Fenella Hughes-Cropp’s Notes from Parnell

I was at the gym yesterday working out and feeling pumped, when it suddenly came to me. I suddenly realise what makes all those fat poor people sad, and why I’m deliriously happy with my life. It’s not the expensive late model car, the flash house in Parnell, the fact that both I and my husband have high incomes and can buy whatever we want, that we are educated, can go on nice holidays and have jobs that empower us, or the fact that we both have good health and don’t live amidst violence and crime.

No, the reason why all the fat poor people are all frowny-faced is because they need to feel the power of the rhythm pumping through their bodies.

When I’m in workout mode and the tunes coming through the sound-system are pumping, it doesn’t matter what my personal trainer is yelling at me, because I’m in my happy zone and all my cares disappear. All those tricky problems, like which café to lunch at, which private school to send my children Giles and Penelope to, and whether to upgrade to a Lexus or a BMW, just fly out the window.

So wouldn’t it be great if we could give all the stupid lazy poor people of the world personal trainers too! Imagine seeing some fattie waddling down the road towing her twelve kids to nine different fathers, while behind her someone screamed “faster, faster you worthless sack of dung!” I sure would love to see that.

And imagine how good a DPB recipient would feel, having just been beaten up by her drug-addled ex the day before, and then being forced to do a 45 minute workout. It would be like all that bad stuff never happened! Sweat it out girlfriend!

We could even make a TV show about it. Hey, they made “The Biggest Loser”, didn’t they? Who in the leafy suburbs wouldn’t clamour to watch beneficiaries being tortured, humiliated and treated like children?

I know what you’re thinking: I’ve gone all soppy and soft. If we are going to horsewhip the poor through the streets and force them to run for their lives, why employ expensive personal trainers to do it? Let’s just put them all in an arena and set the lions upon them. They’ll soon sweat all that blubber off as they flee for their lives or die trying.

That is quite a good idea and would also rate well, but it’s also frightfully mean, don’t you think?