Lockers that only take old pound coins: Six reasons to avoid your shitty local leisure centre

YOUR local council-run leisure centre is a hub of health and fitness facilities for a fraction of the cost of a private gym. It’s also an utter shithole you’re best avoiding. Here’s why.

The obligatory floater in the swimming pool

Surely little Johnny’s parents should have done something about him crapping in the shallow end? Apparently not. Now all your attention is focused on keeping a safe distance from this brown water mine. That’s when you’re not dodging the ‘human torpedo’ – the fanatical swimmer zooming up and down as if no one else is using the pool with a murderous look on his face.

Lockers that only take old pound coins

And that’s the ones which actually f**king work. Nervously pile your clothes on the grubby benches instead, then come back from your swim to find some wanker has stolen your wallet, phone and, weirdly, your shoes.

The shit exercise classes

The Zumba teacher has a shitty, tinny-sounding little CD player and looks about 12, the floor is surprisingly filthy, and BO fills the tiny room, Still, that’s what you get for three quid a session. You know you can do all this online now? Stop being a Luddite and sign up, if only because the instructors are all hot.

The adult f**king about on the water slide

Here comes the the loud dickhead adult in skintight trunks screaming ‘WHEEE!’ as he flies down the tube and bellyflops into the pool. He might be of the yob variety, so you can’t say anything because you don’t particularly want a fight over a brightly coloured fun activity for little kids.

The all-pervading stench of piss

In the changing rooms. In the gym. Probably at the reception desk. Most worryingly, in the crappy excuse for a jacuzzi and steam room. The odour of stale urine follows you like a nervous puppy. Are the toilets old and knackered, or are people actually pissing up the walls? You wouldn’t be surprised, looking at some of them.

The gym is full of fat f**kers thinking they look cool

Anyone seriously into fitness and bodybuilding will be in the nearest David Lloyd so you’ll be surrounded by middle-aged losers with beer guts exercising to avoid a coronary, with shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. The only upside is that your own out-of-shape bod will feel pretty damn buff.

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Twattish food packaging descriptions to delight middle class people

SUPERMARKETS no longer just tell you what’s in the packet – expect oodles of flavour, slathers of olive oil and dollops of pretentious bollocks. Here’s how they reel in their poncey customers.

Funly-worded packaging

Ingredients come as a sprinkle, a dab or a splash. These ridiculous nouns are HIGHLIGHTED in big LETTERS. Hey presto – idiots cream themselves over overpriced store cupboard ingredients. Crumbs of dry cheese suddenly become ‘a scatter of Parmesan’ and a packet of salt somehow seems worth a fiver when it’s ‘a generous jolt of the sea’.

Chatty packaging

Is this a box of granola or your new best friend? The more wordy and pally the chit-chat on the packet, the less you’ll care about the hefty price. Enjoy the honesty and openness of a pack of sesame bagels, or the crazy life story of some mass-produced hazelnut shortbread.

Overly descriptive packaging

This packaging relies on sumptuous detail: the succulence of hand-reared lamb, the floral tang of homegrown rosemary… you’ll forget they can’t possibly deliver all that in a packet of bloody crisps. After parting with £6.50, under no circumstances admit they taste like beef Wotsits.

Posh-looking packaging 

This isn’t about words, just looks. Sophisticated fonts and colours can dress up salted peanuts as haute cuisine, particular with a posh but possibly made-up name, eg. Sandringbourne Estates. Tragically, a talented artist has probably wasted their skills turning bits of dead fish into an elegant artwork that could hold its own in the Louvre.

‘Witty’ packaging

From silly food puns to cheap gags, crap humour shifts food. Chortle at a pack of smoked mackerel that proclaims ‘I’m a good catch’ or ‘Bee’s Knees’ brand honey. Then realise you’re a f**king idiot and you’ve just paid far too much for some nasty oat milk called ‘Get Your Oats’.