I hate aerobics classes. I don't know what it is exactly...Though I suppose it could be the perky instructors ("Break it down!"), my fellow classmates who seem to think that wearing underwear is entirely optional ("Do you smell grouper?") or the fact that sweating is usually involved, I'm pretty sure that my least favourite part of aerobics classes is the music. Still, I've yet to do lunges to the strains of Steps (shite ABBA-wannabes who are unconscionably popular in Europe; if you don't know who they are, consider yourself blessed), which means I'm doing a lot better than the women at the beginning of episode six. Among them is a middle-aged, slightly dumpy Irish-looking (well, she's pale and has reddish hair) lass who's about to fall over with a collapsed lung when Stuart sneaks up behind her and says, "Excuse me, madam, we've had complaints about excessive perspiration. Could you please leave?" Continuing to work out, his mother tells Stuart he's a cheeky sod, and he asks her if she'd like some orange juice. "With a vodka," she replies.
In the gym café, Margaret has changed from her workout clothes into a really dreadfully ugly sweater, which makes me wonder why she thinks -- as she tells Stuart -- she has the fashion sense to buy his clothes. She expresses incredulity that he paid £80 for his shirt, a topic that seems to interest her a bit more than talking about the divorce Stuart's father is pursuing. "Oh, he's the expert now," Margaret says to Stuart. "Apparently, you can get a form from the town hall, no lawyers, no expense; you can get divorced for £45." Stuart asks her a rather obvious question: "Don't you need a reason?" Margaret, obsessing over the amount of money Stuart's spending on clothes, tells him that she stopped listening to his father quite a while ago. "And he's always got something to nag about, every single day. It's like Marie, Robert taking off like that," Margaret says, referring to Stuart's sister, whose husband left her and their two children. "Oh, it's food and drink to him. Nothing he loves more than a bit of trouble," she tells him, more matter-of-fact than bitter. Boy, is he going to be mad when Stuart finally comes out, tells them he's been shagging underaged boys and causing general mayhem; all that drama he's been missing out on for so long. "So what have you said?" Stuart asks, probably sending both Stuart's mother and myself into shock with the revelation that he can maintain a train of thought about someone other than himself for longer than a nanosecond. "I'm looking at flats," Margaret says, bouncing a bit in her chair and smiling. "I've kept myself in trim, I'll have a fine old time. You can show me 'round, you can be my guide." Stuart looks at her, slightly puzzled. "Singles bars!" she exclaims. "You must know them all!" Needless to say, Stuart has resumed thinking about himself, and the look on his face tells us that he's thinking the same thing we are: specifically, that while Stuart may know where to go to hook up with hot, single guys, those places really aren't going to be of much use to old Marge.