Early nights and veg

Can I ask you a quick question?

 

Am I boring? 

Just tell me if I am. I can take it, honestly.

Yesterday The Boyfriend said the following:

“Life with you is all early nights and (long pause) veg.”

Early nights and veg?

I’m 28. This does not sound good.

I mean it’s probably true that since our shacking up The Boyfriend’s vegetable intake has increased. We do eat a lot of broccoli.

And yes, ok, I like eight hours uninterrupted sleep. As I have a job to get up and go to, this usually involves going to bed somewhere around 11pm.

But does this make me boring? Isn’t this what everyone does?

Am I eating my five a day and getting enough sleep whilst everyone else’s week is packed full of nights on the town and riotous merriment? I went out two nights in a row last weekend, and it’s taken five days of quiet time to recover and restore my equilibrium.

Nowadays I’m more likely to be worrying about how I will dry the towels, (an ongoing saga) the cost of electricity, or when the optimum time is to exchange my tesco vouchers.

But it’s ok.

By getting enough sleep I am keeping myself well in body and mind. If you never eat any vegetables you will encourage particularly horrible cancers to take up residence in your body and you might die. I am avoiding this by eating my daily broccoli and, in turn, am prolonging The Boyfriend’s life. He should be grateful.

Anyway, the good news is we’ve found a solution to the towels.

We kiss over our new drying rack.  Fade-out. End.

Laughter is the best medicine

You have some friends with whom you have laughed.

I mean really laughed.

Some of those friends came to visit me this weekend, and my face still hurts from all the laughing. My ribs hurt too. I’m not entirely sure why – I think it had something to do with the ceilidh – but I can’t be certain.  

With these friends I’ve had some high-jinx.

I have fallen off a cliff whilst abseiling, almost been washed out to sea on a raft-building exercise and been stranded (in a tent) on a remote island when rough seas stopped the ferries.

Actually, now I’m writing this, perhaps I should give up outdoor pursuits before something serious happens.

You just can’t make this stuff up. I often wonder why anyone would write fiction when what actually happens is so amazing. And what did we do, in every instance? We laughed.

Hang on a minute, what kind of friends would laugh when you fell off a cliff? Come to mention it, one of them even took the time to photograph the moment for prosperity.

Anyway.

How about you? When did you last laugh until you lost your breath? I’m not suggesting you need to almost drown on a raft; but what if, just for today, you were to throw in at least a few extra laughs? Maybe even a couple of real happy long ones, so hearty that someone else starts laughing too? Your workmates won’t know what has hit them.

Laugh often. Laugh until the tears stream down your face and your ribs hurt. Because apparently, laughter is the best medicine.

And considering the quantities of red wine that accompanied it this weekend, it really needs to be.

A sign

This has made my Monday.


I hope it makes you smile as it has me.


Were you waiting for a sign? I hope so.

Crossing a line

I’ve done it.  All jokes aside about cancelling my gym membership, I’ve actually gone and cancelled my gym membership.


I have concluded that the gym is good for neither my bank balance or my health.

 I do not need a gym full of sweaty people to encourage me to lift things, and  whilst I will really miss the infinity pool, with the money I’ll be saving, I might even be able to afford the water rates in my own flat.

When I moved to Edinburgh I went on a ‘tour’ of gyms. One entirely hideous experience saw me visit ‘Curves Gym’ with absolutely no idea what I was letting myself in for. For those who are equally unaware, Curves is really more of a weight management club than a gym. And thus, ‘centre manager’ Claire – who appeared to require a fair amount of weight management herself – grunted incoherently at me while taking my measurements, before announcing that Curves could definitely do something about my ‘back fat’ and enquiring if my family and friends were supportive of my weight loss journey.

 Great. I’d walked into the gym thinking I was pretty much ok, and was walking out a broken (back fat sporting) woman.

 I told you gyms were bad for my health.

 Of course I’ve done the only sensible thing in light of my gym cancellation: I’ve ordered a Cross Trainer for the flat. Yes I will use it. No it will not become a clothes rail.

 The Boyfriend has promised that he will assemble it for me. Please don’t think I am not able, it’s just that I once spent an entire weekend assembling Ikea flat-pack furniture and I’m worried that the flash-backs alone might finish me off.

 So my cross trainer will be delivered on Thursday ready for a spot of resistance training. Let’s see what we can do about that back fat, eh.

It's not that special

So here we are, on day six of a brand new year. I’m sure there are plenty of people still playing with their shiny new, resolutions. Fag packets have been crumpled. Slim Fast purchased. Bathroom scales polished.

But I can’t face New Year’s resolutions. They’re too disappointing. If I’ve been rubbish at something for 28 years, I’m pretty confident that this isn’t the year I’m going to miraculously change. Surely we should all be resolving to stop beating ourselves up.

I ask you; who can even contemplate the Special K diet in bleakest darkest January? You all need help.

Last year for example, I resolved to sort out my finances. And oh, just imagine my hollow laugh. I’m not very good at saving money. But of course I already knew that – who was I kidding?

So I’m looking forward to a resolution free 2012; yes, 2012 has got a nice ring to it.

Actually maybe for 2012 it might be nice to have a little in the pot. Yes, maybe I should take a stab at saving again.

In fact, perhaps the first thing I should do is cancel the gym membership. They extort a ridiculous sum of money from my bank each month that could easily be the foundations of a nest-egg.

But without the gym how on earth will I atone for all the Christmas food I’ve eaten and booze I’ve drunk?

Turns out, I'm going to  have to start the Special K diet.

How many words?

Apologies for the silence. I’ve been offline.

Turns out, the South African adventure took me to a place with no wi-fi, no internet, and no signal. So, I was out of the twittersphere, disconnected from the email and off the blog. Sort of an enforced cold turkey from my Iphone. The poor thing, it couldn’t find a hint of 3G and it didn’t know what had hit it.

As I had begun to project human emotions onto an inanimate object, perhaps a break was timely.

I have only been an Iphone owner for a month or so but I cannot think of an event that has changed my life so radically.

I have become one of ‘those people’ who bumps into people and objects as I walk along, hypnotised by its screen. It flashes, it beeps, it’s just so darn, well, touchable.

One evening, after one such beep, the boyfriend asked  “Is that an alarm because you haven’t touched it in 3 minutes?”

And then it was gone. I had no idea what was happening in the world outside of the Brown Family Holiday.

Facebook missed me at least. Whilst I was away it was sending me emails (which of course I didn’t receive) telling me what I was missing and encouraging me to come back into the fold. 

And what did I miss? Turns out, not a lot.

So, picture the scene, I’m 6000 miles from home, my contact with the outside world is lying dejected in the drawer, and oh, did I mention – there was no TV.

So what does a family of 10 (aged 8 – 85) do over the Christmas season, without a TV?

Well, we made stained glass windows from quality street wrappers, decked the place in paper chains made of newspaper and even turned the wine boxes into a Christmas tree.

But the thing we did most of all, blog readers, was play charades.

Every night. For hours.

As my 85 year old grandfather dived onto the floor to evoke the word ‘collapse’, I almost collapsed of the inevitable heart attack. So, this is what people did before TV. Seems dangerous.

I’ve been back in the country 4 hours. The laptop is on, and of course I had turned my phone on the moment we touched the tarmac.

But now I know I can survive without her, she’s going off in a moment because I’ve got something very important to do. You see, there’s a Christmas special with my name all over it.

OK team, it’s a TV show. 2 words. First word: Downton. Second word: Abbey.