Day 56 (I think): I Go To The Gym (Part 1)

Personal training. Quite hard, you see. I was in the gym this morning with Anuja (who is becoming less annoying as my thighs become more supple), doing squats on a half-ball thing holding 5kg weights. I have to concentrate when I do things like that otherwise I fall off and die.

And a man starts talking. Into his mobile phone. On a bluetooth handset. In the gym. Before I go any further, I have already given you some clues to his extraordinary cuntiness ('bluetooth handset' and 'in the gym', for e.g.), but this particular specimen reminded me of something a boss of mine once said: "You know him? When they had a competition for cunts, he came second. You know why? Because he was such a cunt."

Fact is, anyone who talks loudly about their 'business affairs' into a mobile phone is either a) a salesman; b) a failed small local businessman; c) unemployed, but hasn't told Marjorie yet. Things I learnt about Mr Cunty include:

1. he is meeting someone at 2pm tomorrow at the Hotel of Cunts
2. his email adress is Mrcunty@yahoo.com
3. he lives just off Streatham Common at No. 2 Cunty Street
4. he understands what you're saying, Mike, but he thinks there may be a solution - and wants to run it past you on Friday
5. no, John, although he can see your point of view, he fundamentally disagrees
6. he can put you in touch with his solicitor who, although slow, is fundamentally sound
7. his fax number is 020 8674 CUNT

And do you know what I did? Nothing. We moved to the other side of the gym, and I shouted MAYBE WE SHOULD GO SOMEWHERE QUIETER as we walked past him. I went on the treadmill and with sweat running in my eyes, threatened to stop the machine (not a good idea when you're running; is another way of meeting sudden death) and have a word. But I didn't.

I didn't tell him to shut up. I didn't tell him that is was unlikely that the other 30 people in the gym cared what Mike thought. I didn't tell him that I couldn't concentrate. I didn't tell him to stop. I just glared in an English way and wrote a note that will have no effect at all. Now who's the cunt, eh? Still, at least I'm not him, so I can't be that much of a cunt.