Life aquatic

I surrendered to what is now known as my annual Christmas event. It usually starts with me flying home and eventually being persuaded by my dad that this year, the sausages they bought are totally safe (following my severe food poisoning on Christmas eve last year and having to throw up most of the Christmas and Boxing day, as well as falling for the same crap at Easter) and that everybody in the house has already had some and nobody got ill. I feel reluctant and to tell you the truth, I have gone off sausages since, but my dad assures me that these ones are cool, the neighbour that lives next door to his friend's mother in law made them out of his own pigs properly butchered in the back garden, highly unpasteurised of course, that is what preserves the flavour...of e-coli I presume...
The weeks that follow are spent drinking various flavoured Nescafes and eating Milka chocolates with strawberry and coconut filling. For those that only ever experienced Cadbury, this would be pure heaven.

Anyway, I usually get home a stone heavier and I'm OK with that. It usually goes in a month but for some reason, this year I find myself in February and still unable to breathe comfortably in most of my clothes.
So I decide to join an expensive gym. I belonged to local centre for ages but I find that they no longer motivate me to come. School kids often laugh at me while I parade in my skimpy towel, purposely small to fit in the rucksack along with my laptop, books, toiletries and trainers for later activities...the equipment is often broken, heart patients, referred by GPs have priority on the machines and the stretching area, poorly ventilated, smells of manly individuals.
Not to mention the music...broadcast from a channel that is not even legal.

My top priorities for a gym: they provide large towels, they have hairdryers and a plug for hair straightener, they have almost no customers and everyone licks your arse.
YMCA...a phone call later, guy that has no clue what he is talking about, they rent towels for extortionate fee and I hear it is known as a place where you get serviced, or something.
Fitness First... first choice of Craig, a big brother winner. The woman does not want to discuss prices on the phone but urges me to visit. A bit of a double glazing salesman tactic...so I pass.
Holmes Place...a woman is really supportive and totally orientated on customer service and they sell me a membership. This makes me feel alarm because I realise, with high customer service, one can basically sell me a poisonous snake with a really vicious streak...
As I walk in...I notice an aquarium and it brightens my day. As I wait, small, stripy fish dart all over like crazy and although I realise it is a ploy, I don't care, I want an aquarium and that is that.
Case solved.

But something got me thinking...why stop there? If they offer all sorts of treatments, such as pilates and yoga, why not have a holistic therapy, like for instance a puppy and kitten room, where you get to stroke them and release endorphins while you get to watch a relaxing film. It would cater for business types that have no time for pets otherwise, kind of rent-a-pet thing.
But why stop there? Surely there are people with fetishes for certain animals...maybe one could be mauled by a tiger or chased by a rabid monkey instead of playing squash. It is not only more realistic and therefore great fun, it is a great exercise as well as preparing you for that safari you always wanted to go on.
Always wanted to charm a snake? Let spiders walk all over you? Wear your mother's dress....you get the picture, I'm talking highly holistic here.
What would I want in my relaxing, endorphin releasing room (besides agent provocateur catalogue)?


This!