Exercise in patience

I have something to say that will shock and horrify you: I have joined a gym. Yes, yes, I know this isn't the first time - the monthly donations to Fitness First back in 2004, the work gym at my last place of employment (I maintain there's nothing worse than seeing Ugly Martin from accounts sweating all over the equipment... and it's worse still when it's in the gym. And don't get me started on having to watch Fat Penelope from Marketing get undressed. Well, OK, I didn't have to watch her, but there's a kind of horrified train wreck syndrome where you just cant' tear yourself away. And that, Ploggers, and the subsequent HR proceedings are why I no longer work at that company.)

But this time is going to be different. TheBloke (TM) and I have both joined a local gym (avert your eyes now)... and it's a "council gym". I worried about this at first. I don't really see myself as a leisure centre kind of a girl. I'm more of a spa, sauna and home for a hamburger type of girl. But, as I've put on two stones in the last year and a half (almost equivalent to two entire Monty Cats and he is not a petite feline) and I suspect upcoming bridal wear will not be forgiving to a spare tyre. (Thinking about it, perhaps I should have chosen a dress that doesn't have a spare tyre as an accessory. Now I consider it, it does sound a bit weird).

So, the leisure centre is actually pretty nice. It has brand new gym equipment with integrated TV, it has a swimming pool, and it even has a spa attached with a sauna, aroma room (whatever that might be), an "experience shower" (apparently mist or heavy rain, but basically a shower) and - brilliantly - a "bucket shower". This is (and I kid you not) a bucket of cold water that is balanced on the top of the shower, and you pull a rope and the cold water falls on you. Don't believe me? Check this out: http://www.thespalondonandessex.co.uk/experiences.html

Anyway, pool, spa, fancy gym equipment, you could almost be mistaken for thinking it was a David Lloyd. Almost. Because there's one thing the council do very differently from anywhere else. And that's staff. Now, any regular Ploggers will know that my battles - particularly with Tower Hamlets Council - have been frequent and - to a bystander at least - hilarious. Memorably I once had to explain to a Tower Hamlets' call operative what the word "minimum" meant. The guy at the end of the line actually used the sentence, "Sorry, what does 'minininium mean?" But I hoped that having moved to the London Borough of Redbridge, things would be a little better.

But no. The staff. Oh, the staff. Here are some genuinely true things about the staff at the leisure centre:

• It took an hour for us to join the gym. We filled out the paperwork in about five minutes and then had to watch the most stupid woman in the world type it all into her machine. One letter at a time. I asked, "Do you need to type all of this in now?" She said yes. I asked, "Should we come back later?" She said, "No, I'm always this busy." Thus missing the point that she was just stupid and slow and we didn't want to wait.
• There is a young, male, blonde guy who stands at the back of reception (not actually manning it), whose job it appears to be to smile apologetically at customers every time the reception staff do something stupid. As far as I can tell, he does nothing else. His face must hurt by the end of the day.
• Our £26 (each) gym induction consisted of, "Have you been to a gym before?" We replied that we had. "Well, basically, it's exactly the same. OK? Off you go."

I almost look forward to interacting with them, just so I have more stories for you. How I suffer for my Ploggers!

For God's sake

So I am currently reading Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, only about six years after the rest of the population. And my word, it's made me all shouty. But shouty in a really, really good way. He articulates so simply things that have felt like truths for a long time... Here are my key takeaways so far (with apologies for inelegant paraphrasing):

1. Why is it "disrespectful" to question someone's religion? It's not something they were born with - it's a choice they have made to follow a faith. Yet if you openly disagree or call into question their beliefs, you are being rude. How can we on one hand encourage children to be scientifically rigorous and logical in their approach to problem solving, and yet when someone wants to answer, "I have to leave school early today because it's dark and it's a holy day," or "I need to find a prayer room before 3 p.m." we all say, "oh, right, OK. Off you pop"?
2. Tolerance. Why should I be tolerant of someone else's beliefs? Of course, I'm not the type of person to commit a hate crime - what would that achieve? But why should I accept that other people hold illogical beliefs without trying to understand and challenge the assumptions they're living their lives by?
3. Faith. The old fall-back by the religious. "I don't need to know because I believe and that is enough for me." Well, it isn't enough for me. If I told you that my god was a pink sandcastle who insisted I only ate lobster on Wednesdays, you'd think I was a nutter. But because there are lots and lots of you who think that Jesus wanted you to chow down on his body and blood on Sundays, this belief is sanctioned, whereas I am likely to be sectioned.

I cannot recommend the book highly enough. I nearly said, "Unless you're religious and would like to hold onto that faith" (for the reason that I think anyone of even moderate intelligence who reads the book cannot possibly continue with their belief system as is). So why didn't I say that? Because actually I can't condone people holding onto their faith. So I think everyone should read it. It should be mandatory for all A-level students, regardless of their areas of study. I cannot believe we had seven years at high school of religious education and never studied Atheism.

I have many friends who are religious. Whilst in every single case, they are happy, lovely, otherwise intelligent people - I find it incredibly difficult to reconcile that against the fact they believe a magic man (or woman) created the world, is sitting and judging them and listening to loads of prayers at the same time. Oh, and that this amazing, amazing omniscient being loves nothing more than to be praised by his creations. Preferably on a weekly basis. What an egocentric tosser.

A group of Americans were polled recently and only 49% would vote for an atheist (whereas over 75% would vote for a woman, a black person, a Jewish person etc.). The Scouting organisation will not allow you to become a leader if you are an avowed atheist - although they welcome people from any other faith. I lead a moral life (because I believe we owe it to ourselves to make our short time on this planet as pleasant as possible), I mentor young people, I take part in community activities, I recycle... basically, I'm not perfect but I'm at least as good as your average Muslim and a whole lot better than your average Fundamentalist Christian. But I am not allowed to volunteer my time to the Scouting Association because I refuse to swear allegiance to an imaginary friend. Brilliant.

I'm Laura, and I'm an atheist. As I now appear to be part of a heavily-discriminated against sector of society, I've got one thing to say: bring it.

Veiled enthusiasm

Number 3: The conversations

Returning to my "things I hate about planning a wedding" series. At number 3 we have the conversations. Without fail, everyone seems to think that having a wedding should be the most life-defining point, and therefore, you should think of very little else.

Browsing idly in a wedding dress shop the other day, the shop assistant came over to me and started talking - unprompted, I hasten to add - about tiaras. "Yeah, tiaras are really going out of fashion these days. People are asking for like clusters of jewels on the side... you know like Cheryl Cole had?"

Truthfully I replied, "No."

"Well, you know on The X Factor?"

Truthfully I replied, "No."

"Well, you know in the bridal magazines?"

Once again, I was truthful, "No."

But at this point, I began to feel pressured. Why don't I have opinions on these things? So, I parted with four English pounds and ninety English pennies and bought a magazine with pictures of seemingly identical dresses and utterly ridiculous articles.

Here is a genuine top tip from the magazine: "Planning a wedding tends to consume all your spare time, so it's important to try and do one thing for yourself each day that has nothing to do with the wedding - paint your nails, read a magazine, make a dentist appointment or just go for a walk..."

Erm... ONE thing each day? So whilst I'm sitting on the loo taking a dump, I should be thinking about table plans? And how is making a dentist appointment something I should relish doing instead of wedding planning? And really? ALL my spare time? Seriously? What the buggery bollocks are you going to do after the wedding if you've dropped all of your friends and hobbies in the months leading up to your dull, dull party?

Don't understand it. Do not understand it. But I am bizarrely interested to see what Cheryl Cole's tiara substitute looked like.

You're booked

OK, I'm taking a break from moaning about wedding planning to moan about something else instead. Facebook. Yet again, Facebook. Not the tool itself - as much as anyone else, I'm guilty of updating my status, stalking old friends (and enemies) and pointlessly clicking my life away.

My criticism today rests firmly on the "favourite books" section. You may think this is odd. You know I love reading. I get through approximately two paperbacks a week, thanks to a daily two-hour commute and a library near where I work. Why on earth should I censure Facebook's efforts to allow people to share their favourite reads?

I don't. My issue is with the stupid people. Here are some genuine(ish) favourite books lists of friends.

1. Jackie Collins, Marian Keyes, Harry Potter, To Kill a A Mockingbird
2. Ian Rankin, Dean Koontz, Voltaire - Candide
3. His Dark Materials, Lord of the Rings, Of Mice and Men

Basically, people read shit books. Because they are thick. And then they add one "good" book at the end. Let me define good in this context - a book which is deemed to be literary. Literary in so much as it might be (for example) included on an A-level or GCSE syllabus. And - what a coincidence - these were all books that we studied at my school, depending which class you were in. (In case of doubt, I am not classing anything Tolkein wrote as "good". Deal with it.)

So one of two things is happening here:

1. People read shit books. They know they read shit books, but are embarrassed by this and so put the one "good" book they've ever read on the end of their list. Stupid, stupid people.

Or

2. Perhaps they read "good" books all the time, but without a teacher to draw out the subtleties and take that understanding to a new level, they make little or no impression on them. Stupid, stupid people.

Or maybe they just don't read at all. Perhaps I only read so much because I spend so much time on public transport... but still, a good book is like a box of chocolates that doesn't make you fat.

Don't get me wrong, I like a bit of shit-lit as much as the next person. But with the emphasis on "a bit". Reading a Dan Brown novel is a bit like having a McDonalds. At the time you really enjoy it, but a few minutes later you feel guilty and a bit sick, and like you need something more healthy - perhaps a nice Ian McEwan (surely the literary equivalent of one of your five a day) or even a starchy Jane Austen or a fibre-filled Dickens.

So, Stupids. If you recognise yourself in the above, I recommend the following top picks. They're all pretty accessible, and there's loads of info on the internet about them if you need to know more:

1. Rebecca - Daphne du Maurier

2. Saturday - Ian McEwan

3. Atonement - Ian McEwan (watching the film doesn't count, stupids)

4. Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

5. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

Also, Cloud Atlas (David Mitchell, but not that David Mitchell, Stupids) is brilliant and clever, but not suitable for Stupids. Sorry.

Dis-dressed

Things that irritate me about weddings.

Number 2: The dress

As mentioned in the previous post, I'm not a girly girl. But if you're having a wedding, you're apparently supposed to have a wedding dress. People take photos and everything. Mrs Nunn did not adhere to this, and went out and bought a nightie and got married in that. However, she also wore hot pants to her graduation ceremony on a dare, so I'm not entirely sure I should emulate her fashion sense. Also, Mr Nunn wore brown velvet flares whilst saying "I do", so the fashion bar wasn't set all that high.

So on Saturday I had a wander to a "wedding dress sale" - presumably a place that a) sells wedding dresses and b) sells them more cheaply than when they're not on sale.

Into the sale I went. I was greeted and told a wedding dress consultant would spend an hour with me. I asked why. I got a look. I was asked when the wedding was. I told her that it was going to be in March. She looked shocked. "This March?"

"Yes, March 2011," I said.

"Well, that's going to limit you," she said, glancing down at my stomach, presumably to try and ascertain if I was up the duff.

"Erm, why?"

"Well, of course it takes eight months to make most of these wedding dresses."

"Sorry, what?"

"It takes eight months."

"Are you joking? I could build a house in less time. I could make an entire human being pretty much in eight months."

"Oh, well, you can pay extra for a rush order," she said.

"Well there's a surprise."

"They have to sew all the beading on by hand and stuff."

"Mmmhmm," I said and went for a wander round. For about two seconds. Most dresses were over £1000. I'll say that again. Most dresses were over £1000. For Americans, that's $1600. In rand, that's R11,000. In Euros, that's... damn it, there's no Euro sign on my laptop. Any

way, you get the picture. It's pricey. Especially considering you're only going to wear it once. Well, maybe twice, but some second husbands are funny about you wearing the dress you wore to your first wedding.

Oh, and that wasn't all... you can't just order a size 8 and be done with it... you order the dress in approximately the right size, and then they fit it for you. Fair enough... except they charge an extra £200 for this privilege.

And with that thought, they can fuck right off. I'm off to get some hotpants and a pyjama top.