We purchase a Wii Fit.

Posted on by Alex

“Ooooof!!!” it cries, as I step on the scales.

This is not encouraging. A few seconds later, it has told me with brutal computerised honesty that I am ‘overweight’.

‘Overweight!’ – the thing is clearly calibrated incorrectly. I gaze at its smug graphic representation in anger.

The LTLP steps on. Hahahahaha!!! She is obese!!! Obese!!! I point and laugh.

I am as yet unsure as to how this equipment is meant to bring families together.

Two hundred-odd quid seems quite an expensive way of facilitating running on the spot and getting the odd bit of abuse, but I am always open-minded to new things and am determined to give it a chance. It is disappointing that the free games you get with it are all tennis and baseball and stuff rather than anything to do with running people over and killing prostitutes, but I have a go at them cheerfully.

As far as I can ascertain, the fundamental flaw is that the thing is not designed for people who live in small cottages. The beams that run across the living room hover at most two inches above my head; I have already half killed myself during a particularly enthusiastic ski-jump. The yoga stuff all has to be adapted, and half the muscle workouts are inaccessible to me.

I have been weighing myself regularly, and have steadily put on a pound or two each day.

“Really?!?” I ask the LTLP.

Posted on by Alex

We are in the Village Pub.

Everything is normal, until the LTLP announces that she wants to buy a Wii.

I almost drop my pistachio nut in astonishment. The LTLP has never ever been interested in computer games and has, in fact, rolled her eyes when I have occasionally suggested snuggling down together on a Sunday night and installing a ZX Spectrum emulator on the laptop.

I am enormously encouraged until it transpires that she has heard about the new Wii Fit exercise machine, and this is what she has in mind.

Booooooo – this is disappointing. Although computer games were a lot better in my day, I have read the newspapers at length and one of the big benefits of the new ones is that they are all about running people over and killing prostitutes. You never got this on the old computers, as the graphics were not good enough. Frankly I would be quite happy to buy a new computer in order to run people over and kill prostitutes, but I am not sure of the appeal of the exercise thing.

I grab another handful of pistachio nuts. “I am sure we could get fit in some other way?” I ask.

But she is adamant, and it seems a shame to waste her enthusiasm. It occurs to me that if she buys the Wii Fit thing then I will be able to sneak in a more up-to-date-with-the-kidz program, and get lots of exercise by running away from the police and stabbing really vigorously.

The Wii is cleverly marketed as being able to bring families together, and if it gets the LTLP into computer games then that is fine by me. If I join in on her exercise thing then I am hopeful that she will get into the spirit of the other games, perhaps by dressing up and being impaled by my special Nunchuck. We have been a bit left behind in the Village when it comes to the modern technology gaming, and I am excited that this will bring us into the twenty-first century.

“Can you turn that off, please?”

Posted on by Alex

I look at the LTLP in surprise. She is making annoyed gestures towards my laptop.

“But it’s Jethro Tull!” I protest.

“That,” she replies, narrowing her eyes like the scary poster of Tony Blair, “is my point.”

One of the great things that I have discovered about Spotify, which – in any event – is the best thing in the world, is that it contains loads of progressive rock. iTunes does not have much progressive rock, as it does not have enough memory, whereas with Spotify it is almost as if your computer has grown a beard. Therefore I have been catching up on all the immense works that I remember from vinyl.

The trouble is that couples work on Venn diagrams when it comes to musical appreciation. The overlapping bit in the middle on our particular Venn diagram does not contain many bands, and sometimes you can have too much Proclaimers or the free ‘Chill Out’ CD that was once taped to the front of the Observer newspaper.

I am a bit cross with her closed mind attitude.

“I think you should give it more of a chance,” I say. “I know progressive rock does have a bit of a bad reputation, but the interesting thing is that the best, most well-regarded stuff – your Genesises, your Tulls, even something like Tubular Bells – essentially consists of a series of cracking tunes linked by short musical bridges. So whilst it’s those bridges that define the genre, if you like, it really just goes back to those cracking tunes, which are the essence of pop music anyway.”

“Aside from Yes,” I admit, “who sound like an explosion in a wank factory.”

I warm to my theme. “So whilst many people have likened Progressive Rock to classical music, I’d say that it’s more to do with the traditions of opera – big numbers with a theme and links.”

I am pleased with my analysis. Sometimes I think that I should have been a teacher; perhaps I might re-train one day. There is nothing quite as satisfying as imparting learning to people.

“I think it’s shit,” she replies.

I am annoyed once more. The problem with being a teacher in the twenty-first century is that trendy teaching theories have made it all but impossible to exclude pupils.

“Can you turn it off now, please?”

I sigh, and close the website down. There is uncomfortable silence. Walking across the sitting room, I turn the television on.

We sit down for a Valentine’s meal.

Posted on by Alex

There is some silence between us.

She has bought me a driftwood frame, with space for three photographs. The first depicts the two of us in Prague, sat at a metal table outside a bar, two large glasses of beer sparkling in the sun. It is like a publicity shot for the British Contentment Society.

The second is of me, lolling on the steps of the Pantheon in Rome, a short city break at one of the happiest times of our lives. I have the blissful look of a man who has eaten well, and used his hotel room to the full.

The third photograph is one which we took ourselves, holding the camera away from our faces and clicking in hope. We are stood on one of the local beaches at Brancaster, which is like a cross between New Zealand’s spectacular Ninety Mile Beach, and Antarctica. No professional could have taken a better shot.

It is not my fault that my romantic gift of a subscription to New Scientist magazine, complete with credit-crunch busting 30% discount has failed to arrive in the post this morning.

I cast my mind back to the previous evening in the Village Pub.

I had been quite open with the LTLP that I had not been able to get her a card, as I had got sidetracked with the need to get a new laundry basket. Unfortunately, Short Tony had mentioned in front of her that he had got Mrs Short Tony a card, and Big A had talked about his card, plus flowers. This was not helpful.

I do not quite know how Valentine’s day crept up on me this year. It is ridiculous. Part of the thing is because it is so confusing – if it were held on the same day each year then everything would be more straightforward. Plus it is just a commercial thing, plus I do not need a ‘special day’ to remind the LTLP why she loves me so much.

“At least I got us a table,” I comment.

The lady plonks two fry ups down in front of us.

“This is not,” says the LTLP, “quite what I had in mind.”