There is a notice pinned to the inside of the loo doors down at the health club which asks (somewhat cheekily, I think) "Are you Beach Fit?" Underneath, two further questions: "Do you want to be tanned and toned?"
"Do you want to feel happy in your bikini?"
These are what we used to call "Num and Nonne" questions in those far off days when I studied Latin. Num questions expected the answer "no" and
Nonne questions expected the answer "Yes." You didn't know the Daily Blog was educational, did you? Now I come to think of it, I do hope I have got them the right way round. It would not be good to find I have mixed up my num with my
Anyway, to return to the notice. Apparently, all I need to get "beach fit", to be tanned and toned and happy to don my (non-existent) bikini is to fork out for a series of
sessions on the sunbed; take advantage of the Beauty Salon's "Fit for the Beach" programme; and sign up with a personal trainer.
There is a fundamental problem, as I see it. My idea of
"Beach Fit" is somewhat different from that of the health club. Getting beach fit, to me, means sorting out the buckets and spades, washing out the cool bags, drawing up menus for picnics-on-the beach (sand and ham sandwiches are my absolute speciality),
and checking if the fold-up chairs unfold after their winter's sojourn in the garage. It's checking that the cricket bat, tennis racquets and boules are all in working order. Above all, it's ensuring that I am in full Sandcastle Mode, able to dig
and delve with the best of them. Then, and only then, will I judge myself to be "beach fit."
As for the personal trainer, well my lovely grand-daughters Katie and Eleanor are coming to stay in
just over a week's time. Tanned and toned I may not be, but I know I can count on them to keep me on my toes. My own, most personal, personal trainers.......