I am going to fill tonight’s diary entry with an unashamed marketing venture. If you do not wish to be a victim of subtle online sales techniques then you had better switch it off and come back tomorrow.
As you know, I do not use these pages to advertise stuff. In the early days I thought about it, as a way of making it all pay for itself, but decided on the whole that it would be like giving somebody else a little piece of my life. I could not tell you about dog wee and then expect somebody to advertise their yoghurt on the same page, for example.
Hence I resolved that advertising would not be the way forward, and that I would write diaries for everybody’s happy reading, not to make extra cash. Extra cash would have been jolly handy at times, but on the whole I have not regretted it.
However, today I have changed my mind.
I am going to try and sell you something.
There is still time to switch off and go back to Facebook. You do not have to be click bait.
I was pleased with the last sentence. It shows that I have been paying attention to the concerns of the high-tec society. I can speak the language.
Anyway, back to the hard sell.
As you all know, if you have been paying attention, Number One Daughter is off to something called the Regional Championships in her sport of choice. This is called Cross Fit. It is a competition to find the fittest people in the world, and involves doing difficult things more often than anybody sensible would ever wish to. She lifts weights and jumps on and off things and swings on trapezes and generally dashes about.
It would appear that she does this better than most people. She has done very well in the first heats of the Regionals. I was relieved about this, because whilst the heats were taking place I kept in touch to find out how she was getting on. It was difficult to listen to her anxiously bemoaning her lack of physical achievement. I know all about lack of physical achievement, being the sort of person who thinks that it is a long way to run to the end of our alley.
When I think of the word ‘regional’ I think of somewhere like the East Midlands, or South Yorkshire, but in the case of Cross Fit this is not what they are talking about. They have divided the world up into eighteen regions, like Central Europe, and Eastern Canada, and the Middle East. There are heats to find out who is the fittest in each region, and then the fittest twenty from each goes on to the regional championships.
Number One Daughter is currently placed fourth in our region, which is Northern Europe, out of thirteen thousand entrants.
This is jolly fit. She has got a lot of muscles and does not get out of puff walking up the stairs, even if she is carrying the hoover.
She is going to go to the Regional championships to compete against the fittest athletes from a couple of other regions.
The winners will go to America in the summer to compete against a handful of other very fit people who won the Regional Championships in their part of the world.
Number One Daughter does not think that she will win, because a lot of the other competitors are full time professional athletes, and she is not. She is a soldier and determined parent of Ritalin Boy and occasional reluctant housewife. She has got other things to do as well as lifting weights, like taking the dog for a walk and cooking burgers for Ritalin Boy and pegging the washing on the line, and remembering to lock the parade ground.
Since she is not a professional athlete she has got to raise the cash to go all by herself. She has been down the back of the sofa and taken all the empty lemonade bottles back to the corner shop, but still does not have enough.
However, a company who manufactures sportswear has come up with a collection of sporting vests and T-shirts with her name on them, and every time they sell one she gets some of the cash.
I do not imagine that the readership of these pages is particularly inclined to wear sporting apparel. Indeed, I am acquainted with some of my readership, and she might have more success trying to sell them slippers.
Nevertheless I have offered to put my small weight behind the sales venture and advertise on these pages.
There are some pictures at the top.
If anybody would like to purchase a T-shirt proclaiming the wonderfulness of Number One Daughter, the link is below.
I shall be purchasing one. I shall wear it at other times as well as when I am doing exercise, otherwise I will never get my money’s worth out of it. Don’t let a preference for physical inactivity stop you. You can buy one and wear it as pyjamas, if you are the sort of person who wears pyjamas, which I am not.
I am sorry not to have told you anything exciting about my day, but it wasn’t all that interesting anyway. I worked late last night and after my run I sloped off back to bed instead of hoovering out my taxi, which is the thing that I should have done.
After that I cooked a risotto to feed Mark for the week.
I told you it wasn’t anything thrilling.
I have spent ages messing about trying to add a link, but nothing happened when I pressed it, and I have got cross with it now. Instead, please go to www.hybryd.fit and look for the Team Spence T-shirts. They say Hybryd on the front, which is tiresome, because of the spelling, but I am sure you can live with it if I can.
LATER NOTE: It turns out that kindly people would like to help but don’t feel that a Team Spence T shirt is appropriate to their sartorial style. I have nagged Number One Daughter into creating a Just Giving page, to which she has reluctantly agreed, and the link to donate is here. https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/charlotte-spence
