IT'S my little girl's wedding day. I'm walking her up the aisle, and I'm a bald, fat man, struggling to catch my breath. This is a nightmare I have from time to time and it's one I'm determined will not become a reality. Baldness, I can't help. Fatness, I can do something about - so I've joined a gym.

To ease the boredom, I either daydream wildly or I eavesdrop on other people's conversations.

So, there I was on the rowing machine, imagining I was Steve Redgrave, but still managing to listen to two older men who were chatting while working out on adjacent weight machines.

It slowly became clear that they were the fathers of teenage daughters and their conversation went something like this: Dad Number One: "I swear the other night she came downstairs in a dress...well, it wasn't a dress...it was a piece of cloth about six inches wide...I said to her, I said 'There's no way you're going out like that - you look like a tart'...I mean, she might as well have just gone out in a pair of knickers...and the make-up...you should have seen the make-up...lipstick and mascara everywhere...I said to her mother 'Will you tell her she can't go out like that' and do you know what, her mother just looked up from the paper and said 'Take no notice love, you look lovely'...so what do I know, I'm just her bloody father aren't I?"

Dad Number Two: "Aye, I know what you mean. Our Tracey came home with a boy for the first time the other day...well, what a gormless sod...shaved head and a tattoo...just stood there in the hall scratching his crotch...never said a word...just stood there scratching...couldn't believe it...it's frightening mate, frightening." I was so distracted I missed out on my fifth successive Olympic gold and I was still thinking about the terrifying prospect of being the father of a teenage girl, as I headed for the shower.

I had soap in my eyes, but I heard someone else come in to use the shower opposite mine and I heard him curse under his breath, in a manner that can't be repeated. As I rinsed the soap away, I saw him walk towards me, stark naked, and, for a second, I thought I was going to be mugged or worse.

"Scuse me mate, couldn't have a dollop of your shampoo could I?" he asked in a tired, croaky voice.

"I wasn't going to argue - not without my trousers on - so I gave him a handful of my Wash 'n Go, sincerely hoping he would.

I couldn't help noticing that he looked shattered: familiar dark rings under his eyes, pale complexion, confused and distant expression.

"I brought the wrong bottle," he explained, holding it up to show me, "this is the lotion for the baby's nappy rash." I suddenly had great empathy with the exposed and fragile figure before me.

The gym had given me a nightmarish glimpse into the future and a sobering reminder of the past.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

John, aged five, from Guisborough, had been learning about Vikings.

He turned to his mum and said: "Mum, were you ever raped and pillaged by the Vikings?" "No, I'm not old enough," replied his mum.

"Mmm," pondered the child, "they couldn't have raped and pillaged grandma either - they'd never have got her over their shoulders."

* Tickets go on sale next week for "An Evening With Dad At Large" at the Hallgarth Golf and Country Club near Darlington, on May 30. Dinner, Dad At Large talk, and a chance to get a signed copy of the new Dad At Large book. Watch out for details in The Northern Echo