The door to the gymnasium opened, and a man in his early 50s walked in.
He was dapperly dressed in a cream-coloured three-piece suit, pale pink shirt, burnt orange tie and gleaming dark brogues. His black hair was styled in a rakish quiff, and his goatee beard was neatly trimmed. A red rose was pinned to his left lapel.
In the middle of the gym, a large white birthday cake, topped with fruit, sat on a table. Accompanied by a chorus of "Happy Birthday," the man broke into an exaggerated strut, showily pumping his arms for effect, before elegantly twirling and stretching out his right hand in a theatrical flourish.