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January 06, 2004


At some stage during the lost hours at the end of last week, I got a message from the Y asking if I could cover a step class tonight. By the time I was coherent enough to respond, they'd already found someone else. Seeing as I was still rather frayed around the edges and unsure I'd be on form in time, this was something of a relief. Short-lived, as it turns out. The other person has just dropped out at the last minute, so it's back into the fray for me tonight.

I have the distinct impression that the neural pathways encoding everything I ever knew about teaching aerobics have suffered a messy entropic heat death in the last few weeks, so all I can say is: steppers beware! Especially since, if the usual pattern of early-January gym attendance holds, the class will be full of clueless newbies who've never exercised before in their indulgent, guilt-ridden little lives.

I can however promise that my class will have at least one redeeming feature: on no account will it contain the New Year exercise instructor's most despicably clichéd exhortation: Work off that Christmas pudding!


Last night it was my turn to sleep badly. I spent most of the evening dozing off on the sofa, and was pretty much out like a light when we went to bed at 11.30 or so. But not for long. After a couple of hours of fitful sleep, riven with confused dreams of, among other things, acrobatic sexual performances by Cirque de Soleil, I found myself an unwilling member of the Wide Awake Club. Most of the rest of the night was spent shifting restlessly in the dark, with only Ian's gentle snores to mark the glacial passage of time. Which can be quite sweet for a couple of minutes, but soon palls.

On the plus side, I spent part of the time between tosses and turns working out some details of the next chunk of Infidelity Quartet, which I hope to get around to writing in the next week or so.

So far today I seem to have been reasonably awake and alert, but that can't last. Ah well, I can always have a quick nap in the step class.
Posted by matt at January 6, 2004 02:46 PM


By the time you read this it will be too late, but I really think your insomnia was a hint from the Powers that Be to tell your steppers to work off that Christmas pudding. Bucking tradition always ends in tragedy anyway.

Posted by: Faustus, M.D. at January 6, 2004 05:08 PM

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