It’s about my reformer Pilates instructor, Taylor, and the way he counts down during difficult poses. Instead of ‘four, three, two, one,’ he shouts, ‘Love, Magic, Joy, Feminism!’ The absurdity of hearing these words screamed at you when you’re hurting is hilarious and exhilarating. Taylor is especially beloved by the yummy mummies of West London, and he’s become something of a muse to me. In my first class, as he lifted my chin during side splits, he told me ‘No queen looks at the floor.’ I’m in awe how he can turn those 60minutes of hell into something like an art form. After his class I really feel like I can take on anything.