Speaking of Bogans….

While swimming with my grand-kids at Little Beach in Nelson Bay I noticed a power boat approaching a section of the shore just near us.  Although there are always boats around this area because of a nearby boat ramp this boat was noticeable because it was black instead of the usual white, and on the side of the boat in big gold letters was “PLAYER”, in caps no less. OK, they have my attention so I couldn’t help but follow the boat to its destination, the shore. As it got closer I noticed two blokes both wearing “men-in-black” sun glasses.  My initial thought was the boat was an advertisement of some kind and was half expecting two sexy blokes to jump out once it reached the shore. Wishful thinking because when they finally reached the shore two tanned large gutted blokes, complete with fags hanging out of their mouths, jumped out of the boat onto the beach. There goes my hunk, boat, disembark dream.

No sooner did their feet hit the beach when speeding towards them was a black jet ski with a driver who was also tanned but with a little less body bulk unlike his counterparts, but like his counterparts had a fag dangling between his lips. Needless to say they were acquaintances as they all linked up to finish their fags on the beach.  Of course I didn’t see any of them head for the nearest bin to throw away the butts.

Really, am I in an alternative universe?  Under what circumstances does one need a fag while driving a boat let alone a jet ski?  Do they not realise how bogan and feral they look?  I was thinking that either bogan is the new norm or maybe I’m a snob?

I would have to say “No” – bogan is certainly not the new norm, at least I hope not. However, I’m starting to doubt my hypotheses on this subject given my Australia Day observation.  And “Yes”, I concede that maybe I am a snob.

Besides whether I’m a snob or not (clearly I am) and besides whether one needs to smoke while driving a jet ski (this one I can’t fathom) the main issue that really bothers me about the bogans I’ve observed over the last couple of days is they treat their surroundings (our country) like a big rubbish bin. I loath to see fag butts on the beach, on the shore, floating in the water, or anywhere for that matter.  Does smoking give you a licence to throw it anywhere but a bin?   And would they question me if I dropped a used greasy chip bag on the ground in front of them? Which is essentially the same, it’s all littering and the last time I looked there is a law against littering.

And if you see someone throwing a butt out of their car, dob them in – I did a few years ago.  Sydney was experiencing some pretty wild fires within the suburbs and on the outskirts and on one particularly hot dry windy day while I was dropping into McDonalds for an icy drink I noticed a women in a large four wheel drive with a very distinctive number plate of which I can’t recall now but it was one word – reminds me of the ‘PLAYER” boat described above. Come to think about it they’re probably related as the driver, a female, looked like a real live bogan. Anyway, as she was pulling out of McDonalds with her kids in the back she flicked a lite cigarette out of the car window.

There are several aspects of this act that I have a real ‘big’ issue with:

  1. The feral cow was smoking with kids in the car.  Don’t get me started on this one.
  2. It was hot and windy and the air was filled with smoke from bush fires so how dumb was this bogan to add to the danger by throwing a lite smoke out the window.  Also every radio channel was talking all about the dangers of doing the very same thing.

Anyway,  I rang the radio station I was  listening too because just before this offence they gave a contact number where people like me (snobby dobbers) could call and dob in an offender, and I had missed the number. Immediately after getting the number off the radio stations assistant I rang the number and proudly dobbed the bogan fag thrower in.

Although I was aware they wouldn’t be fined I was assured they would receive a warning letter.  And low and behold a couple of weeks later I received a letter thanking me for my good dead and I was assured a letter was sent to the offender.

Ah, there should be more people like me – wonderfully snobby dobbers (if I don’t say so myself).

For more information on the damage butt throwing is doing our environment and the laws surrounding littering please nosey around the following sites:

Australia Day or America Day or Bogan Day – I was confused

My first Australia Day away from home was spent at Nelson Bay with my Daughter’s family. Within walking distance of our holiday house is Fly Point and it was here that Australia Day celebrations were held for the Nelson Bay area.

We set off around 10am on the 15 minute walk with the two kids in tow. I was rather looking forward to attending an organised event as I usually stay home and enjoy the time off work.  Fly Point has a wonderful outlook over Nelson Bay and the entire Port Stephens water way.

As we approached the venue we passed what appeared to be marching band members making their way back to their buses to put their various instruments away.  I confirmed with the venue timetable that said a procession was on at 9am.  I was glad we missed it as I loathe processions where all the local so-called talent hurts our ears with their horrible sounding instruments or maybe it’s their playing that’s horrible.

Please, leave the marching band format to the Americans, they love that sort of crap.

We veered off into the main park area where all the action seemed to be happening and the first thing I noticed were a bunch of old biddies dressed in blue jeans, chequered shirts and cow-girl hats and the load speaker confirmed my  fear – 10 minutes before the boot scooting dancers start their routine.

What the f*k has boot scooting got to do with Australia yet alone Australia Day? Oh my goodness, give me strength!

At Fly Point there is a large covered platform, an excellent venue for musical groups to perform under cover and it was equipped with all the gear for such an event. I could see the band was just making their way to their musical instrument or microphone, depending on their role within the band.  They looked rather country so I was looking forward to some Aussie music even though I’m really not a fan of country music but the likes of Slim Dusty does give me a spine tingle when I hear his classics especially on Australia Day.

However, when the music started it seemed to me that the songs were very much American country songs of which I’m not a fan. What the f*k has American country music got to do with Australia especially when we have our very own unique style country music. If Sweet Home Alabama came on, I would have blown my top!

Around the corner from the music stand was a long line of market tents selling all sorts of shit no one wants and no one uses. Of course there were numerous clothes stands selling all sorts of Aussie flag clad gear. I consider myself a very proud Aussie but do I really need to clad myself in cheap overseas made T-shirts, shorts, wraps, hats, tongs and scarfs to prove it?  No fucking way, not this little Aussie wombat.  I certainly didn’t feel very patriotic when I saw an obese bloke squeezed into a pair of Aussie flag clad board shorts.

I calmed down when a great modern version of Waltzing Matilda came on while the kids were having fun jumping on the castle, and after we helped ourselves to a snag sandwich. We’d had enough so decided to walk down to Little Beach, which is next to Fly Point Park to have a swim.

The narrow beach was full of shades, sun chairs and many people bathing in the only sun we saw all week. We found a spot and the kids were exited to go for a swim. I for once sat on the beach in observation mode.

As I looked from one party to the next and I noticed, along with every type of Aussie flag print clothing, most of the blokes and women were supporting multiple tattoos and not very good ones I might add, most smoking and all drinking excessive amounts of beer – I even spotted a cask of wine.   Most had no consideration for the people nearby with their swearing and flicking their butts anywhere but the bins.

We were surrounded by Bogans. All I needed to hear now was the bogan chant – Ozzie Ozzie Ozzie Oi Oi Oi.

Can this be?  Are there really this many Bogans in Australia?  But here they are alive and well and out on Australia Day? And on our favourite Little Beach usually visited by young families.

I’m confused, is this Australia Day, America Day or Bogan Day?

To make matters worse we’ve come home to the news that our Prime Minister has tripped over while being carried away from an angry mob. Love her or hate her, she is Australia’s Prime Minister, she runs the best country in the world and we should respect the position she holds whether we agree with her policies or not.

On Australia Day we should celebrate what’s made this country great and it wasn’t boot-scooting, American marching bands or country music, or overseas made clothing and certainly not Bogans.  It was hard working convicts and our forebears who suffered great hardships trying to tame a harsh land and climate to build this country. And today we live in a wonderful country and let no man or women who come here take that away.

So how about next Australia Day we take ourselves to the nearest beach or bush, have a BBQ or picnic, listen to Austarlian music if you so desire, have a couple of drinks without disturbing those around you.  Don’t tarnish it with junk selling markets or cheap overseas clothing with the Aussie flag patterned all over them.  Think about the freedoms you have today, the five day working week most of us enjoy, the secular societly we live in (on the most part) and the wonderful country you’ve either been born in or have moved here by choice.

Reflect on other countries where women are second class or no class at all, where religion determines if you live or die and governments use their army against it’s citizens, where hunger is a daily feeling and clean water is a luxury, where the survival age is middle age for an average Aussie and where life is just one miserable day after another.

Never forget that this is a great country and there is no better country to live than Australia.

 

 

 

 

 

The Green thing

Everyone with an email address has at some time received emails with jokes; links to You Tube clips, pictures, poems or stories from friends who have forwarded on these emails from their friends and so forth. The following email I received was one which I could relate too being bought up in an era before the environment was a major topic of Governmental concern.  A time when “we didn’t have the green thing” to worry about.

I don’t know where this story originated from so I don’t know who to quote as the Author. And if you search the internet you’ll see it appears on many blogs and Facebook pages so by no means this is my story but I liked it enough to share with those of you who haven’t seen it – Enjoy!

In the line at the store, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren’t good for the environment.

The woman apologised to him and explained, “We didn’t have the green thing back in my day.”  The clerk responded, ” That’s our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment.”

He was right — our generation didn’t have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soft drink bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilised and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn’t have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn’t have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn’t climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

But she was right. We didn’t have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby’s nappies because we didn’t have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts — wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

But that young lady is right; we didn’t have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house — not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Western Australia ..
In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn’t have electric machines to do everything for us.

When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn’t fire up an engine and burn petrol just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn’t need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she’s right; we didn’t have the green thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.
We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

But we didn’t have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the tram, train or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their mums into a 24-hour taxi service.
We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn’t need a computerised gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn’t it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn’t have the green thing back then?

Happy New Year’s resolution

As another year passes it’s time to reflect on the year that was – 2011.  A significant year in my life because nine days into it, I turned 50.

O.M.G 50!  Surely I’m not that old?

Anyway, my 50th year on this earth started with a 60s theme party with family and friends.  I was fit and healthy and I looked pretty good for an old bird.  I was having an extended break from work and I was looking forward to the year ahead – 2011.

As it turned out 2011 wasn’t my finest year. Looking back it may have been a negative response to turning 50 not helped by a couple of health issues brought to my attention only days after my birthday, nothing bad I should add and nothing to do with getting old.

I’ve always prided myself on being fit and healthy so I wasn’t expecting health issues to pop up for quite a long time so when a blood test highlighted a possible hyperparathyroid problem my reaction was over-the-top and one year on after numerous tests for all manner of possible ailments my health paranoias have been laid to rest.  The end result is there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with me – physically that is.  However, I can’t speak for my mental state but I now look forward to getting on with my life and living every moment doing what makes me relatively happy,  as one can be.

Bring on 2012!

So now it’s time to make some serious changes to my life.  Firstly, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s about time I make my first new year’s resolution after many years of avoiding them.  Maybe I’ll make several new year resolutions.  In fact I should make several lifetime resolutions, but let’s not get ahead of one self.

Maybe I’ll just start with a few new year resolutions.

Generally I don’t make them because by midday of the next day I’ve either forgotten I’ve made any or I think of excuses not to follow through,  so deciding on some resolutions I’ve got  the slightest chance to stick to will be the first hurdle to get over.  After that,  the second hurdle will be sticking to them past midday.

I realise I’m a little late with my resolutions so I’ve decided to start them from Monday 9th January 2012 – my 51st birthday.

O.M.G. I still can’t get over the fact I’m turning 51!

Anyway, I’ve been off work for a couple of weeks and in that time I’ve had very little interaction with the outside world. I’ve spent my time with the most important people in my life – my family and my very best friend – Me!

Spending time with Me has given Me the opportunity to reflect on the past year which has helped me come up with my 2012 resolutions.  I can’t contemplate making the stock standard resolutions such as losing weight, being nicer or helping others etc. My priority is to make resolutions that I feel comfortable with, to ensure I’m living every minute on my terms and the only people I’m accountable to are my family.

Here they are:

  • I’m not going to try and please everyone because on the most part, it doesn’t please Me.
  • I’m not young any more, so I’m not going to try and pretend I am. It wasn’t all that when I was.
  • It’s exhausting being funny and likeable – I’m tired!
  • Family comes first, everyone else a poor second because they won’t wipe my arse when I need it later on.
  • Other’s can bring you down, only Me can bring me up.
  • No one can change my life, it’s up to Me!
  • Silence is golden – so I’ll shut up!

So there you have them, my new year resolutions.  To sum up:  I guess I’m going to spend more time on my own or with my family. I’ll do what pleases me. I’ll live with no fanfare or funny antidotes to impart. I am the master of my destiny and I’ll do it in my time by myself.

On the other hand, I might forget them by lunch time on the 9th January or find excuses not to follow through – time will tell!

Happy New year!

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Costco – the exclusive club

Costco – the ultimate experience in shopping for stuff in bulk.  The average American’s favourite place to buy anything from doilies to cars, bulk toilet paper and  beef ribs by the dozen pound.  The place where low, middle and upper-middle class come together to grab a bargain.

On a whole there’s not much money saved by shopping at Costco. Don’t get me wrong there are lots of savings to be made on certain items,  but all-in-all when checking out,  the same amount of money is handed over. Although the trolley is substantially fuller, what’s making up the difference is more food, and let’s face it, it’s not healthy.  As a nation we’re getting fatter, present company included, and it’s places like Costco that don’t help the cause.

I can understand the temptation facing one on entry into the Costco superstore. There are endless amounts of bulk items at much cheaper prices. After you do the calculation from the bulk prices to the prices asked for from the mainstream stores such as Woolies and Coles it’s certainly appealing.  However, I’ve learnt that while not having kids living at home, having breakfast and lunch at work each day, any food I buy dies a sad, miserable, mouldy death in my cupboards and fridge. So the two kilo apple pie at Costco, which looks yummy by the way, will end in the same fate as most other food I buy on a whim.  So buying of bulk food is not an option for me.

It never ceased to amaze me at the full trolleys queued to the checkout. Surely the people pushing the mammoth trolleys can’t eat all that food? Although half of them look like they do. It’s the breeding ground for the next contestants of the Biggest Losers.

I don’t understand the concept of why you have to join Costco, at a cost of $60 per household, it’s not as if it’s an exclusive club.  But who am I too complain, after all I joined. I have the photo Id card to prove it.

You have to prove your membership before you go inside, you have to prove it when paying for your load and just before you break free you have to show the exit-door people your proof of purchase.  For goodness sake, how the hell can anyone steal from Costco? After all,  everything’s in bulk and they don’t have big mother-fucking trolleys for nothing.  And see what happens if you try to buck the system, as I observed on Sunday……

Man of the house (MOTH) and I were waiting in the long queue to pay and leave.  Our mother-fucking trolly barely had half-a-dozen items ranging from one kilo of salmon steaks, a one kilo pack of frozen berries, and a kilo of prawns. And a trip to Costco always provides me with a pack of my favourite sweets- baklava at a much reduced price.  Even so, our trolley consisted of the healthiest food by far, except the baklava of course.

Anyway, in front of us where three Chinese women:  two middle age and an older woman, probably the mother.  Between them they had two mother-fucking trolleys laden with food.  There were several large tins of cream puffs, packets of almond biscuits, large barrels of chocolate waver biscuits, just to name a few.  There were several dozen cans of drinks, two boxes x 12 serves of Tom Yum soup,  and tucked right down in the bottom of the trolley was four sad little pieces of steak – and not a grain of rice.

These three tiny Chinese women would easily make up one of me and I couldn’t help but think that the food they had spilling over their trolley can’t have been for them and if it was – well life just ain’t fair.  I was putting on weight just looking of the volume of food they had.

Maybe they owned a Chinese restaurant?  But I can’t see cream puffs on the menu. Maybe they have a large family? Maybe they’re stocking up on filler food for the herds of drop-ins over Xmas?  Whatever the excuse, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of the situation, their trolley versus our trolley and their size versus ours.

As we made our slow journey to the checkout, it was finally the Chinese women’s turn to unload. The three women worked busily to unload all the food onto the counter and the  check-out chick scanned each item quickly and it wasn’t before long before it was time for payment.  At this stage I was chatting to MOTH and unloading our few items onto the counter.  Then I noticed that the three women were all diving into their wallets. A Chinese man showed up and he too was digging into his wallet.   “Oh great”, I thought. “They haven’t got enought credit on their card and now they’re going to muck us around while they find the hundreds of dollars to pay for their groceries”.  “Just my dumb luck to pick the problem isle”!

To make things worse the check-out chick was calling for Customer Service.  “Oh for fuck sake” I said to MOTH “what’s the problem now?”

No sooner did the Customer Service Manager turned up she was telling the main Chinese woman that the Costco ID card she produced wasn’t her in the photo and she couldn’t exit the store with the food,  as she or any of the other women with her were members.

It was about this time I forgot about my aggravation around the hold-up as I was intrigued as to what was unfolding in front of me.  I couldn’t help but smile with all three women pulling the “I can’t understand” stance.  It’s so cliche. And I laughed when I realised they tried to pull the “we all look alike” trick on the check-out chick by using another Chinese woman’s ID.  “This just gets better”, I thought.

When the women realised they weren’t getting away with the trick they tried to pull they make their way to the Customer Membership counter with the intention of joining Costco and returning to pay for their goods. But the Customer Service Manager wasn’t having any of that – she summoned a grocery packer to take the trolleys away at once. Wow, they’d have to go home empty handed or start all over again. I couldn’t think of anything worse. But you can’t go around tricking the Costco staff, they were clearly on to that scam.

The check-out chick actually told me when it was my turn to pay using my ‘real’ ID that she was sorry for the hold-up but it happens all the time. To which I thought, who’d the fuck be bothered with trying get out of paying $60 joining fee. You save that alone on the bulk loo paper – which I’m a big fan of now. Along with the 7.5 kilos of washing powder, 5 litres of floor cleaner and 5 litres of winder cleaner I have tucked away in my laundry cupboard.

On my next trip, I need to get some bulk paper toweling, dishwashing liquid, toilet cleaner and of course some baklava not to mention the second lot of bulk toilet paper.

Ah – you gotta love Costco really!

A Mother’s gift, my gift

There is too much to write about one’s mother, so here is the tip of the iceberg…

It is amazing to think you have been there for me from the moment I was born until now when you read my gift. Not only have you been there physically, your presence in my life has been more than just a mother.  You are my best friend.

You know all of my thoughts without an explanation. You comforted me when my heart was broken. You have nursed me to good health when I have been sick (even when my sickness was self induced and against your wishes).

You have seen me through each year and every special moment in my life, acting not only as a mother and protector but also a friend to share my joy.  You have shown me how to push myself to achieve everything I could ever need or want.

Your strength has made me into the person I am today and if it wasn’t for you, I don’t know where I would be.  Your drive and direction has lead all of us. No one could ask for a better mother and I only hope I can one day be half the mother you have been.

I tried to pinpoint events or things that remind me of you, but I don’t need to be reminded. I think of you every day and smile.

All that lies beneath the water’s surface is too precious for words and can only be expressed in the love I have for you.

I love you Mum

 

 

 

This lovely letter was written by my beautiful daughter long before she was married and long before she became a mother. And I can say she has turned out to be a wonderful mother and a wonderful human being. Everything she writes here I can easily apply in return because she is to me what I am to her.

Freaks and weirdos

MOTH and I journeyed to middle earth last Saturday. Well actually it was deep into the inner west region of Sydney.  Our destination was a church – no I haven’t converted – it was to pick up some imported Tansanian and Indian coffee from the local preacher who provides a pick-up point for coffee addicts.  MOTH is the coffee addict, not so much myself.

Anyway, this pick up point was at Erskinville which is about 3 klm from Sydney CBD and a suburb I’ve never visited as it hasn’t been on my way to anywhere I’ve needed to go in Sydney. After we picked up the coffee we decided to go for a stroll, grab a coffee at one of the street cafes, sit and take in the delights of the passer-bys. We’d already started to see an array of colourful inhabitants as we strolled along the small main street.

Firstly there was a young man wondering around barefoot, it wasn’t that he was barefoot alone but he looked like he just got out of bed at 2pm and was heading to the fridge to get a drink of milk only to get lost on his way.

Then there were several older people whose ages was very hard to tell but I’d hazard a guess at around 65 but their lifetime choices, so it seemed, hasn’t been good to both their appearance and posture.  Both looked like they were well and truly under the weather and both holding a half smoked cigarette in between their yellowed fingers.  One old-timer who wanted past chatting happily to himself, which wasn’t too disturbing, but then he opened his mouth displaying a half-head full of charcoal teeth.  Enough to turn one off their lunch and dinner.

In the mix were the sterio typical gay couples:  The petite feminine woman with the big butch bitch who looked like she’d punch you out without touching and of course their male counter-parts consisting of an older man dressed in what straight people would consider regular Saturday afternoon casual street gear and his partner – tall, skinny and obviously the effeminate of the two with flowing bright shirt unbuttoned to his waist with short cream shorts and a tip-toe-through-the-tulips walk.

Then the array of people all ages, shapes and heights with an eclectic sense of styles of different, usually not matching, colours and a mix of eras from the 60s through to the 90s.  Now many people can pull off an eclectic style – fashion designers, professional dressers or someone with really good taste  but no-one of these talents had anything to do with the street fashion on that day.

And just when we thought the parade was over a middle age couple wandered by both dressed in white linen from head to toe.  Luckily it was overcast that day otherwise I’m sure the sun would illuminate them, and like the sun, we’d have to divert our eyes for fear of going blind.

MOTH and I settled in to see if the half-man half-goat would turn up to make the day complete.  But alas was not to be on this day.

I couldn’t help but think, besides the cliche gay couples and the co-ordinated couple in their white linen, how on earth do the others afford to live in what has become an affluent area?  The medium house price in Erskineville alone is just under $800K.

Maybe by night they work as the freaks and weirdos in a well paid job at alternate night clubs around Sydney.  I’ve really got to re-think my career choice.

Kitty’s in a spin

I’ve just recently re-joined Fitness First so I can get back to my favourite exercise, the spin class. I’ve been doing spin classes on and off for over 5 years. My last spin class was when I worked in the CBD last year and I had access to a gym which was at ground level of the building I worked in, so I had no excuse not to do a lunch time spin class.

Since leaving that job, I’ve tried to motivate myself to go for a regular morning jog before work but the motivation and a hectic project put a stop to that.  What motivates me is a monetary outlay and access to several Fitness First gyms and night time spin classes that suit my schedule.  So three weeks ago I attended my first spin class in over 9 months and wow how I enjoyed being back.  The music, the darkened room, the blue lights making all the whites on our clothes illuminate adding to the ambiance of each session.

So far I’ve done spin classes at:

  • Carlingford
  • Pennant Hills
  • Castle Hill
  • Parramatta
  • Bond Street (CBD)
  • Market Street
  • Pitt Street
  • North Strathfield
  • Macquarie Park

The location changes but the ambiance doesn’t and given my observation speciality is people, on the most part the people that attend spin classes can be organised into the following distinct categories:

Let’s start with the instructors, mostly women as the case has been in my experience. All full time instructors, all with amazing bodies and all whom we wish we could look like albeit with some boobs and arse – not too much arse.  They motivate us just by looking they way they do, providing motivational chants during the class and driving us to go faster, to add more load so as to make the pedals heavier to turn and providing the music as an instrument to enhance the experience.

Then there are the “glamor pusses” – the ones with the crop tops, short shorts with logos such as “High Maintenance”. These girls are usually in their 20s, gorgeous,  but seem to be more motivated to attract men’s attention than to actually work out. Many wear their hair out, which I can’t think of anything worse than doing a spin class with a strand of hair touching my face. It’s the only class I leave with sweat pouring out of every possible sweat gland and I’m not usually a sweater.  I hope I painted a lovely picture for you!

But I’m awfully suspicious of these girls – do they really apply the resistance to the cycle?  Or do they free wheel during the class and make it look like their working hard when the rest of us apply so much resistance we can hardly turn the pedals?

And then there are the middle aged men who turn up in bike pants, bike shirts and cleats. They look serious and don’t look like they’re having fun. They sit close to the front which usually means I have to look around their skinny arses to see the instructor.  If I sat on one of them they’d snap.  I like my men with a bit of meat – you know the ones who look like they enjoy life – not too much mind you.

And let’s not forget the young men in their late 20s or early 30s, the ones who turn up in regular jogging shorts and Ts. They’re not serious gym junkies but they work out just enough to build up definition but not enough to look like a retarded Michelin man. And all the better if they’re good looking. Along with the ambiance of the room and the music, these guys give you something extra to take your mind off a hard session and when they sit directly in front – thank you Mother Nature.

On weekdays when I’ve had a ‘sick day’ or on leave and attended the 9.30am classes, I have noticed these classes are full of women either slightly younger, same age or older than me.  And it doesn’t matter if I only attend once every three months, the same women are there. Obviously they don’t work. They chatter between themselves before the class starts and all meet up at the coffee shop afterwards. I’m not sure whether I feel sorry for them because they’ve obviously married well,  they don’t need to work, and therefore are totally reliant on a male. Or should I be jealous of them because they’ve married well and don’t need to work?  I’ll talk this dilemma over with the girls at work, I’m sure they’ll have a comment to make on the subject.

And there’s me – I’m the one up the back. Enjoying the spin class because it makes me feel firm and healthy and burns enough calories so I can partake in a few wines and  nibbles whenever I want.  I’m the one observing you, having my opinion, assuming I know your life story, jealous of you or in awe,  depending on my mood. I work my arse off physically not literally with my back to the wall saving anyone from having to sit behind my fat arse blocking the view of the instructor.

I’m the one who doesn’t dress to impress and I don’t give a shit. I just want to get lost in the music, spin,  and leave as silently as I arrived hoping I’ve added one more moment to my precious life because I know there’s nothing on the other side lulling me into a false sense of delusion.

I’ll see you at the next spin class – if you dare!

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I am a……

I’ve just completed a creative writing course and one of the exercises was to write about yourself using metaphors which are “figures of speech in which a word or phrase that ordinarily designates one thing is used to designate another, thus making an implicit comparison, as in “a sea of troubles” or “All the world’s a stage” (Shakespeare).”  And here are a few lines I wrote that I think represents me.

I am a caged dolphin performing predictable tricks with a wide green ocean calling me.

I have a crowd living in my head all talking in unison.

I am a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker working as one.

I am a Rubik cube that is never complete.

I have many faces but only one shines through.

I am a tiger, a bear and a pussy cat yet I only meow.

I am a daughter, a mother, a partner and niece but I am one.

Feel free to comment on what you think I mean. I’d be interested to know.