Incentives

I have bought myself a new bag.  It's very lovely. 

I ordered it yesterday lunchtime, it was delivered by the postman this morning.  That's what I call service.

It came from here.  Take a look, I can recommend them wholeheartedly. 

The new bag is a reward for me.  I have decided to take affirmative action about being a fat porky bastard, and have joined a slimming group.  Mr WithaY and I refer to it as "Fat Club."  And the first rule of Fat Club is that we don't talk about Fat Club.

Even so, I will just tell you about it now and then shut up about it for a while.

I intend to lose about 4 stone, which will take me back out of the "Morbidly Obese, Likely To Need A Fire Crew And Specialist Haulage Equipment To Get You Out Of The Bath Soon" category.  The bag is my reward for having been brave enough to sign up and go along.  It's a big deal for me, and I am feeling really positive about it. 

I want people I know to come up to me and say "Have you decreased in mass?" after a few more weeks.

I have made a list of other things* I plan to use as incentives.  Pedicures, manicures, getting my hair done, going to a nice spa, buying a pretty, proper girlie coat rather than the huge, comfy, warm, practical shooting coat I currently wear everywhere.  I will give myself a reward every time I lose half a stone (7lbs, American readers.)

By the time we go to America in June I intend to be noticably slimmer.  Mind you, the food over there was so superb when we went before that I will probably come waddling back even fatter than I am now.  I shall crash through that bridge when I come to it.

*None of them involve chocolate.

Holidays

Ah, Sundays.  Lazy days for staying in bed till gone 10, drinking tea and reading John Wyndham novels.  Well, that's how my morning went, anyway. 

It's been a very pleasant week, one way and another.  Wednesday was an especially grand day.  To celebrate my lovely Mum's birthday, we had a huge family get-together* where went out at lunchtime for a Chinese meal.    There were ten of us, almost the only customers in the restaurant, and certainly the noisiest.  The food was superb. 

Several of us ordered the special toffee banana for pudding, and the nice lady brought out a platter heaped with large sticky balls of toffee-covered goodness for us.  We watched as she dropped each one into a dish of cold water, making the sticky toffee harden instantly. 

There was a lot of oooh-ing and aaah-ing as the hardened toffee banana balls were piled onto plates, then delighted shrieks** as a second heaped platter appeared and was also given the iced water treatment.  My word they were tasty.  Despite the enormous meal we'd crammed down, we managed to get through pretty nearly all the toffee banana balls. What heroes we are.

Everyone kept saying "It's a bit different from last year," which it was, thankfully.

I was especially amused by my youngest nephew, aged 5, gleefully telling his 12-year-old cousin "Ha, you got pwned by an old Chinese lady!"


He pronounced it "owned" but I knew what he meant.


A slow stroll in the glorious afternoon sunshine back to the car, past an unexpected little grassy area covered in purple crocuses*** and then home for tea and medals.

Mum came back with me to stay for a few days, and we did a lot of not much at all, which was lovely.  The weather was nice, despite many parts of the country getting hammered with more snow.  Mr WithaY came home from work one afternoon and told us there had been blizzards.  We'd had clear skies and bright sun all day, about 5 miles away.  Very odd.  It's cold though.  I expect tomorrow it will snow, in time to make my trip to work even slower and more tiresome than usual.  Bah.

Other news:  The cleaners came on Friday, and did their thing, leaving the house tidier and smelling fainly of Mr Sheen.  One of them asked: "Where did you get that from?" pointing at the bulb of garlic hanging up in the kitchen. 

"Just from Morrison's I think," I said, bemused.  "Why?"

"Oooh, I've been looking for one of those!  It looks so smart with just one garlic there, not lots of them.  I wonder if there are any more in the shop?"

"Um.  When we bought it there were lots of garlic bulbs on it.  We've just used them all up except that one."

She was most disappointed. 

Also, we have booked our holiday.  We're off the US of A in June, and will be progressing through Boston, Cape Cod, New Hampshire and Maine for the best part of a month.  Hurrah.  We didn't really have a holiday last year, other than a few days over in the South of France to see mother-in-law WithaY, and as it was a few days after the SSFH**** broke over our heads, showering us with unmitigated shit for the next 6 months, we weren't really in a holiday mood. 

So, we've booked the flights, the airport parking and the hotel in Boston  for a few days when we arrive.  We need to sort out a hire car and possibly a hotel room for the night before we fly home, and the rest of it we will wing. 

I am so excited.  We will go to the New England Aquarium, which is excellent, we will eat clam chowder, and I want to do a Duck Tour. 

Anyone with suggestions for nice places to go in that area, please stick a comment in and let me know.  Unless you're a mad optician, of course.  Then you can fuck right off. 




*A large number of people, as opposed to a group of enormous giants.  Although, we are pretty huge as well, to be fair. 
**Mostly from me, I seem to recall.
***Croci?
****Shit storm from Hades

Fish!

It's been a busy day today.  I am feeling much better, despite coughing till my eyes fall out several times an hour, and to celebrate we shifted furniture about for a while.  Well, I say "we".  In fact, Mr WithaY did it and I flapped about behind him with a duster. 

Oh, reader, the filth!  The FILTH.  We live in disgusting slatternly surroundings, despite the best efforts of the Staff. 

Why are we moving furniture? You may well ask. 

Is it because we are playing some large-scale Chinese puzzle game with the entire house?

Is it so we can get into those really tricky corners for a good hard clean?

Is it so we can finally measure the exact internal dimensions of the sitting room?

No.

We are getting an aquarium.

It is our Christmas present to ourselves, and we are very excited about it.  It will be a tropical freshwater tank; we plan to get lots of small shoaling fish, hopefully ones which will flit about appealingly and not try to kill each other.  We had a  place for it all planned out, till Mr WithaY read one of his new "How Not To Kill All Your Tropical Freshwater Fish Instantly" books, and we learned that the place we had planned to put the tank was almost exactly wrong. 

We readjusted our thinking and decided on the diametrically opposite corner of the room, hence the need to move furniture.  Oh, and now there's nowhere to put the Christmas tree*.  Bugger.

We collect the tank on Sunday, get it set up, and a week after that we can introduce the fish. 

"Fish, tank. Tank, fish." 

Other news:  We listened to the last hour or so of the last ever Terry Wogan breakfast show this morning, and I had a little tear in my eye at the end of it.  Yes, I know.  But he has been a part of my life as long as I can remember, usually in the background to the early morning getting ready for school/college/work panic, and I will miss that.   Not that I listened much of late, either being on the train and unable to, or in my office at home with Planet Rock on, but hey, it's the thought that counts. 

Oh, also:  I saw this, and I agree. It is a tricky ethical area.



*We're really late with everything this year.  If we carry on at this rate, it will be about February before we get the tree up, and August before the mulled wine and sausage rolls make an appearance.

Clean clean

Today I have mostly been tidying up. Not from any sense of shame at the hideous slovenly state of the house - I have managed to suppress that after years of practice.

No, it's to make the place look tidy for next week.

Why?

Because, dear reader, we are finally admitting defeat and addressing The Staff Question. As a result, the WithaY house will benefit from the professional attentions of a cleaner, once a fortnight.

It has been dawning on me over the last few months that doing my new job, which entails 3 14-hour days a week in London and two busy days working at home, I have neither the time nor the inclination to spend the evenings and weekends doing the ironing, washing, cleaning etcetera. Mr WithaY is an absolute star, and does the vast majority of the cooking, but even so there is a lot left to cover.

Mr WithaY is very busy with work too, and away from home a good deal one way and another, as well as having Father-in-Law WithaY's house, garden etc to manage, so he doesn't have the time either.

So, what's the solution? Why, pay someone else to do it, of course.

As a result, I have had that episode of The Simpsons* in my head - the one with Steve Martin, where Homer takes over managing the rubbish disposal, with the slogan "Can't someone else do it?" Maybe it's residual guilt for being too crap to manage my own home.

Regardless of the small inner voice saying "Shame on you, you lazy good-for-nothing hussy, are you not even doing your own ironing now?" I am going ahead, and the cleaner starts next Friday.

Other news: The WithaY courgette harvest is doing well, we have had several off the two plants already, and there are more flowers forming. I have a fine (if small) crop of basil holding its own in the garden, and the chives aren't entirely dead.

There are also several thriving Mystery Plants which we grew from seed. I have no idea what they are, so will take a photo when I remember and see if any of the keen gardeners out there can identify it for me.

They had a Green Day** at work and dished out vegetable seeds, so I took some home, and these were some of the results. I have no idea what they are, as they were in a little screw of paper; I am thinking possibly chard. But I don't know. I tasted the leaves and they aren't obviously poisonous, always a bonus in a vegetable.

The fiery phoenix is still looking mighty fine out in the garden, you'll be glad to hear. I am now eying up Rosemary the Sheep speculatively***.



*"Trash of the Titans" - I love the internet. There's an answer for every question.

**Ecology, not music

***In an art way, not a dodgy West Country sheep-botherer's way.

Progress and plans

Things are improving. I am much relieved. Not entirely coincidentally, my back is on the mend, although I still walk like Igor, making distressed gorilla noises.

I can't get my work laptop to connect up, so am going to take this week as leave. My personal laptop is ok, though, so I can hook up to do stuff like this, and check my email, and look at the BBC website. All most useful.

Middle Sister has come back down, so we are planning to do some more work in Mum's garden tomorrow if it's a nice day. Assuming I can actually bend over and stand up again. It might even get me in the mood to sort out my own garden when I get home.

I am desperate to get the patio replaced. I need to redesign the garden layout, bearing in mind we have several immoveable objects (oil tank, gas cylinders, septic tank, sheds) that we will have to work around, and then find the money to get it done.

I want to have a new drive, rear patio, front patio and raised beds in the back garden with places to sit and have a glass of wine if we ever get another decent summer. All the hard standing around the house is shot to bits, and it's not worth trying to fix it. It all needs to be ripped up, the groundwork sorted out, and then everything replaced. I quite fancy a mixture of stone, gravel and cobblestones. But we will see what fits and how much it all costs.

Plus we need to comply with the new regulations on groundwater and drainage, so we don't flood the entire west of England whenever it rains. So. Plans for the summer.

I also want to plant some fruit bushes, raspberries and redcurrants, maybe some gooseberries. However, in reality I will probably just spend the summer watching the rain and wondering where the mole will make his next appearance.

Mr WithaY has taken to addressing the mole as if they are both World War One fighter pilots. "So, Mr Mole, the day is yours. This time. We shall meet again, my brave adversary."

If it wasn't so funny it would alarm me.

Ho ho ho

I have been out and about in the big city. And it was really rather nice.

Went up to London as usual on Monday morning, had a successful day at work (yay me), then met my mate Tall Richard outside his office for an evening of middle-aged frolicking.

I took the Tube to Embankment, planning to walk over to his office in about 2 minutes from there. As is traditional, I managed to go in completely the wrong direction on leaving the station, wandering up past Charing Cross into the Strand. I navigated by the stars* till I found Downing Street, then made my way to the appointed rendezvous, still slightly early. So no-one need ever know.

We strolled back the way I had just come (making me feel knowledgable and not too touristy) to Champagne Charlie's, where I had a couple of glasses of fizz. I very seldom drink during the week, so it felt like a real treat. Tall Richard had Beer In A Tankard, but disappointingly, he drank it nicely, refusing to quaff it properly.

We both managed to get covered in sawdust (it's all over the floor in there...I may suggest they add glitter for the festive season), then wandered across the road to an Italian restaurant where we had a very nice meal. Tall Richard, having lived in Naples, is unabashed about asking Italian restaurant staff for free liqueurs. Which they gave us with a smile.

We then took the Tube all over London, as there is no interchange at (I think) Embankment, so we had to go up and down several different lines till we were on the right one to get us to the Docklands Light Railway, and out to Shadwell, where Tall Richard lives during the week.

I honestly think it would have been quicker to walk all the way. We went up and down stairs, along endless tunnels, through stations full of commuters, into little secret doorways to vast empty chambers, along platforms, up and down escalators, finally finding a train to take us where we needed to be.

Anyway. We finally arrived at his little flat (which reminded me very much of being a student), had a nice cup of tea and a chat, then fell asleep to the relaxing sound of every police siren in London being let off outside the windows.

As Tall Richard and family live in the wilds of Suffolk, Mr WithaY and I don't see them nearly as much as we'd like, so it was lovely to have a chance to catch up in the middle, so to speak. Apparently next time I have to wear sturdy walking shoes and be prepared for Chinatown and a Blues Bar.

The trip into work the next morning seemed much less complicated, and I was at my desk by 0815, giving me the chance to be first in, and therefore smug as everyone else arrived.

Arrived home last night to find Mr WithaY suffering from a streaming cold, poor bugger. I think it's the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away properly. I am keeping my distance, whilst providing love and support. And cups of tea.

Other news: Who saw this? I wish I'd thought of it first. I could have borrowed all the dogs in the village and made up a husky team, stapled antlers to the bigger ones and called them Reindeer, and got Mr WithaY into a Santa suit.

We could have borrowed one of the farm fields and roped off a bit in the middle for the festive grotto (no photography) and sprayed the whole place with fire extinguisher foam to make it look nice and snowy. Could have paid for a fantastic holiday in the sun.

Next year.





*followed my nose