Fatso.

Still on the Aberdeen prompted healthkick. The three mile walk with dog is now a regular thing, an this morning we completed it and were back for branflakes and banana by 8.30 ish. How virtuous I feel. If you ignore last nights red wine swimathon. Oh and the night befores Thai fest.

Sigh.

Still, I really haven't 'sinned'. This terminology makes me want to heave. Some foods good, some food bad, treats are measured in sins - or, syns. Like a chummy y will make the difference. It's thinking in terms of good and bad that makes people fat for chrissakes. (Well, that and ramming in cream horms at any and every opportunity). Anyway, I am not following the diet of the particular Fat Fucks club that I am attending, only going there to goggle at ginormos balancing on weeny scales, and of course to get weighed myself on their super duper digital whale harness. Will see how much I have shed/gained this week. Seems to me that my clothes are looser, which is a Good Thing.

Now, crispbread time.

Yum.

I am putting this here as much for me as for anyone else that stumbles across it. I heard it last night on Colin Murray (no idea, but glad I did is my answer), as I drove home late. Worth a listen - stay with it. It made me laugh out loud.

Dinner

was lovely. Loads of hooting laughter, names not heard for decades bandied left and right, as though we were still there in 1974. Of course then, I was 10 and he was 20 something. He was my teacher.

Everyone has one of those teachers, those special ones that somehow get to you and make you shine. The ones that you recall all of your life, the ones who made you want to go to school, those shiny apple teachers. This one is my old friend now. I can call him that - we've stayed in touch over the 32 years that have passed since he taught me. I remember him bribing me with Tin Tin books to learn my times tables. He used to send the mothers atwitter, standing at the school gates, in american tan tights, (the mothers, not him) a veritable fan club.
He used to sit on his desk with his legs crossed - the other teachers frowned at him I know. We loved him. Tonight was the first time we've seen each other to talk properly, face to face, for 21 years. I can scarcely believe it. Older now, bald, but still twinkling, and instead of leaping on and off his desk, he bounds around pouring wine and yelling VENN DIAGRAMS! What the HELL was that about? Will you ever FORGIVE me?

Absolutely.

Chat Room


Mum - You know that pub in (your village), The Angel?

Pesk - Yes...?

Mum - Geoff was telling me, there's a conversation order on it.

Pesk - I'm lost for words.

Bastro. R.I.P.

There's only so much a woman can take. After catching Bastro hosting some kind of stag weekend in my sunflowers, I got a stick and flicked him and his mates out and through the metal staging grids. It was like kerplunk.
Sad, but it had to be done.

This blog will return to normal service sometime soon. Glandula feva is in da house and frankly, it's interfering with normality.