A FITNESS expert has called for decent slobs not to be “gymtimidated” out of their New Year resolution to get fit. In particular, Olivia Tyler, of Nuffield Health, has counselled against worrying about what other people think.

Yes, it is a problem. In city gyms, I’d sometimes look up to find someone – rarely a fine physical specimen themselves – snorting at me, though I think that was usually for my hair (i.e. having any these days). Also, that was in Edinburgh, capital city of Snigger.

In Aberdeen, bodybuilders in the weights section – fortunately separate from we normies – would sit all day every day sullenly staring at everyone.

In my independent Scotland, when – as agreed with Nicola – I’m made Minister for Morality, these people will be arrested under the new Narcissism (Punishment of) Act. See also public exhibitionists such as cyclists, joggers.

Robert McNeil: There's a moose loose in the Westminster Hoose

Luckily, these days, I go to a little village gym that I love, particularly for the sauna. But I must admit I haven’t been for a couple of weeks, not just because of the festive season, but because that Lord has blessed me with bruised ribs (fall) and a gammy foot.

The important thing about the gym or any exercise is not to get out of the habit. It’s easily done. You make excuses not to go. Secret is to go at the same time every week, so that you do so almost unconsciously. Try not to do anything consciously, readers. It rarely works.

Most weeks, the gym provides the only conversation I have, and that’s just: “How ya doin’, fatso?” But, fair to say, I’ve made a few pals, or at least acquaintances, among the regulars, mostly the weights guys with huge muscles, who sometimes give me little tips such as: “Just give up, big nose.”

But I guess it’s my own narcissism, or perhaps fear of death, that makes me try to keep in shape. At my age, I don’t get any better. The aim is not to get any worse. On the treadmill, I run to stand still. And I don’t care what anyone thinks.

Cost of living long

SHAME to see Glasgow bottom of the life expectancy tables in the UK again.

It’s what folk get for being nice. In the Heilan’ boondocks where I live, the friendliest visitors or incomers ever encountered are always from the central-west of Scotland. I’m not sure why that is. It just is.

So, what are the reasons for a 40-year-old Glaswegian having a life expectancy of another 39.33 years (women) or 34.76 years (men) compared to a woman in Kensington and Chelsea (another 48.64 years) or a man in Westminster (45.49 years)?

Lifestyle and diet are adduced: fags, booze and chips, the enjoyable things that make life worth living less. But these are just symptoms of the principal malaise: income equality.

The Central Belt and what London reports call the “North West” of Britain (i.e. the area south-west of central Scotland) dominate the bottom 10 areas of life expectancy, while the top 10 are in London and the south-east of England, where wealth and power in Britain is concentrated.

Robert McNeil: Was I just going through a phase when I bought a bit of the Moon?

It’s life. What can you expect? It’s all about money. Follow any football league anywhere and you can pretty much match the positions to the clubs’ wealth.

Money, as top economists Pink Floyd observed, it’s a hit. My post-hippie generation grew up despising money. We’re still paying for it today.

In short, for a long life, buck up your ideas. If you haven’t any money, I advise you to get some.