My cheeks are still burning with shame. After the key turned in the lock Wilf and I struggled into our clothes to find Mother and the various members of the local Change4Life walking group assembled in our living room. Obviously this isn't a usual occurance on a Sunday, but apparently from September onwards they're all going to take it in turns to host a movement and music class in one another's homes. The only proviso being that the householder must sign a letter to confirm that they can endorse an underlay thickness of at least 2.5cm to ensure a springy tread underfoot.
Mother took the trouble to introduce everyone; one spritely bespectacled gentlemen called Mr Fisher asked us if we were keen on unclothed yoga as he'd heard on an episode of QI that the literal meaning of gymnasium was 'naked'. I answered that we weren't, but Wilf's parents were keen on naturism, which led to a lively debate about the inadequacy of sock and underwear elastic in this day and age.
Once everyone had left Mother took me to one side and asked whether Wilf and I could rein in our baser instincts as she'd measured the cracks in the dining room getting larger by the week. Also, she was fed up with the sheer amount of talcum powder was being used in the household and wondered whether to add a supplement of such sundries to my monthly keep?
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