No more chocolate for breakfast

Last week, most Londoners would have read about the Astoria, an incredibly historic music venue being closed to make way for Crossrail – the tunnelling project under London that won't be open for years and is costing billions of pounds, and will probably result in a train service that's too expensive, breaks down and is always late.

*squeak

I was sad, for a brief moment, and then I looked on the bright side – at least Crossrail wasn't affecting me (I blush to confess that I'm a bit of NIMBY at times), and at least by 2017, I would have a chauffeur-driven car, or be writing from home, the shelves of my study lined with my best-selling novels.

*ahem, back to reality...

Anyway, so on Tuesday, I got up at stupid o'clock and made my way to my gym. I actually love going there – the walls are bright purple and it closes for 4 hours at lunch for absolutely no reason.

It has the laid-back feel of a 1950s holiday camp – like the one in Dirty Dancing and the friendliness of the bar in Cheers where everybody knows your name. Do you know, it's the first gym I have ever enjoyed going to, too! no more slacking off and wasting my membership fee – I finally thought I'd cracked this exercise lark!

Rather crucially, it's also my solution to eating chocolate for breakfast and not bursting out of my clothes like a blonde, non-green Incredible Hulk.

Crikey, I am rambling this morning – perhaps the lack of post yesterday has given me every such a lot to say today.

So, as I was saying, imagine my dismay when I discovered that my gym is closing!

*mental note to self – no more chocolate for breakfast until a solution is found.

Apparently, Cross-bloody-rail are knocking the building down to make room for a swanky new station.

But how is that going to help me maintain my nearly-almost single-figure figure? Must I resort to running up and down the escalators of this swanky new station in 2017, when they finally finish it?

By then I will be the width of an escalator from lack of exercise and will probably get wedged between the moving handrail and need to be winched out by the fire brigade...

*ahem, again… back to reality.

Rather than be faced with this uncertain fate, I am joining the fight to save my gym...

I'm off now to compose a carefully-worded letter to several big wigs to say how cross I am with um... Crossrail (how apt)…

so, watch this space