Got your own hips?

Age is no laughing matter. Since I reached the grand old age of 20 (ok, it was a few years ago), the aches and pains have intensified and it's time I did something about it. So I signed up for pilates. To strengthen those core muscles, as they say. Including the pelvic floor so I don't pee myself when I'm really old.

Off I went to the first class, only to do a double take in the doorway. I was by far the only spring chicken there. Let me just say the teacher's first question was: "Ladies, I have to ask, have you all got your own hips?". You're kidding, I thought, but she winked at me so that's ok. I know I have a wrinkle or two but it's really not that bad... not yet anyway...

But why am I writing about this? Simple: they're using these squashy things called "blocks" while working on their pelvis (pelvises? pelvisis? oh, bugger off). You sort of put this thing between your knees and squeeeze! I'm saying "they", because I'm using a folded towel instead. Max wouldn't let me spend £8 on the proper stuff. I know it's only a bit of foam but why, oh why, do I have to be the odd one out in all respects??

Three a penny

Is Max a rare specimen or are there other blokes like him out there? It's been bugging me for a while...

Let me see... I suppose there's Tim, Max's brother. Came for dinner the other day, his bike helmet under one armpit, a bottle of rose under the other. I'm very partial to the pink stuff (you name it and if it's pink, I've probably drunk it) but it must be chilled and it must be good. None of that Zinfandel rubbish. Wiping Tim's sweat off it on the way to the fridge, I eyed the dodgy label suspiciously... But, to my surprise, it was actually rather nice. Tim, very chuffed with himself, said he got it at his local offie, for the grand price of £2.99. Can you even get a bottle for less than three quid?? Apparently, Tim can.

Or Dan, Max's best friend. Loaded but always used to smoke MY cigarettes. Cured that, though, when I proffered him a rollie once (bought if off the local bum especially for the occasion). Spitting and sputtering, Dan popped out to get a packet of Marlboro Lights quicker than I could say "Gotcha!" Never pinched my fags again.

Finally, take George, a business bod and an IT whiz-kid with IQ off the Mensa scale (so, again, not short of a few pennies...) George has canned soup for dinner three times a week, of the 39p per can variety. Out of choice. He's got a wife. Wife doesn't work. Wife can cook.

I could go on - they are three a penny all around me. Rather comforting, that is.