Absolute beginners...
So last night I threaded the needle, pretended to be a rubber ball and made like an old tom cat. As you can probably tell, the Pilates lessons are still going full pelt, and I am actually starting to feel like I know what I need to do. When I went last night, I have to confess to being in a foul mood. This has nothing to do with Valentine's Day being ignored in my house, as the husband pushed the boat out with a new tyre for my car and a beautiful handwritten poem. He did ask me not to tell anyone, but hey, when a harnessed Northerner reveals his squishy side, it's definitely something which needs broadcasting...
I think that a combination of no kids, a hard day at work and diet-dependent blues had pushed me into a pretty bad mood - I actually said to Miss R on the phone that I would rather like to lock myself into a broom cupboard with a box of Milk Tray (and Tom Hardy at a push), so as you can see, I needed cheering up. Heading off to Pilates, my feet dragging on the drive like a sulking teenager, I got into my car and headed down to the village hall cursing every car or pedestrian who happened to cross my path.
An hour later, having spent time with my friends, and done some fairly tricky stuff, I burst out of there full of energy and smiles, keen to get home and see the husband. My level of happiness when I leave is always reliant on me not doing any of the following:
1. Falling over
2. Fuffing (you'll have your own word for this, I'm sure)
3. Needing a wee
4. Bursting my ball
5. Swearing at Alex, our very patient teacher
So a successful session all round I think. No blushing, injuries or cursing..
Tonight, Mr Twinkletoes and I are off to Swing Dance Club again. Neither of us can remember a damn thing we learned last week, so I am just hoping that an element of recapping is on the cards. The Beginners' Class is a twelve week course, and at the end of this, it is assumed you will be good enough to head to the ground floor hall, where the proper dancers go.
I have a feeling that the husband and I will never see that room, however many weeks we go...
I think that a combination of no kids, a hard day at work and diet-dependent blues had pushed me into a pretty bad mood - I actually said to Miss R on the phone that I would rather like to lock myself into a broom cupboard with a box of Milk Tray (and Tom Hardy at a push), so as you can see, I needed cheering up. Heading off to Pilates, my feet dragging on the drive like a sulking teenager, I got into my car and headed down to the village hall cursing every car or pedestrian who happened to cross my path.
An hour later, having spent time with my friends, and done some fairly tricky stuff, I burst out of there full of energy and smiles, keen to get home and see the husband. My level of happiness when I leave is always reliant on me not doing any of the following:
1. Falling over
2. Fuffing (you'll have your own word for this, I'm sure)
3. Needing a wee
4. Bursting my ball
5. Swearing at Alex, our very patient teacher
So a successful session all round I think. No blushing, injuries or cursing..
Tonight, Mr Twinkletoes and I are off to Swing Dance Club again. Neither of us can remember a damn thing we learned last week, so I am just hoping that an element of recapping is on the cards. The Beginners' Class is a twelve week course, and at the end of this, it is assumed you will be good enough to head to the ground floor hall, where the proper dancers go.
I have a feeling that the husband and I will never see that room, however many weeks we go...
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