“I’d like a machine where I can sit down, pedal a bit, watch daytime TV and end up with exercised quads and a flat stomach” perhaps wasn’t quite the answer the trainer was expecting when she asked me, this morning, what I wanted to get out of my gym sessions. As she took me round and talked me through the various contraptions, a voice in my head kept saying, “You know it’s never going to happen.” It felt like being on a particularly disastrous (first and only) date at a heaving, inexplicably popular, jazz club, being lectured on the virtues of augmented 7ths by someone who was clearly loving the dissonant sounds that were making my head want to explode.