We’re having a bank holiday weekend.
The weather has been interesting. I have been caught in a hail storm, endured some kind of short, sharp biblical type flood, and am now sweltering with all the doors and windows open.
I’ve given up trying to second guess what to wear and am just rotating through every piece of clothing I own in a desperate attempt to either cool down or warm up.
In other news, I have been spammed by Delia Smith on behalf of the Labour Party. I find that this has incensed me above and beyond all other General Election type indignities including Ed Miliband trying to hit me up for a few quid to help the cause, and seeing Nigel Farage’s froggy face looming up at me out of every newspaper in the land.
Delia is my last straw. Utterly and totally.
I once burned soup following a ‘fool proof’ Delia Smith recipe. Also, my ex-husband regards her as some kind of culinary super hero.
NO. Just NO.
Let us never speak of Delia again.
Tilly went to Prom. She had a lovely time. She looked gorgeous. They had a free ice cream van. I was jealous. But only of the ice cream van.
Tallulah has had her hair cut in quite an experimental style by my lovely friend Jen. She is thrilled with it. I am glad Jen is on hand in case it all goes wrong and she decides it has to go. The perks of having your hairdresser as your friend who only lives up the road are many. Including the fact that she is a native of Mauritius and a fabulous cook, and keeps bringing me amazing food every time she visits.
Jason is currently scamping in a wet field in Derby. He has had a crashing headache and lost the crown on his tooth, but apart from that it has all gone very well, apparently. I thank the baby Cheezus every day that I do not have to accompany him on his camping escapades. It sounds like pure purgatory to me.
On my fasting thing front:
I have no idea how much I weigh, having abandoned the scales completely because I was driving myself needlessly insane. My clothes fit better. That is good enough for me.
I am feeling pretty good about things. I went down to two days of fasting a week this week. I have not noticed any ill effects at all. My energy levels have righted themselves after the week of my period.
I am still exercising. I am doing at least ten thousand steps a day still. It is no hardship.
I am also swimming. I took this up last Sunday. I used to swim all the time as a ‘youth’, and then stopped and never really got back into stride. There were several reasons for this:
Small children – I hate standing in communal pools up to my tits in freezing water while a child in a swim nappy bounces in my arms. This is not swimming. This is torture.
Changing Room Reluctance – I still struggle with this. Wet swimming pool tiled floors, clumps of hair, verucca socks, wet toilet seats etc. The list of indignities of communal changing rooms is fierce and endless as far as I’m concerned. I have to steel myself to bear it.
If I am in the water, and can swim uninterrupted I love swimming. Always have. I have seriously got back into my swimming groove this week, and apart from the ongoing hideousness of the changing rooms, and the black eyes my goggles have given me which make me look like a deranged and sleep deprived weasel, all is well.
I am not a speed swimmer, never have been. I am a slow, methodical plodder. It is very much like meditation for me. I only think of the next breath, counting the next lap, and not running into my fellow swimmers. It is very peaceful.
I only missed two days since last Friday and I have gone from 40 lengths last Sunday to really hitting stride today, swimming 130 lengths early this morning when the kids were still in bed. It felt like magic. I’m still vaguely euphoric.
I don’t know if I’ll keep it up at this pace, but I’m going to try to swim every day if I can, and if it means I can eat more cake, then hoorah and huzzah.