At the gymn one morning....

London, X-Mas Eve, 2003.

"Young mon, when I was your age, I used to do Judo" the 72 year old man is telling me. He loves talking in the past tense. He came to London 50 years ago.

"I wanted food and fortune. The Caribbean is hot and I miss it, but you cannot live on flowers and honey alone…"

Since then, he has raised children seen them grow and is now a proud grandfather. One of his grandchildren is a promising rapper and DJ musician.

"My kids and gran-children are lay-zy. Me luv exe-rcise."

Patesh is a Caribbean Indian. If you heard him speaking you wouldn't be able to tell he was Asian unless you saw his face. His strong "Patois" accent publicised globally through reggae- ragga enchant music to the ears. He comes here at 7 o'clock in the morning , five times a week. After changing to training clothes he climbs the stationary bike for 30 minutes.

"If I wuz back home in Jamaica, I would be runnin' at the beach, goin' to the country with a real bike. But me learnt to adapt to Inglan." he says with a smile highlighting missing teeth.

A few weeks ago he gave me the background of those broken canines. An over zealous racist who mistook him for a meek Asian ended in hospital with six broken ribs. The old man helps dispel the myth that all what Indians want are corner shops and accepting reckless unprovoked violence.

Patesh.

He is now on the running machine, for another 15 minutes or so. Thereafter follows a prolonged body stretch that ends with weights. Patesh wears a wide thick belt around his waist. He had a hernia operation five years ago. What else has the seventy two year old man whose age reminds me of my own father not been through? Two hours later, with his slight limp and slow swagger he will go for a swim.

Actually, he is not the only "old man" in the gym. If you thought 7 o'clock in the morning is too early to exercise carry on reading.

The place is crowded with many other "pensioners" , or the over 55's. Some have retired from work, maybe running small projects, or simply, living at home after years of labour. Immigrants from Nigeria, Ghana, Ethiopia, Somalia, Brazil, Spain, Estonia, France, Italy, Zambia, as well as many local English people. And such indices may be found in many other gyms across London.

Younger people tend to come here after 12 o'clock. By young I mean, under 35's. The older and wiser, rise early. This society hardly notices them. The beauty and arts industry cares for those with fresh faces. This is the era of age bashing.

"Are you between 18- 25? Please ring such and such a number for a job and fashion shoot." You have been warned.

This gym in north London is part of a massive sports centre built in the mid 80's for the deprived black and poor community. Although you may find people of all races here, it is cheaper than the plush gyms in more affluent areas of the city. You pay around £ 2.50 per session which is reasonable for the average person. Its facilities have a huge swimming pool, restaurant; children play centre, various sports courts (basketball, table tennis, squash) and a library. One of the most positive sides of today's developed world is the fact that people live longer. A healthy life standard does not merely come by having money and clean surroundings but by caring for one's health too.

At the weight-lifting area of the gym, Patesh's voice is still rhyming in its un-mistakable "Patois" twang.

"My children and dem friends complain dem have no time to come to the gym. But they still find time to visit the bar for a few hours, daily."

Another elderly laughs. "Laziness man, excuses…" he chimes.

Patesh is encouraged: "Which is not a sin, but what "exce-ssive drinking" does to you is reduce your life span. Look at me. I am here five times a week an' me don care wha' people say. I feel good"

He reminds some of us of the James Brown song and memories of teenage days when the "Godfather of Soul" was strumming that "funk" sound drift back. Memories of me jogging in 1982 with a girlfriend in the streets of Africa suddenly flush back. I recall how exercise was ridiculed and still is world-wide.

I can still hear the chants: "Look at her behind! It is shaking so well"

On and on: "You two when you finish, go to bed!"

Of course we shall, but the chief reason we jogged together was she got too scared to do it alone. Now, 20 years later, in London, I listen to the jokes of Patesh and his 66 years old mate. Frank a pensioner with bad knees, has been told by his doctor to toughen quadriceps and hamstrings, the thigh muscles that support his knee ligaments.

Frank is teasing another 70 year plus old man, from Nigeria.

"I use Viagra!" says Frank without caring whether the older women in the gym are listening.

"I don't need it!" retorts the scowling Nigerian man.

A woman laughs. "Every day I hear men saying they don't use Viagra, but doctors and chemists say Viagra is selling like hot cakes. Then it must be ghosts buying them!"

"The female Viagra is out too, you girls can start having fun like us!" shouts Patesh grinning.

Everyone laughs.

"Who are you calling "girl", me or them?" asks an older woman pointing her chin towards younger females using the treadmill.

"You are the one for me" taunts Frank struggling on the leg press machine.

The lady in question rolls her eyes. More laughter.

"Young man?" One of the older guys yells at me, "You don't need Viagra yet, do you?"

What can I say? Have I reached their hill yet? The climb is still groovy.