Free Doughnuts?

          There’s so much football on TV right now that even someone as uninterested as me (I?) can’t avoid the occasional glimpse of it. Young men, many boasting unfeasibly elaborate hairstyles, tussling over a ball for nothing less than the honour of their nation is a nominally ridiculous spectacle, but people seem to like it, nevertheless. Still, I am in awe of their physical fitness. My athletic days (such as they were) have long been over and I marvel at the way youngsters can take a tumble or a clattering without injury. It’s hard to imagine oneself ever having been so sturdy. I mean, I’m not completely crocked: yesterday I helped out for a few hours with a furniture removal, but towards the end I was longing for it to stop so that I could go and soak in a hot bath.

          Concerned as I am to maintain a reasonable level of fitness, I can report that, after a two-year absence, I have returned to the gym. I don’t begrudge the monthly fee (reduced for seniors), though I do think a case might be made for gyms to be nationalised and incorporated into the NHS, where, as ‘fitness centres’ they would provide an essential preventive role, given that so much ill-health is self-inflicted. And, while I’m on the subject, perhaps it would make sense to re-badge ‘health centres’ as ‘poorly clinics’? Curing illness is good but prevention is better. Was it the Chinese who, traditionally, paid their doctors not to treat illness but to keep them well?

          An essential part of my gym regime is the walking to and from. It’s ten minutes by the direct route but I like to do a bit of litter-picking on the way (having developed an inability to pass a discarded can without taking direct action), so it often takes longer. I may have mentioned before that passers-by sometimes thank me for my devotion to civic duty, but this week I was offered a reward. Strolling home from my workout, jabbing at the occasional fag-packet on the pavement, I heard a woman’s voice behind me say something like, “Thanks for doing that”. I turned to acknowledge her and she continued to praise my action. I said, “Might as well do something useful while I’m walking”. She said, “Well, I think it’s marvellous. Can I offer you a doughnut? Krispy Kreme. All fresh today. I live just here.” She pointed at her house.

          Now, as it happens, I had recently poked my nose into a Krispy Kreme drive-thru – just out of curiosity – and been sickened instantly by the smells of frying and sugar. It was with this impression still in mind that I almost said to my admirer, “Thanks, but I’d rather go hungry than bite on a sickly ball of fried dough”, but my good manners prevailed. Also, there was more to consider than a doughnut. Was I about to be invited into a stranger’s house or did she intend for me to wait on the doorstep while she fetched me a sticky treat? I had only a split second to decide on a response, so what came out was, I hope, a passably gallant refusal on the grounds of dietary preference, combined with effusive gratitude for her unprecedentedly generous offer. She seemed not to be offended. “Well, you’re doing a good job anyway”, she said and, with a rather fetching smile, turned up her path.

          I resumed with a bit of a spring in my step and a question nagging in my brain. Evidently, many people regard doughnuts as a treat, but was this one being offered as a lure? She did have that fetching smile, after all. A younger me might just have been tempted to find out.