Who decided to call that twiddly thing you do with your legs in an aerobics class a grapevine? I don’t get it. I’m very surprised that in the noughties it still creeps into exercise classes, usually followed by that other stalwart, the spotty dog. I am also delighted to see that 10 years since I last subjected myself to the sweat and strain of an aerobics class, I still manage to turn beetroot when all around me are normal colour. Are they not working as hard as me or do I have some awful skin condition? I am, however, comforting myself with the fact that I have not yet wet myself or trumped during a class although I am confident these indignities will come second nature to me in the next few years as my pelvic floor starts to shrivel and die.