THE THIN LINE BETWEEN LOVE AND HATE

I heaved open the shrieking metal doors and stepped tentatively out of the welcoming sunshine. The first thing that occured was that a sensation of complete and utter panic enfolded me. One of two things had happened; I had burst into an anti-christ like ball of flames or had been momentarily rendered blind.

As I blinked furtively in the darkness, I tried to decide which of the two was more plausible. The first of my senses to come back into play was my sense of smell. The acrid smell of stale sweat, physical exertion and fear filled my nostrils.

The next man off the sensorial bench was my hearing. The morbid metal entrance seemed to be hiding some sort of sadistic chorus line within its depths. There was a crescendo of deep-bellied grunts, squeals of nervous excitment and whimpers of what could be deciphered as pain or pleasure. The baseline consisted of the whirring of leather straps, the harsh clanking of metal on metal with varying degrees of ferocity and harsh intakes of breath.

Slowly but surely, the furtive blinking technique (excellent for those of you who want to regain their momentarily lost sight or appear like a complete sociopath in public) was taking effect. A blurry vision of tendons, red tear-stained faces and mountains of doubled-up bodies strewn across the floor floated before my eyes.

My whole being buzzed with fear. I began to hyperventilate and break out in cold sweats. What the hell was I doing in this sinister place! How had things come to this? I began to back out slowly, trying not to draw attention to my presence in this dark den of disrepute.

Oh no! Too late! One of them spotted me and like a flock of vultures, one by one, they all turned to gaze at me with beady eyes, all of which held the same message...fresh meat!

I felt like the proverbial fattened calf to the slaughter in more ways than one. Yes readers, Euro Stud has signed up to the gym.

In my humble opinion, joining a gym is a little bit like picking a scab. It seems like a great idea at the time but you´re almost always left with a scar. For example, If you have low self-esteem, the chances of you leaving your first calorie killing gym session feeling fatter, sweatier and about as attractive as a leech in a hemophelia pond are pretty high.

On the other hand, your inner gym-bunny may just burst forth on a wave of newly discovered non-chocolate induced endorphins and convince you to leave behind everything you cherished in your past non-aerobic lifestyle i.e. sharing gossip and a glass of wine with friends, being a couch potato and eating meals that don´t consist of dust, lukewarm water and a slice of lemon.

So, this begs the question; if there´s a thin line between love and hate, should going to the gym be classified under self love or self hate? narcissim or sadism?

This question has been eating me up so much over the past few weeks that I´ve regretfully had to give up my gym membership. It was a sad day for all concerned. However, the brain is also a muscle and after weeks of asking myself, what in the name of all that is holy, was I doing frolicking on a revolving strip of P.V.C. pavement, my noggin is in tip top shape.

DRESSED TO REPRESS

'The Emperor's new robes are making a killing.'

Of late, due to certain raucous behaviour i.e. the mass murder of his own people, the name on everyone's lips is Muammar al-Gaddafi.

Currently fighting for both his place at the top of the Libyan food chain and his life, the longest serving leader in the history of the Arab world is in a precarious position. The balance of power could be tipped at any second. He could have lost his last 'last stand' while I write this very article. He's now on his fifth or sixth 'last stand' , I'm not too sure; I lost count and interest at the third one.

This multi-faceted political sage has accomplished many things in his lifetime. Like any make believe-Marxist dictator worth his weight he has published a little mono-coloured book full of his idealogical preachings....the punchy title reads ....'THE GREEN BOOK'...like 'The little Red book' published by his Chinese counterpart Mao. This book basically exalted the virtues of his idea of Islamic socialism and Pan-Arabism.

At the tender age of 27 he manned a successful coup against the Libyan Monarchy.

In 1977, he invented a unique governing system called 'Jamahiriya'. He describes it as a 'state of the masses'.

The nation is governed by the populace through local councils..a.k.a people's militia...a.k.a.. Gaddafi's secret police. It's only unique because it's a complete shambles and barely shrouds the shackles holding the system in place.

In addition, in his forty years as shepherd of the Libyan flock he has managed to piss off almost every country on the planet. He has sponsored terrorist groups in:

-Chad
-Sierra Leone
-Liberia
-Morocco
-The Philippines

He also gave the I.R.A the gift of endless Semtex during the '70's and in '72 he was tangled up with the 'Palestinian Black Movement' which was responsible for the Munich Olympics atrocities.

Furthermore, King Abdullah- the reigning monarch in near-by Saudi Arabia finds the 'Mad Dog of the Middle East' a little bit irksome since he attempted to have him assassinated last year. Lets just say that he's not on his phone a friend list.

However, the Pièce de résistance of his career as 'The Brother Guide' has to be the Lockerbie fiasco of '88. The now infamous Abdelbaset al-Megrahi decided to blow up Pan Am Flight 103, which resulted in the deaths of 259 passengers and 11 innocent by-standers on the ground.

Despite all of this Gaddafi has actually gained more notoriety for his eccentric dress sense than his tyrannical psychosis.

One day he is swathed in animal skins in homage to his African 'brothers' and the next he is decked out head to foot in purple in what can only be construed as a shout out to his brother from another mother, 'the artist formerly known as Prince'.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, who would have thunk it... a dictator who is a versatile fashion subject. One who isn't afraid to step out of those dull and so last decade khakis. He dons everything from African cool to military chic and he is showcasing next season's MUST HAVE accessory - The Amazonian Guard, a posse of 40 blonde-haired, long-legged virgins all hand-picked by the Colonel and highly trained in martial arts and military combat. They're simply to DIE FOR dahhhling. The problem is many people are.

With the country creeping ever closer to an all out Civil war, which will undoubtedly lead to an International Security crisis what will become of the already tenuous relations between the Western Superpowers and their African and Middle Eastern counterparts? Where will the unrest in Africa and the Middle East end? Is the world as we know it changing? Has the world as we know it changed?