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Showing posts from January, 2010

Feeling Fretful

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Well, my case is packed at last so there’s nothing to do except have a good old fret about what could go wrong. For a spot of diversion therapy I had my nails done for only the third time in my life (and didn’t realise I was supposed to sit around for hours waiting for them to dry – the manicurist nearly fainted when I said I was going home to pack) and I had to have an emergency haircut when I mysteriously turned into Crystal Tips over the weekend.

That’s it, I guess, time to stop fretting and start looking forwards...

Late Note

In a week's time we'll be on our way! I hope to squeeze out a quick blog before I go, especially if Ma's right about the cheap package tours (mustn't forget to put my head between my knees and kiss my a*se goodbye before boarding) but it's amazing how much stuff needs to be done before then... like allowing three hours for talking to deliver one spare key to our next-door neighbour and plenty of time for a heated debate in the factory outlet shop in Cardigan about whether or not to spend £5 on a travel plug.

One small piece of news, before I return to the OU TMA which needs urgent attention... I had a first peep of what the cover of Turning The Tide will look like, last night! Now I'm really excited about seeing the final version!

Skippity Do Dah... And a Farewell

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The weeks of being surrounded by roads masquerading as rivers or ski-runs have blown away my training schedule for the Llanelli half in March. We left the nearest gym when they doubled the membership fee, but let the equipment fall apart. It’s not much fun jockeying for the last working running machine only, should you manage to set foot on it, to be circled by folks tutting and sighing if you dare to use it for more than five minutes. Mind you, since we can’t get out the road it wouldn’t really matter if we had a fully-equipped free gym with a bank of running machines, I still wouldn’t be able to use them.

In the meantime I’ve taken up skipping; I bought the rope some time ago in Lidl, fondly remembering how much I liked skipping when I was a little girl. Desperate to get some exercise, I dragged it out again. After two minutes I was totally knackered and my calf muscles felt as if they’ve been cut in half! Sheesh! I’m now up to a very hard won fifteen minutes, but I shall be q…

Changing Times, Times Square

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‘I think we should sell the boat,’ says Tom.
I give him a hard stare just to make sure it’s the real Tom speaking and not some alien trying to impersonate him.
‘We’re just not getting the use out of it; the weather’s been rubbish, it’s not the easiest coast to sail and you’re scared all the time – where’s the fun in that?’
All true, but sailing is Tom’s love and I’ve always accepted that. So we sit and discuss alternatives; retain the ‘playing houses’ bit that I love by trying a caravan, buying a small fishing boat in which to ‘potter’ (see ‘we’re just not... etc’ above). Anyway, since boats hang around on the market for years, the first job is to see if the boat will sell. It does. Instantly.

‘Come to the beach,’ says Tom.
I’m not sure I want to; there’s a bitter wind and I’m nice and snugly, but, hey, there’s something wrong if you can’t be bothered to go to the beach with the person you love.
‘I don’t think we should rush into buying anything,’ he tells me. ‘I think we should go t…