Keeping up with the Jones!

Another glorious Sunday - and tomorrow is still a day off. I really, really wish I could win the lottery. I would absolutely quit my job and do nothing for at least 6 months!

Today, my thigh muscles hurt when I try to bend my knees. The good news means I still have muscles under the tree stumps that seem to have grown overnight on top of my knees. For the last few days I’ve been adding a power plate routine to my rather inadequate workout. In addition to using the rowing machine, swimming half a mile a day, I’ve doubled up walking old spotty doggie a couple miles a day.

I’m hopeful that there will be some sign of improvement in the upcoming weeks. So far, everything fits the same. Admittedly, the objective is to become healthy again, rather than a potential heart-attack in the making! I just haven’t fully embraced the exercise groove yet.

Honestly, if there wasn’t so much wonderfully diverse and interesting food in the world, I’d have retained my svelte figure and wouldn’t have to go to the gym! For example, last night I baked potatoes for the first time since January. It has to be said they had the perfect texture! I ate one with smoked salmon bits smashed into mascarpone, topped with cracked pepper and fresh dill - so simple, yet wonderfully carbohydrate. That little indulgence will cost me at least an additional hour on the rowing machine!

Earlier in the week, while sitting at the spa waiting for my toe nails to dry, I read that combining Bach's Flower Remedies - Cherry, Chestnut and Crab-apple - taking 2 drops of each, 4 times a day - is supposed to help quell emotional eating. I'm considering driving to Boots to buy some to see if it works!

So far I’m doing well on the ‘no coffee’ initiative. I’ve only had two coffees in the last ten days. Okay, so they were two-shot lattes, but they were skinny lattes at least! For me this is a major effort – I normally consume at least two cafetieres of espresso bean coffee a day! With a little luck, I might actually kick the coffee habit at last. So far, I haven’t quite made it over the hump of the morning sluggishness.

It still takes me a long time to feel alert – usually all day, then I perk up just before going to bed – tossing for a few insomniac hours, reading articles in the New Scientist to keep the grey matter moving, until lapsing into Good Housekeeping only to become nauseated reading about yet another 40-year old woman who just sold her organic lip balm company for £22 million pounds. Shortly afterwards, I nod off into a fitful night of dreams. For example, last night I dreamt the new Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were hiding in disguise– they were wearing burkas! I think my brain has been over stimulated by the constant barrage of media coverage of the Royal wedding. I can only imagine how the happy couple feel – under siege! Mind you, it was a fabulous, inspiring day. I lapped it up, right down to the grumpy bridesmaid.

Today’s big adventure consists of tackling my son’s room. This whole week I’ve been gung-ho on the ‘let’s get rid of everything that no one wears’ binge. I'm determined to clear the last remnants of this landfill we call home – right now, they happen to be the kids' rooms.

Last week I donated three bin bags of old clothes to the charity clothing box. It was difficult as my daughter kept scrutinizing everything before putting it into the dumpster. Apparently she’s not the only one that has difficulty making decisions!

On the way home, we stopped to buy a new lawn mower. It took me 20 minutes to decide between an electric model and a petrol one, then, another 10 minutes to work out which model to get – the kind for the very small postage stamp, or for the moderately sized postage stamp. Bearing in mind I had the dreaded rock-filled verge to contend with, I opted for the petrol one as it looked more robust than the orange plastic model. While standing there reading the specifications on each box, I turned to my daughter and said, ‘Be sure to marry an ugly doctor!’ She laughed, and said, ‘You mean a rich doctor.’

Despite the deliberations, and brief lapse into the bitter, cynical, single mother role, I did manage to cut the grass, plant various herb boxes, hanging baskets and flower pots and even the odd tomato plant. For a few minutes, even I was impressed with the handiwork of my rudimentary gardening skills. It was oddly satisfying until an hour later a lorry pulled up next door delivering various garden-like materials to the neighbour’s house – railway timbers, some thatch, lots of lumber, paving stones. The rest of the afternoon’s sunshine was accompanied by the sounds of buzz saws, drills, sledgehammers and hammering.

In the morning, when I peeked out the window, I was stunned when I saw a quaint thatched pergola peeping over the edge of the far-side fence. Beneath the little folly, there was a hot tub nesting modestly amidst some interesting crazy paving. Suddenly I felt inadequate all over again. It’s just not worth keeping up with the Jones.