I have become fully occupied in trying to make my life perfect.
I am sitting on the taxi rank having come from the gym and the swimming pool. I am showered and perfumed, and aching as if I had just staggered away from ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
It is not at all easy to become thin and fit, especially when one has a predilection for home made bannock spread with plenty of butter and home made black currant jam.
So far I must confess that I have seen no results whatsoever. My trousers are no looser and muscle definition is still a thing of daydreams. All of my wobbling bits still wobble. Most of them wobble a lot.
Onwards and upwards, however, the new Co-op renovation was not built in a day, and all that, and I am persevering.
I am not persevering with much enthusiasm. I do not like running at all. My hips hurt and Lucy’s sports bra is too tight, and even if it fitted perfectly I would still not want to put it on. Purple lycra underwear is not dignified.
Despite this absence of excitement I burned up a hundred and thirty one calories, bouncing along the horrible jogging machine and sliding up and down some contraption that I thought might be intended to simulate rowing. After that I went for a swim, it was just like doing a sort of low-speed triathlon. The swim was not very fast because I was beginning to feel burn-out. This is a difficulty that affects athletes if they overdo things. I shall have to be careful.
I even started the day with some exercise. Once Mark had buzzed off to work I felt sorry for the dogs, who have been house captives for weeks now. Instead of our usual gentle amble around the Library Gardens, we had a brisk trot across the recreation ground and up on to School Knott, which is the stretch of fell between our house and the farm.
We did not go very far up School Knott, because they have been felling trees. In order not to have to widen the gateways they have been dragging all the timber out with horses, and the ground has turned into a vast, sodden sea of mud.
We did not go far before I realised that I was completely spoiling the effects of yesterday’s dog-bathing activities, and the dogs were fast becoming black and repellent. I chased them through a couple of puddles to try and rinse them off a bit, which I can tell you was not a brilliant solution, and we set off for home. I was not sorry about this really, because it was snowing, with a scarf-penetrating wind. I was glad to be back home and warm.
After that I turned my attention back to housework, because of some weeks of shameful neglect. You might remember that I hoovered yesterday. I hoovered again today, and still had to empty the hoover three times. I am fast becoming an ex-animal lover.
I am on the taxi rank eating biscuits now, it is very quiet and I am not at all sorry. I am trying to work out a plan of action for being in Manchester by nine o’clock to assert myself on Friday morning. The camper van has still got inadequate brakes, so I can’t take that, and unless I make enough money tonight to stay in a Travelodge I think I am just going to have to get up very early indeed.
I am not relishing that thought at all. This trying to be a prison officer is turning into an awful lot of faffing about. Between getting up early and getting athletic burn out my life is becoming very tiring.
There might be a lot to be said for driving a taxi.
I might have another biscuit.
