“Do you think we’d use a treadmill,” asked the housemate as we chatted idly about what to buy each other for Christmas this year.

“I think we would,” I replied slightly shocked the person who is universally known for her hatred of walking, would suggest investing in a machine whose sole purposed is to make you walk.

“Would you use it?” I asked tentatively. “You don’t really like going for a walk.”

“I don’t like going for a walk when there’s no purpose to it,” she snapped.

“I don’t see the point when people say ‘let’s go for a walk’ when they’re not going anywhere,” she added.

“But a treadmill really doesn’t go anywhere,” I pointed out. “That’s virtually the literal definition of it…”

“Well I think I’d use it. I could go for a walk when I was watching TV,” she added. “I wouldn’t get bored then.”

Fired by her newfound enthusiasm for a route march around the living room we put in the order and last week our shiny new treadmill arrived.

“It’s supposed to fit under your desk,” said the housemate gazing at it with some concern.

“As my desk is in my office at the end of the garden that’s not really practical if you want your TV plan to work,” I pointed out.

“We’ll store it under the sofa. It’ll be fine there,” I said, with the sinking feeling that that was where it would be staying.

“Are you going to have a try?” I asked once I’d finished assembling it.

“You should go first,” she replied.

“Oh no. It was your idea so you should be the one to christen it.”

“I don’t really know what to do,” she said.

“It’s a walking machine so you just get on an walk,” I said as helpfully as I could.

“Ok. Here goes,” she replied as I hit the on-switch and watched as she flew towards the back of the machine.

“You have to walk!” I shouted as threatened to fly through the window.

“How?” She replied struggling to stay on her feet as I crumpled into a helpless heap wracked with laughter.

“Just as you usually do,” I gasped as she tip-toed and stumbled. “Put one foot in front of the other and hope for the best!”

“That’s enough of that,” she announced as she pulled the plug on her training session.

“Maybe you could use the walking poles we got you for Christmas a few years ago. They might stabilise you,” said The Mother when she had stopped laughing at news of our purchase which has now spread through the family like wildfire.

“She can’t use walking poles on a treadmill,” said my sister who had dropped by in hope of a chuckle.

“Not on the treadmill. She could pot the poles on the floor next to it just to keep her on her feet,” said The Mother.

“You need a mirror because you can walk on it but you can’t look up,” said my sister assessing my treadmill skills.

“The last thing I need is to be looking at myself doing this,” I replied struggling to keep up with the three miles an hour I’d set.

On the weekend the housemate’s grandchildren popped by in search of a roast dinner and amusement.

“It’s really easy. I don’t know why you keep falling off,” announced the 15 year old as he effortlessly notched up a 12 miles and hour jog as I casually stuck out a leg in the hope of tripping him up!