Yoga and when it is best to avoid it

For some considerable time my partner has told me - nagged me - to go to yoga.

I would rather not. I remember a tv programme about yoga in the early 1970s, when I was a child. I was deeply affected by the sight of blurry hippy types bending and posing in unbecoming, stretchy, things... garb. I think that vision has been burnt into my brain. Its not helped by the fact that whenever I have witnessed yoga my only thought is that its pretty unsightly - gussets stretched, legs akimbo.

I do not want to be a lion or a rising sun or whatever else it is that they get up to. Bending is not for me.

So, I have been avoiding it but beating myself up about it - knowing that it is good for me and knowing that I am bad and in need of goodness. It will, I know, allow me to be more bendy and more trendy - more in touch with my soul as I peer at my own hole - twisted, distorted and free from stress.

I'd rather not. I'd rather stick tape to myself and pull it off slowly - I'd rather sit in the rain and an old wolly jumper feeling smelly and damp.

What is for me - well, not complete idleness. Give me some deep thumping bass, a rhythm and I'll bounce about - all night. I'd much rather bounce than bend.