What would I do if...pt1

Hey, I bet this is nothing bloody Pepys got to write about, OH YESH, take THAT Sammy boy!

Right, I went to the gym.  It broke my heart but I've started paying by Direct Debit and if I don't squeeze some more attendance in by the end of the month then that singular trip 2 weeks ago will have cost me £34 which is a bit excessive for 70 minutes worth of misery.  It's bloody cold at the moment and it wasn't until I got to the changing room that I realised I'd got stupid underwear on.  I had on a thick pair of tights and a 'body' thing on which meant I had (sorry to be graphic) no pants on.  I realised that there wasn't enough support for my stupid boobs in the body but, did I want to take it off and wear a sports bra but no pants?  No way.  Did I instead want to wear the body with a sports bra over the top?  Nah, that'd look bloody stupid.  I decided to just wear the body under the gym gear and allow potential bounce. 

The gym was quiet and it wasn't until I got onto the rowing machine that my stupid inner thought process kicked in.  I haven't mentioned it over here before but much of it seems to follow a similar pattern. 

"What would I do, right, if an armed gunman or terrorists burst in now......"

(yeah, I know)

I mostly get that thought at work and have, over the years, worked out a number of brilliant hiding places which of course depend on how much time I've got before the gunman/men get to me.  The work thing is ok, they have to get through reception and another office before they get to me and (sorry any colleagues potentially reading this), I'll hear the gunfire and hopefully be on my toes and off to the disabled toilet before they get too near.  The disabled toilet is my number one choice of hiding place as there is space to stand away from the locked door so if there is a huge shotgun blast at it I can stand well out of the way and when the gunman looks through the hole I can hide just a little way out of sight. 

Anyhoo, we were talking about the thought process I was forced to endure of myself whilst going backwards and forward on the sodding rowing machine.  I think I'd got to the  "What would I do, right, if an armed gunman or terrorists burst in now......" bit but that was followed by

"...and decided to kill everyone apart from me and one bloke of my choosing!"

This thought had come straight after the realisation that I was the only woman in the gym and there were 5 blokes.  For some reason, my bizarre inner thought process had decided that the gunmen needed an even number of hostages - one woman, therefore one bloke.  Don't ask me why, I still don't understand my inner thoughts, they are like a separate and really quite strange person I have to endure.  I looked around at my choice (secretly and via the giant mirror which takes up one wall).  Bloke one was definitely out - he looked like a horrible farmer.  Bloke 2 had buck teeth, blokes 3 & 4 were pals and I've seen them around a lot.  One is obese and his friend is not.  I rowed away considering them both.  I figured the fat bloke probably hadn't had ANY breaks in his life and had lived a life of misery.  His friend, I reckoned, probably loved himself and only hung around the fat bloke to make himself look better.  I then noticed that the non-obese bloke was actually a bit chunky himself so wondered if he had lost loads of weight and was instead mentoring the fat bloke.  Nah, he's an arse - I'd choose the fat bloke.

...but then again, the fat bloke might have emotional problems and have become the size he was by 'eating his feelings'.  Who the fuck wants to be chained to a radiator with a crying fat bloke?

I then considered the final bloke who had a shaved head, loads of tattoos and interesting 'un-shaved-ness' about his face.  Hmmmmmm....... he looks like the kind of bloke who'd have a plan and would see me through the ordeal alive.  He does look quite like a wife beater too but hell, he's quite muscular and interesting looking.  He's also using weights so he.....well, I don't know what that would mean apart from he's quite muscular and strong which I'd already established.  I moved onto the stepper machine and continued to glance at him via the big mirror. 

Then he stood up and was only about 4 fucking feet tall!

Shiiiit, it's going to have to be the fat bloke.  Thank God I didn't put my bra on over my 'body'; if the gunmen had decided to chain us to the radiator (what radiator?) in our underwear I'd have been a laughing stock!

After another 10 or so minutes some more women drifted in and I realised with horror that there were now 6 women to 5 men!  What about the terrorist rule about having equal men/women hostages?  The choice would now be with the men - each one would have to choose a woman to live and the one left behind gets the bullet!  I desperately looked around at the other females, weighing them up against me.  The horrible farmer bloke would probably choose her, the bucktoothed bloke seems to know that one, she's young and fit (the bitch), Oh thank god - she's really quite hag-faced.  Hopefully she'd get left behind un-chosen.  Then I looked at my own reflection - oh Lordy, I looked like shit!  Dark circles around my eyes, a potential emergence of a conjoined twin on my face (or a spot, I can't decide), tangled hair and a hint of desperation (or madness? No!) in my eyes. 

I decided I'd start smiling at the fat bloke so he'd pick me if ever this scenario occurred.  Of course, why armed terrorists would raid a small backwater gym in Shitsville I haven't decided.  My inner thought process hasn't provided me with this information.

Finally, I discovered that Sammy Pepys married his wife when she was 14 years old - the beast!  Then again, that was probably old in those days.  I also learned that he was sent to the Tower of London for writing to the French!  Blimey - thank god that changed, they FORCED me to have a French pen pal when I was at school. She was called Claudine (I think) but she mainly talked about Madonna rather than anything which might be considered Revolutionary.