non-traditional sports

Chaps, history is going to be made today.
1)I am collecting my rug at lunchtime; (tick tock tick tock)
2)I am starting pilates

Both are quite extraordinary updates, you understand. For one, rap talk sorts out late-rug-incompetence a-ok to the muthafucking-a. That cannot be denied.
Secondly, Peas is doing exercise.

Pottery class would've come sooner, trust me.

But it's exercise that is going to tone my ass like a peach. I don't know what all this 'pilates' talk is all about. It's like the new tai chi, or whatever, except it apparently tones like a motherbitch. And you get to wear things that aren't made out of spandex in order to do it.

That's always a plus.

Pilates is the new buzz word of exercise, and I'm going to find out what the fuss is all about – first class this evening.
My female colleague suggested we do it, so why the hell not? Two months until Greece, and it'll be nice to look 100 degrees in the shade in my new bikini.
Apparently it hurts, hard. My muscles are going to ache. But fuck it, I'll give it a smash, why not?

Saw Dove for dinner last night. And it's unanimous – the worst presents we could give each other are:
1) A faberge Ostrich egg
2) A gem tree (holy god)
3) An engraved elephant's tusk
4) A gift voucher from Tile Warehouse

Hey, maybe you'd agree. Although a Lazy Susan, as dope and ridiculous as it may be, is a good one. Because you want to say, 'Oh, just put the jam on Susan and spin her,' when people ask you to pass breakfast confectionery spreads.

On an amusing note, my Irish friend found something yesterday that 'made her choke on her cornflakes.' She emailed me a link to this dude, the one on the left. He's the same oke who licked my face in a Dublin bar, and that I almost got fresh with. (If it wasn't for the fact he licked faces, I mean...)

An Olympian. Not a rower, not a runner, not a pole vaulter, he's a boxer. And he's at the Olympics.
Oh my God.
Oh man. Oh man that is funny.