Instead of the sunny weather continuing into our Easter holidays, which would have been ideal, we have had a week’s worth of rain, thunder and lightning and grey, overcast skies. Accordingly, instead of our pre-planned day trips and topping up our tans in the park, we’ve been stuck in the flat all week doing very little other than watching with an air of sadness as our skin pales from lack of sunshine. This means that I have had a free week, which, if I'd have put my mind to it, could have been very productive. However, that didn’t exactly happen...
Productive things I have achieved this week:
-Finally writing that essay I was given to do back in February.
Unproductive things I have done this week:
-Watching all the movies from the past five years that I never got round to seeing
-Sitting in a pitch black living room watching the sheets of purple lightning fill the sky
-Getting so outrageously drunk on Thursday that on Friday I was forced to set up camp in the bathroom, I discovered two bruises and one cut of unknown origin and I vowed never to drink again (for the tenth time this year)
-Watching all the episodes of 90210, The Big Bang Theory and Desperate Housewives that I’ve missed since being away
-Getting up at 3pm for lack of anything else to do
-Making a cup of tea every half an hour
-Writing lists of things I have to do (nothing)
-Rewriting the lists once every two days
-Joining StumbleUpon. I only joined yesterday and I’ve already come across the top ten ways to annoy people, a frog that looked like it had swallowed a chunk of a red lightsaber and some baby pandas playing in the snow, none of which are particularly useful pieces of information.
Despite the fact that the ratio of unproductive things to productive things I have achieved is 9:1, I’ve still not managed to find the time to go to the gym. I still cross it off my to-do list at the end of each day though, so I still feel a vague sense of guilty accomplishment, albeit hugely undeserved: I don’t think my gym card has seen the light of day for about five weeks.
Speaking of the gym, it came as little surprise to me that a gym in the Basque region of Spain has begun offering naked classes and workouts. Yes, I know that Spain is a Catholic country. And yes, despite the heat wave last week, the Spaniards refused to remove even their coats. However, if any country was going to come up with this wacky initiative, it would be Spain; happy-go-lucky, carefree, just plain weird Spain. I sort of understand the concept of nudist beaches (of which there are hundreds along the Spanish coastline), but nudist gyms seem not only more than a little odd, but also rather impractical. Apologies to any males reading this, but I think any girl would agree that running on the treadmill without a sports bra would be hugely uncomfortable. Secondly, as the BBC article pointed out, where does all the sweat go that is usually caught by gym gear? You’d probably need a suction to remove the pools of sweat that would collect around the machines, or failing that, an excellent air conditioning system – either of which would cost an arm and a leg (or perhaps more suitably, a boob and a bum cheek). Taking this, and the fact that only four people turned up to the first session, this apparent recession-countering initiative isn’t exactly set for success. The same gym is apparently planning naked yoga classes too. One (non-existent) word: ugh! The objective of yoga is to attain perfect tranquillity. Imagine firstly doing, and secondly watching someone else do these positions in the nude:
Speaking of the gym, it came as little surprise to me that a gym in the Basque region of Spain has begun offering naked classes and workouts. Yes, I know that Spain is a Catholic country. And yes, despite the heat wave last week, the Spaniards refused to remove even their coats. However, if any country was going to come up with this wacky initiative, it would be Spain; happy-go-lucky, carefree, just plain weird Spain. I sort of understand the concept of nudist beaches (of which there are hundreds along the Spanish coastline), but nudist gyms seem not only more than a little odd, but also rather impractical. Apologies to any males reading this, but I think any girl would agree that running on the treadmill without a sports bra would be hugely uncomfortable. Secondly, as the BBC article pointed out, where does all the sweat go that is usually caught by gym gear? You’d probably need a suction to remove the pools of sweat that would collect around the machines, or failing that, an excellent air conditioning system – either of which would cost an arm and a leg (or perhaps more suitably, a boob and a bum cheek). Taking this, and the fact that only four people turned up to the first session, this apparent recession-countering initiative isn’t exactly set for success. The same gym is apparently planning naked yoga classes too. One (non-existent) word: ugh! The objective of yoga is to attain perfect tranquillity. Imagine firstly doing, and secondly watching someone else do these positions in the nude:
Perfect tranquillity my arse (no pun intended). An afflicting state of distress, more like, and sin duda enough to put you off yoga for life. Fun fact about naturism before I bring this blog to a close: in the world of nudists, people who wear clothes are known as ‘textiles’ (reminiscent of Muggles), as if we are the exception, a strange species of clothes-wearing people.
There are two days left of our Easter holiday (although I may take Tuesday off if it’s sunny and drag my flatmate to the zoo, treating myself to a well-deserved – hmm – three-day week). I did actually have plans today – the King of Spain, Juan Carlos I, was due to pop into Alcalá de Henares to present the Premio Cervantes, a Spanish literature prize in honour of the 16th century novelist and author of Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes. However, like I’ve been doing all week due to the miserable weather, he cancelled his plans and is now due on Wednesday instead – although I doubt he’ll have been spending the resulting spare time this afternoon finding pictures of glowing frogs or catching up on Desperate Housewives.
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