Michael DEACON
Lockdown has not been kind to my appearance. I’m starting to look like a hippy Humpty Dumpty
Pubs, hotels, cinemas, funfairs. All good. But what about gyms? They’ll still be shut on July 4 – but it sounds as if we might not have too much longer to wait. Oliver Dowden, the Culture Secretary, says it’s the Government’s “aspiration” to let gyms reopen “in mid-july”.
Fingers crossed. For my sake, anyway. As may be deduced from the photos that accompany my columns, I’ve never been a professional bodybuilder. But even so, I’ve missed the gym, and I urgently need to get back to it.
Lockdown has not been kind to my appearance. Beard, long hair, beer gut. I’m starting to look like a hippy Humpty Dumpty. Jogging just isn’t enough. When you get to a grand old age like mine (40 this autumn), lifting weights is a better way to keep in shape.
Anyway, I’m worried about what running is doing to my joints. Another six months of hammering the pavements and I’ll have knees like Nora Batty’s.
I would try going on a diet, but it’s not easy right now. I’m overeating out of boredom more than greed. So if I’m going to lose all this weight I’ve put on, I need to build some muscle. The last faint vestige of bicep has long since faded. My arms feel like cheese strings.
As for my chest, you don’t want to know. From side on, my moobs look like little pink snouts. Slightly upturned. Like a mole’s. Sorry if that’s put you off your breakfast. I just wish someone would put me off mine. Mind you, by the time gyms do finally reopen, I’ll be in even worse shape. Because restaurants will have reopened first.
Only a week to go now. I can’t wait. As I mentioned here a while ago, the thing I’ve missed most about restaurants is the fancy butter. Not cold, hard, straight out of a packet in the fridge. I’m talking freshly made, warm, soft, spreads like a dream.
If I ever open a restaurant, it will have an extensive butter menu, presented by a butter sommelier.
“May I recommend, sir, a pat of the ’67? Notes of grass, grain and cud, with the most exquisite creamy finish. Or perhaps a knob of the ’89: a cheeky little butter, fullbodied, terrific length, with a bouquet of pasture, hay and just a hint of manure.” Good to see weddings will soon be back. Pity about all the restrictions, though. Maximum congregation of 30. No singing. The bride in a visor instead of a veil.
Of course, these days most couples live together before getting married. Which is lucky. Otherwise, there could be some serious complications.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may not kiss the bride.”