When a young woman famous for wearing f*** me shoes asks you what your thong size is, followed up by a question about your trousers, it wouldn't be unnatural for your thoughts to turn to being pleasurably sized up for your inside leg measurements. "I think it's 32 but if you wouldn't mind just coming round and checking to make absolutely sure, I'd really appreciate it". When the same young woman goes round half the wine trade asking for similarly saucy information, it dawns on you that you're no longer one of a special kind but rather one of a bunch, a bunch of Semillons.
Actually having to deal with one's thong size is not something I've previously given a great deal of thought to, but I was surprised at the alacrity with which one or two of my co-Sems responded 'large' or even 'extra large', making sure that they'd copied in everyone else in true peacock (one word) style. Alpha males who are the first to leap onto the dance floor and would love to drive round in a Ferrari, preferably naked, if only they could afford one. I was less surprised that those who evidently responded small, extra small or absolutely tiny must have done so on the quiet as there were no shared emails going round of that nature.
With four weeks to go to the event, it now appears that the campaign to get the Semillons to keep their clothes on has stuttered to a halt and that the boys are truly buffing. I can only stand and admire the weights section at my gym, which is chock full of the sort of guys the women in our audience would pay good money to see. My own routine consists of lifting the weights off the rowing machine so that I can use it, although my favourite work-out routine is the sauna. Working up a sweat there fully justifies rewarding myself with a latte, a selection of bakery items and a grab bag of Walkers cheese and onions crisps. You see, we're all doing our bit for piling on the pounds - the pounds for cancer campaign www.everyman-campaign.org.
Anthony Rose
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