Having started my fitness drive with Eleanor we went to GymHop and look at the options in town. The first one we went into made us fill in these forms, took us around..and before we knew it, they were throwing contracts at us and beating us with Fat Labels. That's right - they measured out Body Fat using a pair of pincers, then they measured our weight and height. The results: Eleanor is supposedly 'obese' and I am 0.8% off being obese. Absolutely ridiculous. There is no way I am obese. There is no way she is obese (IT'S BIG BONED OK).

We were hammered with salesperson talk, and despite all our assurances that we would stay strong (not being like Ross and Chandler off Friends) we broke. Very quickly. The man used a variety of tactics on us, all of which involved him a) looking good and b) smooth talking. And now we are $1653 poorer - a HUGE sum by any means...and we have this bloody gym membership for 6 months.

Now if we go twice a week (ha! ha!) this makes it $50 a session. BUT $399 could give you a) 4 tops from Mango and b) one bloody fucking amazing night out in Lan Kwai c) 2 decent nighs out in Lan Kwai. BUT WHAT DO WE DO?

Buy a gym membership.

Oh my god. I feel so fat, poor and abused.

Worse still is gym induction tomorrow with scary Gladiator type woman called, no doubt, Fatt-In-Ator who will pinch and poke my flab, beating me into a self-pitying mass of fat, intestines and food. OH GOD, MAN! Can't take it. Although the incentive to go is there - as I'm actually paying - and I am promised to lose quite a lot of flab and gain some sexy muscle this may all be worth it. The sweat, the pain, the flab. It may all be worth it, to fit into my gorgeous dinner dance dress, to be gorgeously curvy instead of just LADRY and to be able to wear a bikini. Finally. And have the attention of 100000s of hunky men (and women).