I spent an hour an a half skulking at the modern torture chamber that is the palace of physique that is my local gym this evening.
Why?
I got home to see Donna-Da-Lodga fully togged up in her liveried finest - and wafting about my abode perfumed, scrubbed and presumably ready to present herself for inspection.
She was in a state of high anxiety and looking a little like Nurse Diesel herself and soon drove me from the house. I felt sufficiently uncomfortable to be prepared to exercise to escape the burgeoning nightmare within.
Ski ski run run lift lift run cycle sweat.
I arrived home to find a white van parked on my drive.
Horror.
Fortunately they have been hiding in her rooms all evening, bar the scurrying from room to heads from time to time and the furtive giggles issues through the ceiling, I remain unexposed the sordid goings-on and doubtless sexual extremism taking place upstairs.
I am retiring soon. Aviation grade earplugs are on stand by - but i fear I may sleep through the alarm in the morning.
Watch this space, reader.
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