It is NEVER a good idea to buy unsolicited fitness equipment as a present for your partner.
But if you do, make sure it isn’t too heavy or has sharp corners because it will be thrown at you very hard.
Which is why I checked twice with the boss when she said she would like a Fitbit for Christmas.
To me it seemed like an electronic tag that someone with an ASBO is forced to wear by a court, only this one’s on your wrist instead of your ankle and it costs YOU £113.99.
Among many other things, it counts your steps, monitors the quality of your sleep, buzzes when you’ve been sitting around on your backside for too long and – here’s the most important bit – does a little firework display on its screen once you’ve done 10,000 steps that day, around 4.5 miles.
All that’s missing is a nagging voice that says: “Have you brushed your teeth?” and “Have you done your homework?” and “What time do you call this?” and you could market it as a chaperone for moody teenage kids, although reports suggest these functions are likely to be available on the next software upgrade.
Anyway, the boss is thrilled with it. And when I say thrilled, I mean obsessed.
Our dog has never been walked so much as he’s dragged around the streets when he’d rather be crashed out on the sofa when my wife is 2,000 steps short of the magic 10,000 by the time Coronation Street starts.
No word of a lie, two weeks ago she’d “only” done 9,850 steps just before turning in for the night so she marched around the house until the target was reached.
It reminded me of the footballer, who must remain nameless, who was told to do extra training at home by his manager.
The club’s medical staff gave him a monitor to wear while out running so they could keep tabs on his heart rate and fitness.
So he did what any sane person would do and strapped it to his dog. Then he took Fido out across the fields to run his legs off and the readings were off the scale.
So if anyone buys me a Fitbit, make sure the strap’s long enough to fasten around our hyperactive lurcher’s neck.