I've been to the gym and done my stint on the weight machines and bike, with some extra curls thrown in to mimic the action of lifting shopping bags.
The fake smile has been flexed (Smile, 2, 3, Hold, 2, 3, Reee-lax).
My answers are ready.
"At least it keeps them off the streets."
"Yes, I was. The fat slow ones are always props aren't they?"
It's a big bag-packing weekend. Tomorrow we pack at a Marks and Spencer Food outlet, hopefully lacking the threats we had to endure from the Rotary Club Santa posse at the door last year ("This isn't just a bunch of fives, this is a Marks and Spencer bunch of fives"). I've been taking lessons from an ex-police unarmed combat instructor - straight fingers under the ribs, wide-eyed innocence and tell his mates it looks like a coronary.
On Monday we will be hassling the happy shoppers of Beeston with a four hour stint in the afternoon. Can't wait to see their happy faces as twenty rugby players line up to juggle their shopping into bags...
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