“What’s said in the sauna stays in the sauna”.

The man is from Essex, and is in his late thirties or early forties. He has the one haircut middle aged geezers from Essex are allowed to have.

He is talking to his friend (of a similar age, originally from Surrey, passive) about music, girls, and getting one’s end away.

I am the only other person in the sauna, completely invisible in all meaningful ways.

I don’t go to the gym to hear terrible conversations, but they happen often, and I find it hard to tune them out. [1]

My ears pricked up on this occasion when Surrey and Essex started talking about going to a band practice with Simon the bassist, who is “good value”.

Essex started proudly listening some of his song titles. They were not what I expected.

“Francesca, Pink Fluffy Clouds, Ginger Babies… I’ve got enough for a 20 minute set, no bother…”

Ginger Babies?

Surrey man is the singer. “I’ve done loads of open mics, covers and that.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know. Wonder and Winehouse… [sings, badly] ‘you are the sunshine of my life…’”

“Quality songwriting.”

The conversation moves to women.

“How’d it go on Sunday?”

“Oh, she was just in her pyjamas. We just cuddled. I didn’t really fancy her, but after a few drinks instinct takes over…”

Mr Surrey looked like he was going to say something here, but grunted non-committally. This is how misogyny thrives.

“You know what it’s like. If you haven’t nailed some bird you want to even if you don’t fancy them.

“Anyway I’ve been with with that biker bird I met on Feeld [2]. Gonna go to a sex club, have a bit of a ferret around…”

“How’s that mate of yours? What’s his name…”

“Oh mate, he’s a bit intense, but I like him. You know he was dogging down in the New Forest last weekend?”

“Watching?”

“No, getting stuck in.

“He gets quite a lot of action, he’s pretty fit for a bloke in his sixties…”

And it is here in the narrative that the pretty fit dogger in his sixties enters the sauna.

“Speak of the devil!”

Mr Surrey looks uncomfortable, but Mr Essex ploughs on, like a combine harvester operated by a chimpanzee.

“We were just talking about you.”

“What were you saying about me?”

“About your adventures up in the New Forest.”

“That’s a bit personal.”

“What’s said in the sauna stays in the sauna”.

With this, Mr Essex gives me a meaningful look, and the conversation turns to how Eastenders has gone all woke nowadays.

[1] I’ve written before about how my hotel gym attracts some terrible people and even worse conversations. The more explicitly hate speech stuff I’ve reported, and even got someone banned for expanding on an anti-Semitic conspiracy theory, which isn’t something I particularly want to listen to while I’m trying to have a nice sweat.

So many of the conversations are toxic or borderline insane. I can either challenge it, which I do sometimes, but this is fraught with risk; move to the steam room instead, which the lads don’t use presumably because it’s a bit gay; or memorise the conversation and write it up afterwards to stop myself from going insane. Occasionally, I will choose the third option. And so the Straight Sauna Chronicles begin.

[2] A dating app. “We’re on a mission to elevate the human experience of sexuality and relationships.” Kink dominates.