It was back to Binland yesterday morning to do the short walk to the scales for the weekly Diet Club weigh in.
Bearing in mind that it had been almost impossible to stay away from the brown egg-shaped stuff over Easter, I was expecting the walk to be accompanied by one of my colleagues shouting out 'Fat Bird Walking' in the style of The Green Mile. A single tolling bell would have added to the somber nature of the weigh in yesterday, and approaching the scales, I breathed out deeply (every little helps) and hopped on. As it happens, I was pleasantly surprised. 'Deeply grateful' is another phrase I could use, along with 'Dear Lord, it's a miracle'. I had stayed the same weight as last week you see, and I felt like I'd been given a reprieve. Mrs S, who keeps a tally of the weights, was off work, so I jotted down my stationary weight and trotted back down the passage to my office, rapidly breathing in to stop myself from going blue.
Perhaps the long walk on Saturday had something to do with the calories being used up. I had only planned to be out for an hour, but made the foolish mistake of turning left instead of right at the footpath crossroads. For about half an hour I was quite excited about walking through uncharted territory with the dogs, but an hour later, when I realised that the path was going at about a 45 degree angle in the opposite direction I thought I was heading, I had a decision to make.
Did I simply carry on walking, and hope that I might chance upon a pub with a good phone signal, so that I could call the husband and ask him to rescue me? Or should I just cut my losses and turn round? Well ladies, I did the latter, and finally crawled through my front door with two knackered dogs a couple of hours later. Neither they or I moved from our allotted place of rest for the next five hours, other than for a comfort break (me) or a dog biscuit (still me, as by then I was past caring).
Now as you know, I had 75% of my children here on Easter Sunday for a special roast lamb lunch for fourteen. Daughter number two presented me with a stunning bouquet of flowers to thank me for 'adultifying' her room. This was totally unnecessary of course, and once she'd had a look round, and realised that half of her cuddly toys had done the long walk to pastures new via the general waste bin, I'm sure she regretted splashing out on such extravagant blooms. But at least she will now feel happier when Jolly Sock Man stays over. He was with her on Sunday, and my family taught him the joys of Newmarket and Chase the Ace - two card games which rear their ugly heads at any family get together. Newmarket is always accompanied by two things... alcohol and cheating, although this did me no good on this occasion as Jolly Sock Man ended up sweeping the board and taking all the money (£3.75 at the final count).
Chase the Ace was a hoot, and finally getting the hang of the game, Jolly Sock Man turned to me, and said that he didn't trust me as I was putting on 'that Fake Ace Face' again.
Turned out it wasn't that fake after all though.
That will teach him to never under estimate a middle aged woman filled to the gunnels with alcohol and cheap chocolate...