As you will all know the year 2013 has arrived and so it is as the chimes of That London’s favourite clock, the Big Ben, finally fade away Northerners everywhere welcome in a new year. Having now returned to the great metropolis after an all too brief respite in the loving arms of peaceful Bradford, we find ourselves in a contemplative mood.
The year of 2012 was certainly a tulmutous one for us- one of great highs and but also terrible lows- it saw joyous joy as the sporting achievements of Northern Peoples everywhere were finally recognised by the rest of the country and rewarded by erections of golden postboxes in many of our fine Northern cities.
Yet, 2012 also brought with it great sadness. Non more so than the shocking news that Bill Tarmey, a.k.a Jack Duckworth, the much loved star of Northern evening television passed away whilst enjoying the Spanish winter sun. Without a doubt, the man who brought pigeon fancying and general Northern joviality to the rest of the UK will be sorely missed; as will all the other admirable Northerns who have lost thier lives fighting to spread our fine ways with the rest of the U.K.
Despite the gloom we have valiantly returned to That London. Where we hope to continue our vital work investigating the busy city and spreading our honest Northern values to the frowning collection of people who make up the city that Oliver Twist once called ‘ome.
In this week’s investigation we are turning our Northern peepers onto London’s crazy world of fitness. Having greedily eaten our way through many a pasty upon our festive return to Northern climes we now find ourselves requiring of a spot of exercise. This being the mega-town of That London, however, any normal means of fitness have been woefully hard to find. Nowhere in this City is there space for one to pursue the classic Northern sports of sunday afternoon of mining, ferret walking or light husbandry. Instead the people here have had to find new ways to keep fit. One such sport we have found bares the very odd title of “Hot Yoga”. This perplexing name is not a London alternative to Yorkshire tea, as we had first thought, but in fact something much, much more alien.
In essence Hot Yoga is a sort of long dance conducted only in the more affluent villages of That London. However, unlike the dances common to the North, such as the Hokey-Cokey or the ‘Bassline dip’, this particular set of movements is accompanied by no music whatsoever and in the absolute absence of alcohol.
Carried out in a small room hotter than a Gregg’s Pastry oven the session was led by a strange man, native to That London, who only spoke through inspirational quotes and complex metaphors.
Placing himself on the floor next to a mat, this man started the class by breathing in and out very heavily. Rather than showing concerned for the man’s obvious discomfort and erratic behaviour, however, the collected group of That Londoners actually began to mimic his curious actions. Though it went against our caring Northern instincts, we also thought it prudent to resist helping him and so continued to try and join in with the class as best we could.
As things progressed, the room heated to a temperature that would crisp a Toad-in-the-hole in mere milliseconds and the man’s actions became stranger still.
For the following forty-five minutes were we led through a series of irksome stretches by this crazed Londoner, each more unusual than the last, until finally, he came to his senses and decided to stop. Much to our relief. The class ended with the man inviting everyone to lay on the floor. He told the assembled crowd of That Londoners to breath in and out to forget the worries of their day, which they did dutifully. We also did the same. Loudly exhaling in and out as we tried to forget about the hard water that plagues the cups of tea we make in the city and then, sure enough, our troubles drifted away. The strange man had cured our London woes, temporarily at least, and for that we were grateful.
In summary then, our first experience of a traditional That London exercise was a profoundly strange one; but not wholly unhappy. The total lack of ales and the absence of darts was very difficult to get our head around at first but we nevertheless left our class feeling jovial and bendier than ever. And so it is, after a cup of tea and a rest, we are ready to go out into That London once more to yet again uncover the strange things the city has to offer. You will no doubt hear from us again soon.