Admirers, abs and apes

Popped round to the town centre yesterday to visit the local Registry office and enquire about a marriage license. I had no idea you had to obtain a license to be married up until a few months ago. Obviously there is the marriage certificate or statement which you sign at the end of the ceremony but I did not know there was an actual license and and application from each person needed to get it. After paying £26 per person (usually two when it comes to marriage) filling out a large form and handing them in to the local Registry office your name, alongside your fiance's, goes up on a list outside the office which entitles anyone, who happens to have a problem with the situation, to protest. Yes, it would seem people can object if they are unhappy with the idea of the two of us getting married. How this would happen and what would follow, I have no idea. It's quite a nice idea though is it not? That someone would contact the authorities to try and stop Michael Reid marrying? Maybe a secret admirer or some other female who has harboured a secret, yearning for me. Just walking by on her way to the local shops, beauty parlour or model agency and stopping suddenly when something catches her eye. Upon reading the notice placed outside the registry office she would cry out in outrage, shock and horror, her scream echoing around the dull concrete surroundings of the Civic Centre. Tearing the A4 note from the wall she would read again and again, just to make sure her eyes were not deceiving her and then run into the Registry office, flustered and panicking. I'm writing hoping that it would be a female, of course. The same goes for the other half. Ka probably has a few secret admirers out there. The guy she went on her first ever date with goes to our gym. They went to see Waynes World together all those years ago. Occasionally I get suspicious when I see him on the treadmill next to her. Sometimes losing my footing and ending up a tangled mess among the barbells and dumbells.
Talking of the gym, I woke up this morning feeling like that gorilla had been sitting on my stomach the whole night. You know the one? He comes into your bedroom at night while your fast asleep, throws you about a bit, messes up your hair, maybe slaps you across the face a bit to get you to slobber slightly on to your pillow? Yeah, him. Ka and myself put ourselves through the abs class last night, moving, jumping and flailing about on exercise mats for half an hour. Some of the exercises making you look like beetles that had accidentally rolled over on to their back. As a result I struggled to get out of bed this morning and my lower abdomen can barely move without a twinge of pain. Serves me right as I had not done the abs class for months. A good lesson to vary your routine. You can go to the gym three times a week but still stress some muscles by jumping into something different too quickly. Muscles which you had completely forgotten about.
A headache was also the first thing to greet me this morning on waking up, which is always a lousy start to the day. I had been dreaming one of those troubling, tormented dreams. I was abroad, on a beach somewhere, trying to meet someone, or be somewhere... not sure. I opened my eyes to the world with a dull pounding head. Feeling the pain in my abs and my thudding headache I groaned. That Gorilla must have been playing Phil Collins' drums again. Except this time in my head! Damn that gorilla... damn them all to hell! As I got up and out of bed I looked up to see my New York Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt hanging on the door drying... the Statue of Liberty's face and torch facing me...