Confessions from a Health Farm. Timothy Lea

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      The bloke turns round and – blimey! I recognise that face. I saw him on Midweek. Not for long though, because I was looking for the wrestling. Maybe it was the wrestling? No, it couldn’t have been. Some of them look a bit past it but not as far gone as this geezer. He could rupture himself climbing through the ropes.

      ‘Thank you,’ he says, looking very uncomfortable.

      ‘I always find that’s happened when I’ve been to the karsi,’ I say, trying to put him at his ease.

      ‘Karsi?’ says the bloke.

      ‘Bog, shit-house,’ I say, helpfully. ‘I always feel a bit of a berk when somebody points it out.’

      Who is he? I know I’ve seen him. If he was on the telly after ten o’clock he must be a politician. Oh yes, that’s right! He’s the minister for something. If I can get his autograph I will know who he is. Mum will be impressed, too. He is wearing a waistcoat so he must be a Conservative. Mum has a secret hankering for them. I am quite partial myself. I mean, they have all the money, don’t they?

      ‘I am afraid that there is no Ovaltine, today,’ says Wanda, picking up a black mask from the carpet.

      ‘I must have a word with you,’ murmurs the man.

      ‘Call me later.’ Wanda plucks a piece of fluff from the man’s suit.

      ‘I’ve got to have those negatives!’

      He sounds really worked up about it. Looking at him, I reckon that he must be one of Miss Zonker’s newer clients. There is little physical evidence that she has taken him in hand. He looks far too slack and flabby.

      ‘Can I have your autograph?’ I say in what is intended to be my friendly voice.

      ‘On a blank cheque, I suppose?!’ snaps Sir Henry.

      ‘Thatll do if you haven’t got a piece of paper,’ I say. ‘Hold on a minute. You can use the back of –’

      I break off when I see what I have picked up. It is a photograph of a man on a bed with two girls, one of whom definitely hails from dusky climes, as they say. Both ladies seem to be on very good terms with the gentleman in question and a good time is being had by all. It is not the photograph I would have chosen for my Christmas card to the Archbishop of Canterbury but I can see that it might have a fairly broad appeal to some sections of the market.

      Sir Henry blushes, as well he might. ‘I’d hardly have recognised you from that angle,’ I say.

      ‘You should see some of the others,’ says Wanda. ‘Who knows? Perhaps you will.’

      ‘Wanda –!’

      Sir Henry follows our hostess to the door and I hear his voice continuing to plead with her.

      ‘Minister of Defence!’ I say.

      ‘Not any more,’ says Sidney. ‘They swop around so much these days, I lose track.’

      ‘He didn’t give me his autograph, did he?’ I say. ‘Mum will be disappointed.’

      ‘Don’t worry. Wanda will get it for you later,’ says Sid. ‘You can have the whole cabinet if you want them.’

      ‘They’re all physical fitness fanatics, are they?’ I splutter. ‘You wouldn’t think it to look at them.’

      ‘Half an hour with Wanda makes new men of them,’ says Sid. ‘That’s why I want to set her up somewhere. She’s got the technique and she’s got the contacts. She can’t cope with the demand here.’

      ‘I think he’s beginning to see the light,’ says Wanda coming in to the room and opening the top drawer of a filing cabinet. ‘Drink, anyone?’ She looks me up and down and darts her tongue between her lips. ‘We’ll have to whittle a few pounds off you, won’t we?’

      ‘Why?’ I say.

      ‘Because if you are going to be one of our hygienists you must be seen to be practising what you preach. Your body is the best advertisement for Inches Limited.’

      ‘That’s the name of the firm,’ says Sid. ‘Clever, isn’t it? We’re negotiating with Sir Henry for the use of his country seat, Long Hall.’

      ‘Shortly to be renamed Beauty Manor. It’s a residential course, you see?’

      ‘Sort of,’ I say. They are going a bit fast for me.

      Wanda gives Sid a meaningful glance. ‘I think you had better leave us, Sidney sweetie. I want to show Timmy my credentials and give him a few tests.’

      ‘Oh yes?’ I clear my throat noisily.

      ‘All right,’ says Sid. ‘Have you got any films to be developed?’

      ‘Yes,’ says Wanda. ‘And this time, don’t take them to Boots. The address is on the label.’

      ‘Oh yes,’ says Sid, blushing. ‘I got some very old-fashioned looks when I went to collect them. Fancy dressing up a policeman in a wig. If I hadn’t seen his hobnail boots sticking out from underneath the perfume counter –’

      ‘Yes, yes. Very distressing,’ says Miss Zonker, waving Sid towards the door. ‘It will teach you to be more careful next time.’

      Sid nods at me. ‘See you later, Timmo.’

      ‘Tra la, Sid.’

      The door closes on my brother-in-law and Wanda Zonker subjects me to her penetrating gaze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘But I have to scrutinise you.’

      Hello! I might have guessed there would be a catch in it. Sidney never said anything about that.

      ‘You look alarmed,’ says Miss Z.

      ‘It’s what you were talking about,’ I say. ‘I don’t fancy it. I might want to have children one day and I’ve heard there’s no going back.’

      Miss Zonker looks puzzled. ‘Your meaning escapes me,’ she says. ‘Perhaps I had better set your mind at rest by revealing some of my parts’ – in fact she says ‘past’ but she gives me a nasty turn for a moment. ‘I have studied in all the great salons of Europe: Lausanne, Madrid, Stockholm, Paris, Budleigh Salterton. Physical dancing, rhythmical massage, remedial culture, or any combination of the three. I am a founder member of the Volcanic Mud Institute and the Wax Lyrical and have received diplomas from the Papuan Cosmetologists Institute, the Greek National Electrolysis Society and the CBI.’

      ‘That’s amazing,’ I say. ‘It’s practically a science, isn’t it?’

      Miss Zonker’s face clouds over. ‘What do you mean “practically”? We are scientists fighting the war against physical imperfection.’

      ‘But you don’t have any medical qualifications, do you?’

      ‘Medical qualifications?’ Miss Z practically holds the words at arm’s length with one hand СКАЧАТЬ