Six intrepid GoodGymers braved a cold dark January night to help Tottenham Community Sports Centre. We got stuck in with plenty of cleaning, mostly of toilets, but also occasionally of light switches and other GoodGymers. As usual, many hands made light work, and we had everything sparkling in no time.

Being in a gym gave Neil the opportunity to show off his skills on the pull-up bar and then, inspired by his athletic pursuits, we were all put through our paces with an abs workout led by Latoya. We all enthusiastically participated in this and nobody complained. Not once. Promise.

Some evenings feel like just another task. This was not one of those evenings.

This one felt like the Beatles climbing onto the rooftop of Apple Corps without any flashy announcements, without calling it a finale, without any fanfare - just plugging in and playing because that’s what they’d always done. Because tonight we weren’t just playing a familiar tune by clearing the emergency exit at the Stroud Green and Harringay Library but we were also marking our Gramps’ 300th GoodGym task and his final night as Haringey Area Activator, after six years as the band leader.

Six years of setting the tempo. Calling the tune. Keeping the band moving slightly forward with a mix of mishaps, bad puns, and an unnatural ability for mild chaos.

The task itself was perfectly on theme: stripped back, practical, familiar. Sam, Sarah, Latoya, and Paul scraping leaves off the ground like virtuoso rhythm guitar players, Mark, Dave, and Neil firmly escorting overgrown plants off stage. Veronika running fashionably late. The emergency exit, long hidden behind greenery, came back into view, clear, usable, quietly essential. No fireworks. Just the work.

Quite appropriately, we even had time for a mid-set cameo from the Montes Surtees clan, turning up like familiar faces at the edge of the roof, for one more song.

Over those six years, this GG family band did more than play tasks. GoodGym babies joined the world. A myriad of races were run. We performed a strong socially-distanced hum through a pandemic. We wrote our own funereal hymns after the loss of one of our loved ones as we stood together in silence, and then in a lot on noise, because that was the only thing that mattered. And we laughed. A lot.

When the last leaf was cleared, we wandered to Rowans, just like the Beatles kind of did once the police have finally had enough. Drinks were raised. Speeches balanced gratitude and mischief. Karaoke followed, gloriously unpolished, everyone getting a turn at the mic. Gramps was given the most beautiful book, full of memories, that rumour has it, he still hasn't managed to get through it in one sitting.

Like that rooftop concert, it didn’t feel like a goodbye in the moment. Just one last time playing together, above the city, before heading back down into whatever came next. Only later do you realise you were watching the end of something special.

Same Goodgym. Same people. Different verse.

And what a song it’s been.

Love you, fam. And because Nurj would never forgive me if I didn't sign out with it... Boom!