Where Bee comes blinking into the light, like a pit pony on its Summer Holidays

Just before I tell you about gym with Bee on Monday, I have just started typing  this morning and have noticed that nail varnish is chipped.  How is it possible? I put on before I went to bed last night and slept under feather duvet? Grrrr. How can scientists send men to land on moon and bring back to earth safely and yet cannot manufacture a nail varnish that does not chip and tights that don't run? Surely there's more money spent by women on these items than by NASA's  entire space exploration programme.  Doesn't seem fair, must be all men doing the research, I say. So if any scientists reading this, also add to list make-up that doesn't come off in water, so I can go swimming on holiday, without frightening the children..

What was I going to say, Ah yes, the gym.  On Monday, after three weeks indoors, Bee came blinking into the light like a pit pony on its Summer holidays. She had to wear sunglasses and has a bad case of studio pallor.
It's about two weeks to an exhibition of her art work and I'll be honest, I had to resort to desperate measures  to get her to leave studio.  Fortunately she's susceptible to bribery and so I lured her out with  my extravagant gift of 12 bags of Hula Hoops (ready salted) and six Scotch eggs from Waitrose.
Fortunately Mad Bab's was on hand at gym to give lots of helpful advice as usual.
"That's no good at all, you need to use both hands."  Not knowing that Bee could only lift weights with her left one as it took her right hand all morning to realise it wasn't still holding a paintbrush.
 "As I've been busy creating my artwork," says Bee in huffy tone,  "I haven't been for a few weeks and I'm a bit stiff."
"Ah," says Mad Babs, "You know what would soon fix that? A good swim, you can come to the pool with me after your done here, I was going to do a quick 60 lengths myself so I'll wait for you."
Bee begins to make an excuse when Mad Babs interrupts.
"Fiona says you are a great swimmer have all your badges and would like to swim Lake Windermere in June."
Bee gives me her 'caustic' look (it could strip paint) and I suddenly remember having wormed my way out of being roped into doing the charity swim with Mad Babs a few weeks ago by volunteering Bee instead. (Naughty I know but as I didn't think Bee would leave house before August and as swim is in June, I thought I was safe....)
"Errrmm, I'll just leave you two to talk a minute," I said heading for contraption called The Power Plate which I had never used before but it's at other side of gym and I thought I could hide. Anyway, supposedly lots of footballers wives use it to tone up their bottoms, so I stepped confidently onto platform, twiddled various knobs, press lots of buttons and little symbols began to light up like panel on flight deck of  Boeing 747. Suddenly it jolted into action and I felt as if I'd been lashed on top of a pneumatic drill.  My jiggly bits looked as if they had independent motors and I could feel all my fillings dropping out.  Didn't dare get off, as Bee and Mad Bab's were still in discussion. As soon as they weren't looking I sneaked on to the floor mats and tried to lie down  but was still quivering and thrashed around like rasher of bacon in hot frying pan.  
"Well, what a pleasure." Dr. Perverse says, appearing from the weights section wearing a tight white nylon vest with chest hair escaping from v neck.  "Is that some exotic new form of yoga? I must join you..."