Usual causes: family history, carrying too much weight, no core strength, and a lack of flexibility that makes me the inverse version of the Indian rubber man.

I play a bit of tennis which doesn't help much either. But I do win a lot so if the choice is giving up the thump of the yellow ball and industrial strength quantities of voltaren afterwards then it's a choice I refuse to make. "Sorry Back".

Which brings me to the solution some have suggested.

Yoga.

Excellent reasons why: flexibility (well, that's a given), core tummy strength, and more girls to men in any class than you'd find on an old episode of Prisoner (whatever happened to The Freak?).

But, and a big but, I can't bring myself to commit (admittedly a problem in many areas of my life but a very particular one with Yoga).

Yoga feels like mung beans and group hugs. It feels like buying a Prius or saving the whales (what would whale taste like? Please tell me not like chicken. Everyone says that). It feels like one of those feel good Myers-Briggs exercises HR departments routinely inflict on employees to decide whether someone is a ‘crafter' or ‘composer' or ‘healer' or ‘architect' or ‘ear wax sculptor' or whatever silly label they decide to pin on the poor sods forced to kneel at the feet of that fraudulent pseudo science.

Still, all stupid fears when, potentially, a pain free back awaits me.

But I just can't go there. It's a yoga-no-go-go for me I'm afraid.

You see I'm a bloke. If I can refer to the earlier tennis reference, I like exercise involving balls and scoring points against a (preferably) down-trodden and beaten opponent. It motivates me and makes me feel good. Very good. Yoga, at least from this distance, doesn't provide that.

But it would if the rules were changed. Competitive Yoga. Point Scoring Yoga. Now you have my interest. If, for example, it was me and him (or her) in a competitive mano v mano (or womano) situation then I'd be on.

Big time.

Give me the motivation of a Backward Barking Dog Facing The Sun that scores more points than the Backward Barking Dog Facing The Sun of my (preferably) down-trodden and beaten opponent and then I'd be turning up for yoga Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Friday would be for drinking and bragging.

"How'd you go", my long-suffering girlfriend would ask?

"Oh I towelled him. He came out strong with his "Greet the Morning" but I knew he'd fade once I whipped out my "Reach the Moon."

"What a woosss".

Competitive point scoring Yoga. Now we're speaking. Speaking of which, the best sledge I was ever taught is a golfing one. Just as your opponent is addressing the ball, just as they're about to wind up and hit, ask this: "er, sorry to butt in but it's been bothering me but at the exact moment you strike the ball are you breathing in or out?"

Never fails. Think about it.

But back to Point Scoring Yoga. Why stop there? There are so many things blokes don't do but should do and would do if there were points involved. Like annual bowel cancer tests. Or, to be blunt, the finger up the bum. It's so important but so, well, undignified. Yet if points were involved - if there was victory or defeat riding on it (which, I suppose, in a very real sense there is) - blokes would be queueing up for the digit dial up.

"Sir, I have gloved up. Are you ready? Your last opponent scored a mighty ten on this test with a grip that was of professional standard. Can you beat him?"

"Can I what! Insert away old man. I will blast his record into oblivion."

You get the point. As would he.

An aside - and a true story - I once went to the pub with my doctor, a man fond of the drink. With us were three mutual mates. Over his third frothy schooner our doctor friend glanced at all four of us then stood up and loudly addressed the pub, "do you realise I've stuck my finger up the bum of each and every one of these men." How uncomfortable did I feel? And not for the first time. So much for Doctor-Patient confidentially.

So there you go, my solution for males ignoring the onset of age, pain and the remedies they need but fail to embrace. Make it a game. Make it competitive. And serve sledging on the side.