselves out in the produce of some of Asia's most exclusive sweatshops.

By February many of these virgin acolytes, currently attacking the gym apparatus with the sweaty zeal of the newly converted, will have lapsed. They will then continue to pay the gym their subscription in the belief that they really will start going regularly. Really, they will.

Ack.

Just listen to me! What a fantastically middle-class whinge this is!

"oooh, I couldn't park at the gym, and then it was full of sweaty fat people!"

I do apologise. Perhaps this should be part I in an irregular series entitled "Things That Never Trouble Billy Bragg"

Mind you, whilst I'm moaning - there I was, sat in the sauna minding my own business and two blokes started talking about SAP! Don't they know the unwritten guidelines of the Man Code? Conversation in these situations should be limited to one or two words (and ideally limited to one or two syllables). For example:

"Alright?"
"Yeah"

or:

"Hot"
"Uh."

I don't want to talk about the weather. I don't want to talk about where you are going on holiday. I don't even want to talk about football. I certainly don't want to have a conversation on the merits of a German Enterprise Resource Planning system.

What's next? Conversation at the urinals? (there are rules. If you think you know them, take the test)

Is nowhere sacred?