It was a Saturday morning when I first noticed them. I had drunk too much the night before, slept too little and was now making trudging progress to my 11am haircut. Still, it was sunny and the park was gradually filling up with people full of the joys of spring, making their way to Broadway Market to buy a scorchingly dear bit of Comté and oysters from that stall by the bins. All was well in the world — or at least in this bit of it in east London.
Then I saw them by the pull-up bars. Three of them loitering like big cats by a watering hole. Topless, seemingly built by the same firm who did the Great Wall of China, they were impossible specimens of men. Muscles bulged, bellies did not, and they were all wearing those skin-tight lycra trousers that Mr Motivator used to flex in.
