Harry is telling us about hot yoga.
He’s signed up for an after-work class in Aldgate.
It’s not out of any interest in Eastern culture;
he saw it as a way to get laid.
“There was me and eight women,” he says,
“all sweating away in their lycra.
In that respect it was splendid.”
“But how does it feel, physically?” asks Clem.
Harry thinks about this. Frowns.
“Fucking brutal,” he says.
“I think my spine’s fucked.”
We sit there and ruminate.
There have to be better ways of going about things.
Rostock 