Crèche

I went to the gym again today, spurred on to lose weight by shots of myself all skinny in Soho two years ago. I got the bus down to Kentish Town but was forced to curtail the workout when I realised I'd managed to padlock my locker without taking the key out with me. Cut to tragic scenes with me at the gym reception asking them if they'd use their giant lock-smashing scissors to break into the locker and retrieve my belongings. I risked leaving my bag in the locker to have a quick swim afterwards, but the pool had become a crèche, with children jumping in and out all over the place and one little girl even sitting at the side with a watering can and loads of rubber ducks which she was dropping into the water. I wonder if LA Fitness needs to work out whether it's there to get people fit or to look after children! There were even two little boys in the steam room which felt ludicrous beyond words. Why does a child need to steam?

I went onto the Fortess Road and spent the afternoon on Brass, slowly making my way back to Highgate via a series of little cafés where I worked for an hour or so. I tackled Dartmouth Park Hill by foot again, and it was almost as difficult as it was the last time... Almost to the extent that I wondered if the gradient had somehow got steeper in the past year although I'm pretty sure I'm actually just getting old or unfit!

The last cafe I worked in was Costa up in Highgate Village, where I overheard one of those ghastly only-in-Highgate conversations...

Little Girl: What was that shop with all the pictures in the window?

Posh Gran: That was an estate agents. They sell houses.

Little Girl: Can we buy a house?

Posh Gran: Your Mummy already has three houses, darling, it might be greedy to buy a fourth.

Might be? MIGHT be?

I'm comprehensively in the wrong industry!