If it wasn’t enough having my conscience nagging me, I’ve not got Duncan Goodhew on my case. 😉
Ho hum… see you when I get back from the pool.
(Incidentally, while I am sure the person in question does not read this blog, if it should so happen that they do, I would like to say a tremendous THANK YOU to the fantastic family who sent me, out of the blue, the most beautiful bunch of flowers – delivered by the sweetest delivery man ever – this morning and totally blew me out of the water, metaphorically speaking. Goodness knows what I’ve done to deserve such a wonderful gift, but I am so grateful and my day has suddenly become a million times brighter!)
I am, I am getting ready to go swimming.
I’m busy assembling my swimming bag and champing at the bit to get to the pool on time.
Oh bother it, why does getting fit take so much energy? Why did I make a deal with my son that if he resists smoking, I’ll resist the temptation to miss swimming? Why does swimming have to involve a) going to the pool, b) getting undressed into a costume that makes me look like a beached whale, c) entering freezing cold water, d) getting dry and dressed again afterwards? I can do the middle bit, the actually swimming up and down for half an hour, and would even go so far as to say I really quite enjoy it (more than any other form of exercise, and that’s for certain!) but it’s surrounded by so much bleugh!
It’s been a sort of non-starter of a morning anyway. The Smudgelets “forgot” to do the dishwasher before they left for school, the carer’s alarm didn’t go off and so she arrived half an hour late, Dad was in a “switching off every time you walk away from him” state again (i.e. you hand him his glass of water and his tablets while you go to take the tray of dirty dishes next door to the dishwasher, and when you return they’re still there in his hand and he’s waiting to know what to do next!”), and my friend M who drags me off swimming is poorly and can’t go, so I have to rely on my own motivation.
On my what? What a stupid thing to say. On my own conscience would be more appropriate as that’s the only thing that’s going to get me to the point of ploughing (you can plough slowly, can’t you?) up and down the slow lane in a stately, if lugubrious, manner this morning.
Anyone for coffee?