So I have a new website, which is very exciting. Many thanks, as ever, to Trevor the Web Fairy and Julian Bow Bells. It has all kinds of new ‘functionality’. I wish I could say the same of myself. Certainly, I’d love a new Content Management System.

And the first picture I post on my swanky new website? An illicit photograph snapped in the changing room at the gym. To the surprise of many, I am a regular gym junkie, trotting a daily mile or two in front of Sky News. But I can’t help feeling that the gym wishes I wasn’t there. When the inflatable lackeys show the latest Joe Shmo around the power plates and free weights, trying to persuade him to sign a standing order, I imagine them somehow embarrassed by my scraggy t-shirt and perilous flush. I neither ripple nor glisten.

I think the gym I go to has ideas above its station. The pictured sign has always bugged me, but I struggled to know why until the Darkness pointed out the truth - the sign, she said, is a curious pretension, implying membership of an elite club where you might clock a celebrity dongle. She’s right. I secretly hate the gym.

Talking of dongles, I was waiting in a café today and they were playing ‘Living La Vida Loca’. For the first time it struck me how threatening some of the lyrics are; in particular, ‘she’ll make you take your clothes off an go dancing in the rain.’ What? Make me? That doesn’t sound fun. For starters, there’s no suggestion that she’ll join in and the implied coercion sounds scary. What if this rain is not a tropical thunderstorm on Ipanema beach? What if it’s a chilly February morning outside Waterloo station? No wonder Ricky Martin looks so conflicted.