‘I think you need a break,’ said Adrian. ‘Let’s raid the funds and send you on a week at a spa or something.’
Oh dear, dear soul – what a lovely thought but really it’s not the answer. The funds are stretched to the point where they will soon ping back in our faces and, anyhow, a week wouldn’t even scratch the surface of my malaise. I’ve been reading about Eat, Pray, Love – the bestselling book now a film with Julia Roberts (note I say reading about – I’m not sure I could actually read it without getting Extremely Cross). If you don’t already know it’s about a woman who falls out of love with her life (and her husband) and wafts off for a year to ‘find herself’ – in Italy, India and Bali (as you do). Well bloody great for her. Whoop-di-whoop. But oh, just COME ON. Get real. How many of us can afford to take off for a year? How many of us can even take a year off (even without the wafting round the world bit?) It’s so bloody unrealistic it makes me sick.
Okay, rant over. But seriously, if I’m going to make things change, I’m going to have to do it right here, within my normal everyday life. Like the rest of the world.
I’m not going to go into All The Things That Have Gone Wrong this week. Suffice to say it’s been pretty crap (literally as well as metaphorically) as the Soul Puppy has decided that his favourite poo place is right in front of the bus queue. Yes, I poop scoop. No, I don’t really mind doing it. But doing it in front of a line of people who make helpful comments like, ‘Ooh, you missed a bit over there’ or ‘He’s a bit loose this morning, isn’t he?’ is not ideal.
However, on a cheerier note, my talk to the Brushford Ladies (a splinter group of the WI – ‘we broke away – it was very liberating’) went down better than I expected. We went a bit off-topic and got caught up in a debate about alpacas humming and why men like the colour red. I had a nice cup of tea and they gave me a gorgeous bunch of flowers.
Then I came home to find an email from my friend Gill.
‘Hey, wanna come along to fatties’club?’ she said cheerily. It seems WeightWatchers has just started up meetings in Dulverton.
‘Do we get to go for chips and red wine in Woods afterwards?’ I replied.
She didn’t answer so I’m guessing the answer is no.
And you know what? I’m going to go. Because in the real world, we don’t have the option of wafting off to a fancy spa to lose weight and sort out our heads. We do it at WeightWatchers and with our mates, right here, right now.
PS - Haven't read anything fabulous this week, I fear...
PPS - you can read my blog for The Lady here:
