Skip to main content

Bring me sunshine...

Words from a Bird.  Day 106

The British weather has driven me insane this week.  There is nowhere on this planet, as far as I am aware, where you can be wearing a ski jacket and bobble hat on a Monday, shorts and flip-flops on a Wednesday and waterproofs and wellies on a Thursday, with snow forecast on Saturday.

April is rapidly becoming my least favourite month of the year.  It's near enough to Easter to still be mourning the loss of my waistline (actually, I never found it again after Christmas) and there is that daily wardrobe quandary as to 'what to wear'.  At least in March you know it's going to be bloody cold, so getting dressed in the morning is fairly straightforward.  April?  Now that's a different matter. 

The way I get round this is to dress like an onion.  Not literally like an onion you understand, but simply wear layer on top of layer on top of layer.  As the frost bitten morning warms up, I peel off a single layer, peaking around 2.00 in the afternoon, when you'll find me in shirt sleeves.   As the day starts to cool down again, the layers go back on.  Over the course of the day, I go from the Michelin Man to Twiggy (little bit ambitious) and then back to the Michelin Man.  Between October and May, the husband never sees me without thinking of an oversized beach ball. 

I suppose that April isn't all bad.  For example, it's the last month in the year where the word 'bikini' doesn't make my blood run cold.  Come the first of May, I have no excuse to not have beautifully painted nails, shaved legs and a 'bikini ready' body. What is a 'bikini ready body' exactly?  My body is always ready for a bikini, but it's always the bikini which looks a little reluctant when faced with my sun and razor deprived body.  I say reluctant, but I mean terrified. 

As we're heading off to Spain next week, I have made appointments with the sublime Mrs H for some serious repair work on my ravaged body.  By the time we fly, my skin will be less mottled, and more the colour of caramel, I won't resemble Chewbacca, and my toes will look a lot less like pigs' trotters.

But after 5 days in the Spanish sun, with all this handiwork on show, I shall return to England once again .  It will still be April, so the opaque tights, polo-necks, cardigans and thermals will be de rigeur once again.  But never fear ladies,  May is just around the corner.

Now where is my Factor 50?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Say goodbye...

Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'
So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.
Someone once told me that if I ever felt like pickin…

Cold wind blows...

I don't know how cold it is with you at the moment, but I spent yesterday morning snapping the two furballs off various trees and posts as we attempted a walk before I went to work.  I had made the schoolgirl error of asking myself, 'Just how cold can it be?' before putting one extra sweater on beneath my walking coat.  I also had my Olga from the Volga fur hat, a scarf and gloves (to be fair, I've been wearing all of these since the middle of October).  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into consideration was the above the knee dress I was wearing to work yesterday.  I imagined that the extra warmth up top would somehow work its way to my knees.  
I was wrong.
Getting back indoors after forty five minutes of combat with The Beast from the East, I looked down at my legs.  Even with the black 100 denier tights I was wearing, I could see that my legs had taken on a slightly different hue to normal.  They were looking like two red pillar boxes, and it took ten minutes …

A man could go quite mad...

I have started to realise that there are many things about me which drive the husband mad.  When you first get together, those small faults are cute and a little bit quirky.  However, fast forward a couple of decades and they become a fairly acceptable excuse for manslaughter.  
I started thinking about this after the contretemps with the cutlery drawer a couple of weeks ago.  If you remember, the husband informed that that I was messing with his feng shui by putting the boiled egg spoons in with the dessert forks.  He only seemed to notice that I did this after I bought a new cutlery tray for the drawer, so I'm blaming Groupon for grassing me up.
The other thing is my snoring.  When we first met, this was described as 'endearing', and he told me that as he lay next to me at night, he used to smile to himself and listen to me.  This swiftly moved on to comparisons with a nasally challenged warthog, and more recently to a Boeing 747 with a noisy exhaust.  I'm considerate …