Oooh, ow, ah, eee, groan, ouch. Yesterday evening, instead of eating something as nutritious as Pringles washed down with the best part of a bottle of Soave, I decided to take my large rear round the corner to the world's toughest, sweatiest Zumba class. It hurt whilst I was doing it and now I feel like the Elephant Man. It must be good for me surely?
I am currently planning my next big walk. It's a bit of a stroll compared to my last effort but it is around the Isle of Wight in the Spring when, I hope, the weather will be cheerier. I am very bored with so much rain. I am very bored with my sofa.
Mr Smith is currently reading Tyrant. This should definitely be discouraged. He has become so impossible I have decided to run away to the seaside. I am working tomorrow but maybe I will put the required space between us on Friday and leave him to research bon marche holidays in Tunisia, where there is currently an uprising, (for one).
In the meantime I am performing some experimental cooking - this is always a bit hit and miss. I have a chicken curry up my sleeve (not really as that would be messy and smelly) and a pheasant something or other, that was in the Telegraph, in the planning. I love cooking but not when it goes wrong or they moan or even the dog or starving student won't eat it. I then have a tendency to throw it at people. They have learnt to shut up or stand well back. Sometimes I feel we should just miss out the middle man and chuck it straight into the bin - no I am not letting them off that easily. My effort is your punishment. I am sort of hoping for demotion - I'll be the customer (moaning slob) and you guys can be the chefs. And oven chips or pizza are not food. Actually, I am a good cook but, as good cooks go, I am going.
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