London on the Pull

In the 3 months I’ve been down in that there London, I’ve noticed how exercise-obsessed these folk are.  I mean, I’m not saying that Scottish people don’t work out – of course they do! But it’s rare you’ll hear anyone discussing it.  In London, however, my housemates and workmates punctuate most conversations with gym-chat, including the frustratingly regular utterance of “I can’t come out tonight, I have to go for a run”. 

I eat healthily and try to look after myself, but I don’t do gyms. I find gym-chat extremely boring and can’t think of anything worse than paying monthly for the privilege of feeling guilty.  Because I know I won’t go.  I hate doing anything I feel forced to do, so I’d rather watch what I eat, walk further and go dancing more often. 

But I’ve discovered why they do it – it’s a deadly weapon in the pulling-war!

Here’s my evidence:  

1)  I’m dancing away in a (really really bad and cheesy) club in Clapham.  I feel a tap on my arm and turn to see a guy in white T-shirt dancing with his mates. 

“You should come and dance over here with me” he shouts over the music. 

“Why?” I ask (a reasonable enough question I thought, after all, there were plenty of men on the dancefloor).  I start wondering what marvels lie in store for me if I dance next to him.  Perhaps he’s a movie-scout blown away by my dance-floor talent and I’m about to be discovered as the new Jessica Alba and cast in ‘Step Up 4: the Clapham years’. 

In answer he rolls up his sleeve, flexes his (albeit large) arm muscles and grins. 

Ah, the disappointment.


2)  I’m in a bar in Angel, drinking with some mates.  The music’s pretty good – re-mixes of NYPC, MGMT, Fischerspooner, Cut Copy – and the crowd’s started dancing. 

A guy dances over – “Alright girls?  You ‘aving a good night?”

Us – “yeah, good thanks!”

At this point the guy starts dancing right up to us, flexing his muscles, gesturing to his (clenched) torso, mouth open.  “c’mon girls, you know you want to dance!”

Me – “i would do, but you’re a bit scary”

Guy – ” what do you mean, scary!  check out this body”.  (shimmies) “c’mon girls, you have to dance!” (starts gyrating)

Me – “now you’re even scarier” (look at friend who looks like she’s dying to run away)

Guy  (sticks middle finger up at me) – “ah, fuck off then, bitch!”


So I did.   🙂


I’m off to scotland again next week to dance with some real men.  I’ll have a job to find them though, most are inside playing Grand Theft Auto IV!



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