5, 6, 7, 8

Yesterday I did something that made me feel embarrassed, ashamed and full to the brim of self-loathing. And not in the good way. I bought my first ever get-fit video. ‘Did you go for the classy Cindy Crawford classic?” I hear you cry. No, no I didn’t. Instead I went for “Claire-from-Steps ‘Fat Attack’”. (I can’t be sure, but I have a feeling that with no other claim to fame she may have changed her name by deed poll to ‘Claire-from-Steps’. In the same way that Celebrity Big Brother contestant is Ben-from-A1 and every member of Hollyoaks is forced to be reborn as ‘Thingy’.)

There are many ways to find the right video for you. You could judge it by which celeb you think would irritate you the least. In which case I would have to disregard Davina McCall and Letitia Dean. Or you might chose the celeb you most want to look like at the end, therefore targeting Cindy Crawford and Kelly Brook. But I opted for option three; the celeb that lost the most weight. So it was a toss-up between Claire-from-Steps and Michelle McManus. But I can only assume the agonising cringing I felt in my soul would only be magnified if I swapped cold-hard-cash for Fatty-Mcmanus’ get fit tips. No offence, Michelle.

Walking into HMV I felt like a 15-year-old boy sheepishly going to the corner shop to buy his first porn mag. I half-heartedly flicked through the feature films, bravely moving my way closer to the “fitness” section. I suddenly became aware of how my little chubby self would look blindingly out of place among the muscular young men casting an eye over the latest steroid-fuelled-muscle-making DVDs. I wasn’t ready. I headed back to the relative safety of “Comedy”. I pick up Jim Davidson’s “Bulging Package” by accident. Oh God. Do I look like a racist now? I hastily shove it back in a rack. (Shoving Davidson back Iraq however, would only make matters worse.) Maybe I should actually buy something, I wonder. I could casually blend the offending article in between something else to disguise it’s awfulness. The Mighty Boosh? Already own it. The IT Crowd? I’m going to need something stronger if it’s going to outweigh Claire-from-Steps. Derek and Clive? I have a winner! Painstakingly cool and pretentious that I may not be judged by the cooler-than-thou staff. But would that be enough? Maybe a book for good measure? A Johnny Cash biography? Do I need it? It’s £2. It’s mine.

So, with my two useless buys under my arm, I strutted towards the fitness section. That’s right – strutted. Because I was going to pick it up in one quick motion, not slowing down for no-one. But, to my horror, as my arm swung to grab the DVD, my bag flung off my shoulder and slapped one of the beefcakes (urgh) on the bum. I froze. He didn’t notice. Maybe his oversized muscles were numbed by their ridiculous size. Or maybe he was just used to strangers smacking him on the bum. I didn’t hang around to find out.

With Claire-from-Steps tucked neatly between Peter Cook and Johnny Cash I headed for the till. To my delight there was only one person serving; a Goth girl. She’s bound to hate everyone – she’s a Goth! At the very least she’ll be so unbothered my existence that she won’t put the energy into mocking me. But all of a sudden a Noel Fielding look-a-like with a sexy smile and a glint in his eye logged on to the cash register next to her. ‘Can I help?’ he asked with an Aussie lilt. What is it with modern culture? Why does everyone want to be so bloody helpful?! Leave me to queue! The British love to queue! I reluctantly handed everything over and awaited his reaction.

‘Aah, great,’ he exclaimed. ‘I love Derek and Clive! My dad was a huge fan. He recorded all their radio stuff…’ the lovely Aussie continued as he swiped my items through the till. Amazing! He didn’t even mentally register Fat Attack! I smiled a genuine smile and concluded, ‘yeah, they’re brilliant.’

I pushed my card into the chip and pin machine. “ERROR”. He pushed it out and back in with extra vigour (back to the 15-year-old with porn mag imagery, then?) “ERROR”. Panic set in once more. I half expected the Aussie to throw back his head and say, “spent all your money on pies did you fatty? No wonder you need a get fit DVD!” Before collapsing in a fit of laughter.

‘Oh, is there a problem with my card?’ I attempt to ask casually. ‘Ah no,’ he said, getting so infuriated with my card I fear he might break it. ‘Damn thing never works.’ Phew.

Walking out the door I breathe a sigh of relief. The ordeal is over. Now – time to go home and watch the arsing thing.

A whole new ordeal has begun.