I’ve been weighing in at 12st 3lbs for the last six months, ever since winter inactivity and Christmas chocolate took its toll. I know that’s not a bad weight for a six footer (OK, OK, six feet in my shoes… I used to be six feet in my stocking soles but … oops, there goes the alarm for the bread maker, excuse me…
… sorry about that, got some Italian peasant bread on the go. The dough is now sitting beside me for a half an hour or so while it rises before going in the oven. It has to sit beside me ‘cause I tend to forget about it and then find I’m baking it past midnight. If you haven’t tried this bread please please do… I now make four loaves a week, one of which goes to the grandchildren who scoff it with great haste. Oh, seem to have picked up a glass of red wine on the way back. Shame!
Where was I? Oh yes… I used to be six feet in my stocking soles but seem to have shrunken over the years). But I need to get back to about 11st 8lbs, what I consider my squash fighting weight. Got all excited a couple of nights go when the scales registered 11st 13lbs… then realised the edge of the scales was caught on a wash basket and wasn’t fully depressed. I certainly was when I realised!
Bit miffed I’ve just missed The Straight Story on Film4, one of my favourite films I wanted to tape and archive to DVD. In addition my Eraserhead VHS tape is no more… I’ll have to get some more David Lynch DVDs for next birthday.
The telephone has just rung and, according to convention in our household, I’ve just let it ring out and then checked if I recognise the number on 1471. It’s a bit like a scene from The Accidental Tourist sometimes… the scene where a visitor sits listening to the telephone ringing away while members of the household carry on their activities in oblivion.
Not much progress on kitchen installation yet… waiting for White Plumbing to call me back to say if they can fit the sink and do some electrical stuff next Monday. Think even if they can’t I’ll just buy the kitchen units and store it all in the garage until everyone can do their thing. So looks like tomorrow afternoon is D-Day (tell Linda it’s happening - day… sorry, can’t think of a suitable acronym for D… desperate? divulge? do it?). But it’s not looking hopeful ‘cause she’s upstairs with a stinking headache before I’ve even said the K word. Oh dear!
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