Before you even start to wonder, I have messed up my fitness regime completely.
I have now got no chance of becoming lean and sporting muscular definition by the day after tomorrow.
I missed the gym today.
This is very rubbish indeed, I have only got to go for three days and I have missed one third of them.
It all started to go wrong when I decided to work last night. Obviously I have got to go to work because of buying dog food and paying school fees and spending money on reckless extravagance. Mark worked as well, up until about eleven, when he buzzed off home and went to bed.
I stayed out until almost four o’ clock in the morning. Then I came home and had a shower and went to bed. It was very late by then,
I felt rubbish this morning when the alarm went off at half past six. I had to practically chew up the coffee grains from the bottom of my cup before I could haul myself out of bed to get dressed.
I made Mark’s dinner and flask and waved goodbye to him.
Then I emptied the dogs.
Then I washed up.
Then I put the washing on.
Then I realised that we were at the end of the loaf, so I made some more bread, and a walnut and cherry cake for Mark to take to work and have with his flask. Then I remembered that we needed to refill the freezer with some more cooked dinners to be defrosted and put in Mark’s flask in the mornings.
We didn’t have any onions, so I went to the shop. The Co-op is still shut, so it had to be Sainsbury’s. I am cross with Sainsbury’s because since the Co-op has closed they have stopped doing special offers on anything and do not seem to stock their own brand discount things any more. I understand this perfectly well. I would do exactly the same if I had a massive supermarket giant retail cash-printing business, but it is irritating anyway.
Whilst I was out I posted some things to Number Two Daughter and agreed with the man in the post office that I was probably single-handedly paying his wages in postage to my children.
I cooked half a corned beef casserole before realising that I couldn’t quite focus on what I was doing. I took the dogs for another walk, came back home and put myself to bed.
When I woke up it was starting to go dark.
By the time I had finished the casserole and washed up it had gone dark and Mark rang to tell me that he was coming home.
I could hardly make an excuse and slope off to the gym then: but it gets worse.
Mark came home and said that since he loves me and it was Tuesday, which is too rubbish for work, he thought that he would like to take me out. I knew that I had better not say that I would prefer to go to the gym, because it would not have been true. I do not wish to tell fibs to my husband.
I thanked him for his thoughtfulness. Instead of going to the gym we went to the pub. We went to a beautiful new modern moodily-lit tourist attraction in Bowness. This is called Baha. It was going to be called The Purple Octopus until some teenagers explained to everybody that this has a hidden meaning with its roots in exotic Japanese pornography. Nobody thought that this mattered until it was realised that everybody’s children, my own included, had seen the relevant film and thought that the name was a huge joke. I have never seen any Japanese pornography but apparently there are octopuses in it. I shall leave you to consider that at your own leisure.
Baha was lovely. We had a Sharing Platter. This looked really interesting, because the menu was written in excitingly gourmet language, which meant that we had no idea what half the things on it were going to be. In the end it turned out to be sausages and coleslaw with a scotch egg, only the gourmet sort, obviously, because it cost twelve quid. The mysterious aioli appeared again. I know now that this is garlic yoghurt, and thought happily how sophisticated I have become.
We had a glass of wine, and an Irish coffee. This is a gorgeous sugary concoction with whisky and buckets of whipped cream, which was just what I needed to round off my enormous dinner. Afterwards we popped round the corner to visit the lodger at work.
We waved to the taxi drivers and walked up the road to the cinema, where we watched a splendid film about PT Barnum, who heroically dashed back into a fire to rescue his best friend, hurrah for being American. If ever I am in an emergency and there are some Americans about I shall have no need to worry. They do it in every single film, they must get taught it in school.
Instead of going swimming and to the gym I have eaten loads, drunk too much, and spent the evening in the cinema eating Rolos.
I don’t care if I am too fat and idle to run up and down a bleeping gym. I am having a lovely life and now I am going to bed.
Perhaps I will get to the gym tomorrow.
Have a picture of the Lake District.
