The search for the perfect exercise continues. I don't ask a lot; only that it is reasonably fatiguing, but mundane enough to allow one's thoughts to roam. And I don't want to pay anyone for it. And I don't want any expensive equipment. And it can't be running. I suppose I could just spend the day with my muscles tensed up like bridge cables, but it turns out I'm doing that anyway.

What about skipping? It's supposed to be good for the heart, and there isn't much kit required. I already have a skipping rope, which I found buried under some tax papers on my desk, proving that I had this brilliant idea before and failed to follow through.

Skipping is not entirely unskilled, but I was raised with two sisters, and know my way around a rope. I don't trip up every 30 seconds or windmill my arms too much. At one point I could even do a few tricks, crossing and uncrossing the rope or whipping it round twice per jump, which I learned not from my sisters but one of the early Rocky films.

I can't do the double-crank any more. My first attempt nearly kicked off a chain of events that would have undoubtedly ended with the question, "Hey, how did you get that gigantic purple welt on your forehead?" The crossover move is less difficult, but I can tell it doesn't look very good, so I am glad to be attempting it in my own garden and not the gym.

The aim is to find a steady rhythm that can be maintained while allowing my mind the freedom to wonder why the fennel is leaning over like that. For the first minute the jumping gives me a headache, so I adjust my hop and speed up the rope a little. Soon it becomes automatic, but then I think, "I'm doing it without even thinking about it!" which throws me off. Then I have to jump higher and concentrate for a bit, until I regain a nice, clockwork . . . what is it with that fennel? Has the cat been pissing on it?

With a reasonable rate of rope-turn, I can skip for five solid minutes without tripping up or stopping to rest. I can't do anything else afterward, however; not for the rest of the day, and probably not tomorrow either.