I didn't want to go to the gym, I was coerced. I hated PE at school and always thought there were better things to do on a Saturday morning than exercise. I felt uneasy at the front desk, uncomfortable in the changing room and unfit in the big room with the equipment. I wasn't trusted to use any of the serious heavy stuff, instead I got to sit on a static bike and pedal for ten minutes while watching some cable rubbish on the screen in front of me. Nobody explained how the machine worked or invited me to tackle any of the other equipment afterwards. Then I stood in a corridor mulling over my life choices and hoping my exercise partner would be finished soon. The tuna sandwich we had in the bar afterwards probably undid any good the experience had done. A few months later we got up at stupid o'clock and went back and some trainer called Lisa got us to do a circuit involving steps and weights. I felt weak, feeble and demeaned. It was never suggested that we go back and I vowed I never would, indeed I never have. I'm fine not having pumped arms and a six-pack, I don't want a personalised cardio program and sweaty shorts, and if I wanted to burn money monthly I would go down the cashpoint with a lighter.
My cinema journey
I'm not sure what the first film was my parents took me to see but it was probably Disney, possibly Fantasia or the Aristocats. In those days you might have got three minutes of The Jungle Book on Disney Time or a snippet of Bedknobs and Broomsticks on Screen Test but you'd only get the whole thing at the cinema. A visit was always an awesome experience, from eagerly awaiting that first curtain swish to queueing in the interval for an ice cream. I was particularly glad of the break during The Sound of Music. But cinema visits were usually rare, mainly for blockbusters and birthday treats (or in the case of Close Encounters both). At university we'd sometimes go and see something arty together, but later I'd learn to enjoy my personal choice of film alone. I prefer near-empty auditoria to packed-out stalls so gravitate towards midweek daytime when I can, and always with a packet of Minstrels smuggled in my pocket. But I've not yet been back to the big screen since the pandemic, not because of the coughing but because if you wait three years all the films turn up on TV anyway, even if they don't have the same impact The Towering Inferno once had.
My yoghurt journey
As a child I was always a mousse person, not a yoghurt person, because I didn't like the look of the bits in tubs of Ski. But my mum liked yoghurt so we always bought them, and then she progressed onto a strange yellow machine that made DIY yoghurt in three separate plastic cups. I never tried any of the artificial white gloop, I only got to wash up the empties afterwards and if anything that put me off even more. Fermented bacteria, ugh. I'd always avoid yoghurt at school and later when it was served up at work events because I was sure it tasted foul but this wasn't based on physical experience. Much later when it was suggested I should lose weight I saw yoghurt was on the acceptable list so bought a pot and it was alright. Some of the flavoured stuff was indeed lovely, especially the lemon version and I'd happily wolf down a multi-serving tub of that. Then I noticed the sugar content on the label and was so aghast I dropped my Onken and Yeo Valley habit almost overnight. Now I just eat a small pot of own-brand low fat fruit yoghurt most nights, but what hasn't changed is that the lemon and lime variant is the best, and the cherry version the least attractive because of all the bits in it.
My political journey
The first time I remember being aware of politics, as opposed to just politicians, is when my parents put a poster up in their window. It was white with a big red cross on it and I remember thinking "oh that's interesting, they vote Labour". This would have been the first half of the 1970s, either for a local ballot or the first General Election of 1974, and given the recent chaos of the three-day week didn't seem an improper stance to take. Labour were in power throughout the years where I was starting to take notice of the wider world, and despite their inadequacies I remember being disappointed when they finally lost a vote of confidence and Margaret Thatcher got elected instead. Her agenda cemented a feeling that the right's way was the wrong way, that society should be more important than enterprise, so when I got the chance to cast my first vote in 1983 I gave the new-fangled SDP a try. They burned. I've voted on every occasion since, not always for the Labour party but never for the Conservatives, because although there are bastards, idiots and liars in all parties there are far more with a blue rosette. The Tories only ever make me cross, I will never give them one.
My flapjack journey
BestMate introduced me to these nutritious packaged treats. We were in Canterbury on a day trip and popped into Holland and Barratt, ostensibly for some cough sweets, but he suggested we grab an own brand flapjack for our lunch. "These are nice," I said, "and tasty and cheap and they come in such a wide variety of flavours." These oaty slabs soon became my preferred midday snack when I was out and about, there being an H&B in most high streets, and only occasionally did I get stuck at the till behind someone buying pointless vitamins. Their Bakewell flavour was my favourite, occasionally swapped for something deliciously chocolate-coated, and I reassured myself that because they were being sold in a health shop they couldn't be overly unwholesome. But the price kept going up, from comfortably under 50p to much closer to a pound, and then they shrunk the weight and it didn't seem so much of a bargain. So I don't buy Holland & Barrett flapjacks any more, I either go without or I plan ahead and carry something from a supermarket multipack with me. Perhaps I need to learn how to bake and slice traybakes of my own.
My news journey
The TV news has always been there in my life, indeed we invariably stayed on to watch Kenneth Kendall after the Magic Roundabout finished. On teenage weekdays our lunch was invariably timed to match The One O'Clock News, and the evening's washing-up often waited until after the regional programme. We also got the local evening paper until it folded, but not a morning daily until I managed to persuade my parents otherwise. At university I upgraded to a broadsheet, partly lured in by the crossword, and maintained a daily purchase until I wasn't commuting any more. The advance of the internet means I can now keep tabs on stories as they break, aided and abetted by an oft-checked RSS feed, but there's still nothing quite like a printed compendium of news curated by an editor. I also still trust the BBC to attempt to be fair and balanced, unlike the biased spin some media channels spew out, and have settled into a twice-daily pulse of lunchtime TV and midnight radio. I choose to be informed rather than ignorant, to absorb rather than cherrypick, to reflect rather than be lectured and to hope rather than despair. But I still often nip out during the sport.
My journey journey
I can't remember when someone first described something mundane as a 'journey'. It wouldn't have been during Job One or Job Two because things were much more straightforward then - no objectives, no mission statements and no corporate gobbledegook. It might have been Job Three because the bosses introduced team building awaydays and needed something to talk about. But I bet it was Job Four, specifically when they brought in a CEO with no knowledge of the business, only jargon and managementspeak. At the time we sat at the back of the room and mocked her, but before long everyone in the top slot talked like this. They wanted us to commit to key service indicators, to live the brand and to embrace the journey, and we just wanted to get back to our desks and do some actual work. These days 'journey' is one of those red flag words like synergy and wellness, which if used means I will stop taking you seriously and assume you're talking bolx. And that's my journey journey.
