Kids bullied by tattooed Gran & the truth behind a fat bum.

Give this to the gym and never go. A classic move.

Yesterday I went to the gym for the first time in weeks. It was hell. It was. The first bummer was I couldn’t get the car parked near enough to the door. So I drove away. Then by the time I hit the traffic lights I gave myself a rather loud talking too – much to the amusement of the guy in the car next door. So I about turned and went back.

I looked into  the pool. There was one person in so that was a no no. I am not revealing the horror legs in public even it was a 98 year old woman floating blind with goggles on. No it can’t be done. So I decided on the gym – aka the torture equipment.

The first annoyance was I couldn’t find where to put my headphones in. After clunking around for a while I found the spot. Put them in and what a load of crap was on the telly. That really doesn’t help. 2 channels showing property programs – yawn. One showing Doctors – who wrote that? A 12 year old. Actually that’s insulting to 12 year olds. Eventually I plumped (pun intended) for a cooking show. What a bloody stupid idea that was as I puffed and panted on the horrible wheezy up and down leg machine I stared into the depths of a large metal based saucepan which held about a gallon of melted chocolate. It was eye porn to the foodie. I was literally slavering as I rumbled off the machine and returned  to the changing room. 10 minutes of that shit is enough.

This was not the tattooed gran I saw. But holy shit! What is this about?

Next stop the supermarket where I bought lots of fruit and veg and a massive pack of Kitkats on special offer, crisps – baked so really not that bad – and some new Fox’s chocolate biscuits. as I stood at the check out a lardy old bat covered in tattoos started shouting at the two very young kids in her care. Say about 2 and 3 respectively.

‘WHAT ARE YOU WINGEING ABOOT?’ she squawked as the window of the supermarket threatened to shatter. Vile bullying old trout. So what do you do? I watched as she shouted at these 2 wee souls  whilst shovelling a half hundred weight of chips into her great open cavern of a face. What a bloody nightmare.  By the time I got home – 3 minutes later I had had a Foxes biscuit, a packet of crisps and an apple. Do you call Child Protection? Do you hope it was a one-off? Do you approach Jabba The Hutt and get a panelling? It’s a hard call. Answers on a post card please.

So that’s been my day so far. How’s yours?


Writer & broadcaster.

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