I only wish it WAS an out of body experience.

Boot camp begins each morning in the dark and ends just as the sky begins to get lighter. The instructors bring down a floodlight which helps to light the part of the oval where we're enduring our torture session.

On Thursdays we're put through our paces by Jessie, a delightful young gentleman of the footballing persuasion, who peppers his chat with phrases like, "Owyousegoinarright?" and "Arrightbringidover" and "That's the way, keep on pushin' through" (was he a midwife in another life?).

One of his favourites, which is starting to bug me a little, is to stand near the floodlight and call out, "Arright, I want youse all to come into the light." I'd be surprised if young Jessie has yet hit his mid-twenties, and I know we must just be a faceless sea of decrepit old hags to him, but implying that we're ready to shuffle off this mortal coil is just downright insulting.

Besides, when I go, I know it won't be a serene white light beckoning me, it'll be flickering flames.