Weekend japes

Saturday night was golf club dinner.  So dreary.  Mr Smith, you owe me big time. I sat next to a frightful little man who bored the pants off me.  His girlfriend was obviously having an affair with the man sitting next to her whose wife didn't look too chuffed.  Oh pass the mashing niblicks.  I was not entirely sober by the end of the evening.

On Sunday with a slight hangover I went for a walk beside a canal from Kent to Sussex.  It looked fine on the map with a nice public footpath but in reality it was all nettles and thistles and tall grass with a tiny track through it where one spindly man and his narrow dog had once walked.  I needed a scythe.  I ached by the time I got to Rye.  It was a long walk.  I was very grateful of the welcoming tea shop at 4 by which time they had run out of scones so no cream tea for me.  I had a rather hard piece of cake.  I bought a big clock from a junk shop to cheer myself up and waited for Mr Smith to collect me.

Yesterday I took my baby boy shopping as he is having his wisdom teeth out today and will need soft food and cosseting for a few days.  I came home and ate almost all the shopping.  Oh dear.  I feel very fat .... But secretly happy and full.  I am pissed off that the dentist thinks it's ok to do this operation in the chair.  I think he should be in hospital with proper nursing.  Florence here is not really up to the task.  I wonder if I should wear a uniform?  Mr Smith said he could get me one in a uniform suppliers called Ann Summers.  I think I will be ok without.

I don't think I will make it to belly dancing tonight with small Smith's teeth, or lack of, and Mr Smith's dinner to cook and the plumber dropping by and my life to live.  Oh well, I see it as something else at which I will be rubbish.  My arms are too fat.  I shall make scones.

Geeky freaky

I was all excited about knitting but when I got there I was really tired so just chatted to Mad Maurice who has worn the same sweater since I first met him in 1986.  He wears shorts the year round. They are too short and look creepy.  Actually Maurice looks creepy.  He is very tall and very odd but a kindly soul with a penchant for knitting and all things crafty.  I met him again this morning at Wandsworth Museum for tea and cake.  He was in the same shorts and sweater.

We had two viewings today. I was just about to hoover when I was surprised by the first one.  Oh well, the dog was charming and showed them round whilst I shoved a pair of tights in the knives drawer and a load of tea towels in the oven.  Mustn't forget.

I have such a vile headache.  Mr Smith gives me stress.  I don't want to go to his horrid boring golf dinners and talk to old people I hate..... But I do.  I have to go to one on Saturday.  He will owe me big time.

And now with this awful throbbing headache I have to clear out a kitchen cupboard and smash all the surplus dishes.

Trudging through life

Bellydancing was oh so jingly jangly.  The teacher was like a bendy pencil.  Quite lovely.  There was this dreadful fat woman with awful bingo wings who looked a bit like my mother.  I could see her in the mirror but when I turned round I couldn't see her in the class.  Odd.

I walked.  Oh how I walked.  Lovely walking.  I like it but it might be wearing my knees out.

The Apprentice son is off to France today.  I hope not forever.  I will miss him but there again I can clear up his pigsty of a bedroom and cook for one less.

Mr Smith is being marginally more reasonable though still a right contrary Mary.  You pay, here's my credit card. What?  But when I mention it he flies off the handle.  I think he is worried about selling our house or rather not selling our house.  He works himself into such over excitement when anyone comes to look at it then goes into a rage when they don't buy it.  I have a more laid back approach to it all - nobody is going to buy our house, if they do it will be a major bloody miracle.

Another gorgeous sunny day.  I am Fitbit Queen.  Where shall I stagger today?

Coast

I have taken up walking.  I attach my little Fitbit to my self.  It is a dear pet.  Then off I set to explore the world.  So far I have clocked up 50 miles and I ache.  I pretended I was presenting an episode of  Coast and covered Dungeness to Hythe over the weekend.  I am now top walkist on my group walking chart.  I now feel so knackered I might have to shake it a bit to make it think I am walking today whilst watching afternoon telly.  I might go for a gentle swim.  It doesn't like water.

I am going on holiday to Turkey with T to ride in a balloon over the weirdest landscape you could ever imagine.  It looks like Gormenghast.  Extraordinary volcanic planes that rise up into fairy castles in peaks and spikes.  We go next month for a week, taking in Istanbul on the way.  I have to do nothing but pay and ride.  Suits me.

So exciting; my first belly dancing class takes place tonight.  I have a period which is just dreadful timing.  I felt absolutely grim last night - horizontal with hotty on lap and need of another for back.  I survived but Mr Smith was a perfect pig all evening.  He is so stroppy and so contrary these days.  He is being quite vile.

We have sold Worthing again.  First time it fell through.  Why do people put in an offer before they have their finances sorted out?  Crazy and very rude.  I told Mr Smith to ring the agent and say yes.  Oh no, he wasn't doing that; we would hold out for more money and he wasn't selling it.  So I rang the agent for him so he could tell him his definite decision ... and he said yes.  What?

He is being contrary in all things.  He is driving me bonkers.  I must get him to stop this loony behaviour.  Yes means yes not no.  He makes me want to cry.  I asked him to take and collect me from the airport for my forthcoming Turkish trip.  I did it for him in the middle of the night not so long ago but he has selective memory.  Since he says no he will not take me he probably will, and collect me.  No means yes.  Yes, it is torture because you don't know whether to book tickets or not.  He said he would not call Canada to make our room reservations but then I found him slamming down the phone because it was on voicemail.  I will sort it out.  I will also sort him out.  But he will probably go off on one when I mention it.  But I have to .... or shoot myself.

Knitted moments

Mrs T was buried in style.  Beautiful service in St Paul's - watched a bit on telly- quite lovely.
Mad Carina came round and was marginally less bonkers.  She is woefully vacuous.  Oh well.
My garden is looking stunningly wonderful.  It was so worth planting all those damned bulbs.  They worked.

Walked a lot yesterday when not cramming biscuits into mouth and wondering why so vast.  I got a horrid blister from new Nikes that don't really fit.

Found superb knitting group in Waterloo.  Most people were from my area of London.. I suppose that's from where the train goes to Waterloo.  It was a brill group in a lovely lovely shop full of delicious yarns - no acrylic anywhere.  I chose some hand dyed silk at £20 a skein.  For what?  Well with some very expensive knitting needles I am knitting it.  A charming girl with bright pink hair wrote me a little pattern and away I went.  I will definitely go again.  I met Mad Maurice there.  He gets everywhere and I often meet him in a class or on the bus or in the library or at a show or in a queue or at a knitting group - total lunatic, wears shorts the year round but a very good knitter.  He has a enormous number of lady friends so one assumes he is never short of a shag which for an ugly loon is quite clever.

Thinking of taking up belly dancing and giving up sugar ... As one does.

Sugar Baby Love

Momentarily forgot that jelly babies contain sugar.  Oh well.  Had a chocolate biscuit instead.
Now have decided to do this no sugar thing properly after reading article in Sat Torygraph in the teeny space not taken up by Margaret Thatcher - her voice used to irritate me.  Anyway, sugar is basically a dreadful addictive drug that rots your teeth, liver, pancreas and other bits of you that you hope to never see.

Poor marathon runners in Boston.  I know all that running is a bit tedious but blowing people's arms and legs off seems a bit drastic to make a point.  I think those bombers should be made to run marathons as a punishment - maybe without their arms and legs.

Went to visit Agent Annie in her hotel at Gatwick last night.  I met baby Charlotte who is quite delightful. So glad I went.  Annie and I sorted out money and who we both hate.  A brilliant evening all round.

And now my sugar free breakfast awaits me.  Perfect.  I will be soon.

Sussex v Kent

Went to inspect Worthing.  Looked magnificent.  Lovely and crispy with nice pale brown carpets all new and perfect.  I quite wanted to move in myself until I was told about the state of the roof.  Oh well, we went for a lovely consolatory lunch near Eastbourne which included a particularly good treacle tart.  We then mooched off to Kent where nothing has been done and the bathroom is still fairly unusable.  I wrote a stinking email to our stupid builder to no avail as email doesn't work there.

I walked to Dymchurch on Sunday morning clocking up many a Fitbit mile.

New diet strategy: no sugar. That won't last.

Fit and fat

Swam in outdoor pool yesterday. Lovely day.  Walked there and back which clocked up loads on the Fitbit.  Raining today.  This fitness thing takes ages.  Just as well I am not working.

Sold Worthing.  Decorators must have done something amazing as offers are flooding in.  Will inspect tomorrow then Kent.

Man came to reinspect house - we are his second favourite house.  He can bog off or make an offer.  Will we ever sell our house?

Old bat

Suffering from chronic jetlag which is partly my fault for giving into it.  If I had stayed awake instead    of sleeping every hour of the day I would now be back on British time rather than more nocturnal than a bat that has been squashed by a steamroller.

And now it's time to get out of bed and on with the Fitbit.  This is my new bossy pedometer that sends me emails of congratulation with a little badge for efforts performed. I feel a Lands End to John o Groats performance about to take place any minute.  Well, maybe round the block.

Spoke to Agent Annie who seems determined to go out to the Caribbean despite having a hole in her leg.  Is she bonkers?  Oh well. At least I will be paid and the paintings will be cared for and she will have one leg.

And back again

Why does crossing the Atlantic feel like I rowed it in a bathtub? I am so tired.