No, this isn't a picture of me with my personal trainer but it is Hemingway, possibly the most manliest man of writing ever.
A few months ago I decided that I needed to hang out with blokes more. Now I don't want my wife (or anyone else in my family reading this) suddenly worried that I've decided to grow a moustache and listen to the Village People but more that, suddenly, I have very few male companions.
Now, once, that was not a problem. In fact, I had too many. You work in construction, you work with men. You work in publishing, you work with women. Plus the child-care duties and school runs and basically me being ultra-intouch with my feminine side and having been bottle-fed and having daughters all added up to a huge bubbling cauldron of oestrogen in my life.
So, what's the solution? Hang out at boxing clubs? Well, maybe later but at present I've decided to set up a 'Men Only' book group. Except the first three members are (or were) women.
But now it's me, Eddie, Paul and Stephen, very manly names I'm sure you'll agree (Paul even has a beard), and the first book is For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway (see above).
It has sex, violence, horses and war. It even has unprintable swearing! How more manly can you get?
Right, need to finish the book before our Wednesday meet. That and arrange the manicure.