If you were to ask what people go to the gym for, the obvious answer would be 'to exercise'. Whilst most do, to varying degrees, there are definitely other motivations behind gym membership, and distinct subsets of people who attend.
The first 'gym genus' is 'Musculus Maximus'. These are the young and not-so-young alpha males who prowl around in a pack in the corner around the free weights saying things like 'Can you come and spot for me, Carl?' or 'You wanna try 20 reps at 50k, mate'. They are usually dressed in Kappa muscle vests and have tattoo sleeves and knuckles which drag on the floor. You can tell they are deadly serious about all this as they wear special gloves and belts. They can easily spend a whole 2 hours in the gym just working on their infraspinatus and make more noise over lifting a few barbells than I did giving birth.
The next group are 'Copularis Magnus', the young women clad in lycra who are spray-tanned to within an inch of their lives. They arrive (and more incredibly, leave) with immaculate hair and make up and appear to have had their sweat glands removed. Oh, or maybe they just don't do enough to actually make them sweat? They can be seen on their own but are more usually spotted in pairs, sometimes with one of the couple a little fatter and less attractive than the other one. Typical behaviour involves sitting on the floor mats chatting for 20 minutes and laughing raucously. I want to shout at them 'You wait until you've given birth and breast-fed a few times, you'll never look like that again!'.
Finally we come to 'Populus Antiquus/Medicus Referus'. This group is invariably not appropriately dressed for exercise, often being clad in heavy shoes and thick sweaters. I don't wish to be rude (or do I?) but many in this group would benefit from some good deodorant and a nice minty toothpaste. I will not mock too much though, as I am acutely aware that in the next couple of decades I too shall be a card carrying member of 'Populus Antiquus' in the sub genus 'Rinsus Caeruleus'.
Food shopping in North Walsham can be a frustrating experience especially if, like me, you are not blessed with a huge amount of patience. I tend to do my main grocery shops on-line, which perhaps makes me even more irritable when it comes to actually going into the store.
Until recently there was only really one supermarket in North Walsham and whilst I like their products, their customer service leaves much to be desired. As I normally only pop in for a few items I do not consider it wholly unreasonable to expect that such forays would last a matter of minutes rather than hours. Not so. (Ok, allow me a little poetic licence please)
Let's say, for argument's sake, that I have bread, milk, eggs and wine (or Mummy juice as Bryn used to call it) in my BASKET. As I have a BASKET I make my way to the BASKET only checkout only to be greeted with a queue of more mature people with TROLLEYS. There is only one, single, solitary BASKET only checkout in this supermarket. There are 7 or 8 TROLLEY checkouts. Why do you do it? Can you not read or do you just choose not to?
On one or two occasions, God forgive me, I have been persuaded to use the 'Self Checkout' tills. Now that's a mistake I will not be making again. It is quicker to queue behind the trolley pensioners believe me. 'Unexpected item in bagging area'. YES! THAT WILL BE THE SEVERED HEAD OF WHICHEVER GREY-SUITED MIDDLE MANAGER THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO INSTALL THESE ****** THINGS!
Then, just before Christmas last year a new more 'upmarket' store opened just down the road. Very polite staff, lots of basket only spaces and so convenient for those few bits and pieces I always forget. OK, you need to re-mortgage the house or sell a kidney to shop there but it's worth it!
... or as we like to refer to them here in Norfolk, 'Drivers'. Yes, why confine such a splendid pastime to just one day when you can easily annoy the hell out of everyone on the roads seven days a week? Coming back from the pensioner mecca of Sheringham today I was faced with a whole bunch of such drivers. A bunch? I'm sure someone can come up with a more apt collective noun than that. A dirge? An annoyance? A werthers?
Anyway, you can easily spot these offenders, sometimes from quite a distance. The first heart sink you get is when you spot the tow-bar. This normally indicates heavy caravan usage - not good. Then comes the parcel shelf. If it is liberally furnished with a tartan rug, tissues, cushions or straw boaters then you are in for a slow ride home. I'd say a good 3 miles an hour below the speed limit for each offending article.
The final nail in the coffin comes in the form of car stickers. Again, a mile or two slower for each of the following; Christian fish sticker, National Trust, Lifeboats, anything to do with animals.
The ironic thing in all this is that the very cars being driven at 33 mph along a major road often sport jaunty and frankly misleading names such as 'colt', 'jazz' or 'sprint'. I would like to start a campaign for the car name to be more accurate. How about a 'Peugeot Pensioner' , a 'Ford You can't be too careful' or a 'Rover...', well just a Rover really.
The next group are 'Copularis Magnus', the young women clad in lycra who are spray-tanned to within an inch of their lives. They arrive (and more incredibly, leave) with immaculate hair and make up and appear to have had their sweat glands removed. Oh, or maybe they just don't do enough to actually make them sweat? They can be seen on their own but are more usually spotted in pairs, sometimes with one of the couple a little fatter and less attractive than the other one. Typical behaviour involves sitting on the floor mats chatting for 20 minutes and laughing raucously. I want to shout at them 'You wait until you've given birth and breast-fed a few times, you'll never look like that again!'. 
