Peaches...

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It was back to the osteopath yesterday for some more high kicks (me), some cajoling (him) and some gratuitous violence (him literally, me in my head).  But good news.  All the stretching I've done seems to have done some good, and the hamstring is knitting back together quite nicely. But the odd thing is that one week after the incident, the bruising is only now starting to make an appearance.  My right leg now has a foot long bruise from behind my knee through to my right cheek (the southern hemisphere one) and I now wonder why I bothered tanning myself last week.  Who'd have guessed that all I had to do was a rather nifty manoeuvre involving my toe and a parasol stand to achieve a beautiful colour.  Admittedly, it's more Victoria Plum than St Tropez, but it's a colour nevertheless.

This weekend is going to be a belter though, ladies.

For one, the sun has made a rare appearance.  This means that there is a good chance that my hair will look presentable all day, rather than just that ten seconds under the porch before running to the car through a Noah-esque cloudburst.  This is very pleasing to me, as tomorrow I have to have an 'up-do' done on the old barnet.  The husband and I are going to a dear friend's fiftieth birthday party on Saturday night, and the dress code is 1950's.  As you can imagine, I am in vintage heaven, and the dress, nets and red lippy are all on standby.

So there will be live Rat Pack music and a whole lot of chair dancing for yours truly, and I simply can't wait.

Son number two is also home for a whistle stop visit with his lovely young lady (fridge, be warned) and a barbecue is on the cards tonight.  This assumes that the husband gets home in time to light it of course, because as you know, this falls into the Blue Job category and he's hidden the matches just to make sure that I don't go anyway near it.

If he's late it might not be a summer barbecue at all.

More a midnight feast...


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