Radio 2 vs Posers at the gym

GOOD THING: RADIO 2

Until I was 19 I was finding it difficult to be faithful to a radio station. I dabbled with the shouty wannabe-cool of Radio 1 and the tepid offerings of Tyneside station, Metro FM. Then, once at university in Cambridge, I dipped a toe into Q103 FM, home of the crap X Fools mini-series and adverts for Cambridge Tow-Bars and the Cambridge Bed Centre. It was my corridor-buddy, Karen, who introduced me to the delights of Radio 2, of which she was already an avid listener. I scoffed at first, dismissing it as a station of dad-rock and MOR guff, but now I wouldn't be without it - all the radios I own are tuned to Radio 2, and anyone who changes the dial risks losing a finger. I'm in the privileged position of being able to listen to the radio most of the time at work, so it's like having a friend with you all day. There's a comforting predictability about the daytime weekday programmes; getting dressed and driving to work with Terry Wogan, arriving at my desk just as Ken Bruce takes over, listening to Jeremy Vine bait the Great British public with contentious issues over lunch, followed by Steve Wright in the Afternoon (although, actually, the less said about that the better.) God help anyone who rings the office during Pop Master or Ask Elvis. But Radio 2 isn't just the home of cosy AOR. Okay, so acts like Peter Gabriel, Bachman Turner Overdrive and Sniff 'n' the Tears do make unusually frequent appearances, but it also gives airtime to some great new music and produces the best music documentaries for radio around. In fact, one of the best things is that brings the generations together; it allows dads to reference the coolest new bands, and introduces the younger folks to the best that previous generations had to offer. In fact, Radio 2 could be the perfect radio station - well, as soon as they sack Sarah Kennedy and her cat-bothering ways, and give Stuart Maconie a regular daily show...

BAD THING: POSERS AT THE GYM
Going to the gym is an unsavoury business at the best of times, and one that requires the willpower of someone on the Atkins Diet ("give me some carbs!") What makes it worse is that - unless you're lucky enough to frequent a women-only gym - at any time of the day or night you're likely to be in company of the species known as The Gym Poser. You know the type. They're usually dressed in a combination of the following: tight fell-running trousers, cycling shorts, those tiny vests that hang low at the front and give a grotesque view of man-cleavage, and sweaty grey t-shirt. The distinct downside of exercising near one of these creatures is the fact that they're likely to shed their sweat onto you (I've had it happen) and you have to listen to their OTT grunting as they brace themselves to lift weights, and self-satisfied exhalations when they succeed. There's one man in particular at my gym who just about personifies arrogance. For a start his top half looks as though it's been inflated with a bicycle pump, which is in direct comedy contrast to his tiny legs. He never does any cardio-vascular workout, prefering instead to do a circuit of the weights machines, which he considers to be his rightful domain. In fact, when I've been using the weights (on the lowest setting possible) and pause for more than 3 seconds, he's been known to ask me to move so he can continue his circuit. My response to that was to growl that I would only be 5 minutes. Gyms tend to have women-only sessions, and time slots specifically for senior citizens, but I propose that they have big blocks of time that are entirely Poser-Free.