It’s life at the gym, but not as we know it

PICTURE this. The changing rooms in a health club. Two ladies in expensive tennis gear, lightly sweating, zipping their racquets away. One is saying to the other: “I’m incandescent. He made an appointment with the builder to come at nine on Monday to redo the conservatory. He KNOWS I play tennis on Monday.”

Her companion, face flawlessly Restylaned, body perfect from all the tennis, nods grimly. “Oh I know. We just had ours done. Total unending nightmare.”

What, like Syria? Never mind. Walk to the lounge where everyone is having a post-exercise snack. It’s very busy because it’s January and everyone is still buying into their New Year’s resolutions; the personal trainers are stalking around like cats let loose in a canary shop. Canaries who believe themselves to be fat, lumpy, imperfect, whatever — the personal trainers don’t care.

“I asked for a skinny cappuccino,” says someone loudly. “No sprinkles. I specifically said no sprinkles.”

Someone else is complaining about the wifi connection. A group of men are sitting around eating something meaty and talking loudly as they half-watch the Premier League on the wall screen. One is moaning about the people at the garage who repaired his car. They all join in with war stories about garages that over-quote.

Then the conversation moves to what they refer to as holiday nightmares. “They had the cheek to call themselves five-star,” says one. The rest of them nod. The beach was miles away, the staff were clueless, and the Mrs was furious because the tennis courts were closed for refurbishment. The men make grunting noises of acknowledgement.

Where to sit to avoid the compulsory eavesdropping? Past the parents complaining at their children (“Abigail, EAT your mango”) and past the parents complaining about their children. There is space outside on the terrace.

It’s cold outside, but there are no people. Just some small kids playing, leaping about, shrieking, completely in the moment. At no point do they express dissatisfaction about their surroundings — they are too busy.

There is a newspaper on the table. A headline reads, “Food Crisis Hits — World Goat’s Cheese Shortage.” The piece tells of how many families were unable to have goat’s cheese on their Christmas cheeseboard, and wonders what vegetarians are going to do now that their dining-out staple is off the menu.

There is also reports that demand for wine and olive oil is outstripping supply, and that cocoa growers can’t keep up with our insatiable consumption of chocolate. So there might be a chocolate shortage too, as well as the goat’s cheese. Oh God, oh God, oh God. What are we going to DO?