Treadmill torture & that’s just the music

The treadmill terror ...
The treadmill terror ...
0
Have your say

By Paul McCabe

So that’s January out of the way then. And wasn’t it nice to get back to normal?

Well no, it wasn’t. Especially if like me you had a rubbish time over the festive period. I hadn’t been very well, poleaxed by a bout of acute sinusitis. Thursday, December 18 I first felt a bit iffy, Thursday, January 8 I first started to feel a bit better. Three whole weeks. Right through Christmas, right through New Year. Boo hoo. Poor me.

Back to “normal” eventually, I rather pathetically sort of made a new year’s resolution to myself that I would strive to get a bit fitter and less flabby this year. So it was with some trepidation I finally went back to the gym, deciding to just take it a bit easy having not been there for over a month, and also being really, really old (if I don’t die during a trip to the gym I consider it a major victory).

While I was ill, I incredibly defied all medical logic and had somehow mustered the strength to open my Christmas presents, one of which was ‘Nothing Has Changed’, the new 3CD David Bowie compilation. This was what I had on my iPod as I started out on the treadmill.

As I listened to one man changing the face of pop music forever, on the gym’s TV, which is tuned ubiquitously to 4Music, up popped that titan of the modern day song, Olly Murs.

The video shown was a song called ‘Up’, a duet with nauseating Disney Channel brat Demi Lovato. Mercifully I couldn’t hear ‘Up’ but stuck running and wheezing where I was I had no choice but to endure the video.

Olly n’ Demi (let’s go all Heat Magazine and call them Olmi shall we?), have somehow found themselves cocooned in a Kafka-esque nightmare, longing to be together but separated into two doorless rooms by a brick wall. What fresh hell is this? Such is the level of Olly’s torment that exactly like Sid Vicious in the Chelsea Hotel, he goes on a rampage - smashing the contents of the room against that infernal wall, a vase, a guitar, even a cushion isn’t safe as little Olly goes wild.

Admittedly the effect is somewhat diminished by his dweeb, choirboy, side-parting haircut and the chunky jumper he’s wearing which he clearly got from his Nan for Christmas. But Olly don’t play by the rules, man; not only has he rolled the sleeves up but the top he has on underneath for extra warmth ISN’T TUCKED IN! Madness!

As this unhinged anarchy unfolds, 4Music put up a couple of ROFLs on the corner of the screen: “Don’t let Olly near any more instruments!” Why not? Worried he might actually learn to play one?

But such levels of onscreen intensity clearly can’t last and things soon come to a head. There ain’t a wall been built that’s gonna stop this end of the pier Robbie Williams impersonator getting to his laydee. Hell, no. And with one last sensible knitwear-aided lunge, Olly busts through and Olmi are finally reunited. Forever. Or at least until his record company want another ‘Olly Murs ft ...’ single.

Back down on the treadmill I’m now three and half minutes closer to my inevitable death and somehow everything in the entire universe seems just that little bit...worse.