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Pulsing disco lights. Thumping dance music. Lithe bodies in motion, sleek in the latest designer styles. Whoops and hand claps. Serotonin levels spiking. Air heavy with pheromones. And, in the thick of the action, your intrepid longevity columnist, schvitzing like a senior citizen trapped in a sauna.
Not, alas, a scene from a glitzy bacchanalian nightspot in the early hours of a Saturday morning. Instead, on a blameless Thursday lunchtime in the genteel London suburb of Richmond upon…
