I changed gyms this week. For the last year I’ve been going to a private gym a couple of minutes from the house. I like it. I’d been a member before and had rejoined last year when I moved house. It had plenty of machines, a swimming pool and, extravagantly, it had not one but two Jacuzzis.

No one has two Jacuzzis, not even the dictionary, as it’s currently telling me that Jacuzzi is okay but adding an ‘s’ on the end is a crime against English.

But, almost 12 months later, I realised something. The gym was three minutes drive past my house. No time at all – but, when driving home, it might as well have been in Timbuktoo. No one wants to keep going when they see their home. You want to put your feet up, switch on the telly and have a bit of toast. You don’t want to keep driving and work out for an hour. Not when you can have toast. (I love toast.)

Instead, I’ve changed gyms. I wasn’t going to that gym and I knew that I would be far more likely not to be tempted by toast if I switched to a gym that was on my route home, rather than after it.

So, on Wednesday I swapped to Glasgow Club, the council run gyms. I pass two on the way home: Tollcross International for swimming and Emirates arena for everything else. I have access to a 50m pool, the velodrome and a modern gym (which I rarely use, but its nice to know its there if the weather’s foul).

It has everything I could ask for – except an excuse for toast.

Oh, and two jacuzzis. But no one need that.