I had to get up today and go out, and do a full day’s work and consort with real, functioning people, all of whom have jobs – and worse than jobs, careers.
It was terrifying.
I got quite stressed out about it and flew about the bedroom flinging clothes hither and yon. I finally tried on the dress I wanted to wear, decided I was probably too fat for it (I am not. Hello! Woman paranoia in bloom) and started galloping across the landing to weigh myself just to add further to the self punishment and loathing vibe I had going on this morning. Why not kick yourself when you’re down? That’s what I always say.
Half way across the landing I realised I had thrown the scales in the bin last week and they are probably covered in potato peelings in a land fill somewhere now, weighing rats and their rat babies.
I reversed my steps and stood in front of the mirror. I then had a very stern talk with myself about shutting the fuck up and positive body image. The shouting the fuck up bit worked really well, and I kept the dress on, teamed it with my new scarlet Docs and some very glittery and entirely too inappropriate eye make up and flounced out the door.
I spent the day in City Hall with a bunch of health care professionals and councillors and MPs listening to people talking about the future of the NHS in Leicester City.
We did brainstorming of things we could do to make it less bleak.
I try to behave at events like these. Really I do, but they are sometimes a bit much, and everyone is so serious and people use too much jargon and management speak and there are too many flip charts and power point slides, and not enough rushing around in capes saving the world and shouting.
So, for a lot of the time I was very good, and then there were the times when I made it very plain that I was distressed at the lack of biscuits to keep my strength up (about every twenty minutes). There was also the time I suggested bank robbery as an option to fund the NHS. It was frowned upon, but personally I think it’s a good idea. The banks have too much of other people’s money and the NHS doesn’t have enough. Also, bank robbing is good, physical exercise. You can probably do your ten thousand steps easy, robbing a bank. And knitting of balaclavas could be done in occupational therapy. What’s not to like?
Someone will now invent bankercise won’t they? This is how life works. If they get rich off the back of my idea, I will be pig sick about it.
Anyway, I was as good as I could be, and only mildly disappointed by the fact that Keith Vaz was due to come and share his wisdom with us at 3.00 p.m. but was unavoidably detained. I may have said to my table that I would never get my questions about my washing machine answered now. I may not.
I totally did.
To cheer myself up one the way home I diverted into Superdrug and bought more sparkly and entirely inappropriate make up for a woman of middle age. Then I ate a packet of Refreshers, and now I’m going to watch Parks & Rec.
That’s what the NHS needs.