They make me laugh, these wiry, late-middled aged women sitting on the steps of El Arsenal – an expensive and exclusive gym in our district, priced strategically to ensure the riff-raff keep walking on at a swift pace and on the other side of the street, thank you very much! – as they draw hard on slim Davidoffs and text furiously on their mobile phones, no doubt taking a well earned break from the stress of the treadmill. They have clearly been under the knife so many times their faces have become caricatures of their former selves. A little game of mine is to deconstruct all the surgery in my mind’s eye and to try and find the woman behind the mask.