Towards the end of May of this year I attended a charity Exercise Marathon run  by my friend and all-round jolly good person Paula Lamb.  Essentially,  a number of us  – mostly, but not all ladies and including several ladies of a certain age – signed up to do 12 hours of continuous exercise spread over several different classes throughout the day.   And so off to Crosby I went, partly because I wanted to support the charity, and partly because yet again I experienced that all-too common scenario that bedevils me in which my brain screams “Nooooooo!”  but the word that comes out my mouth is “Yes”.

Now I pride myself on being reasonably fit for my too quickly advancing years, and I felt that I would cope fairly well with the exercise sessions.  And in fairness, that is what happened, and I came away from the event quite pleased with myself. It wasn’t an Olympic performance but neither had I let myself down.  But a few days later something happened to change my opinion: someone posted a handful of videos of the event.

And there it was – right in the middle of the screen in one shot during the Burlesque session:

A very large lycra-clad waddling duck. 

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