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This morning I got one of 'those phone calls'. You know the sort - 'Hi, I'm calling on behalf of Timeshare coldcalling inc. and I'm pleased to tell you that you have won a 7 nights stay, all flights and accomodation paid for, holiday to......... just phone this number and they will tell you all about it. Congratulations.' I was just on my out at the time so I just expressed my undying gratitude and put the phone down. Got back late afternoon and the phone rang, again. 'Hello, this is just a courtesy call to see how you got on when you phoned the winners line.' I explained that I had only just got in and was told that I should phone quickly as the lines would close in half an hour and I would have missed out on my free holiday. Now, further to my previous entry where I said I was starting to regret that we wouldn't be having a holiday, I had been giving my 'win' careful thought. I had made the executive decision that I would take them up on the offer, I could spend half a day listening to their talk and drinking their alcohol whilst in sunnier climes. ( they hadn't said that this would happen but I'm an old hand at this now, so I had read between the lines). I phoned up and exchanged information with the person at the other end of the line, if you have seen Abigails Party then you will know what she sounds like. After 15 minutes of talk about where we could travel to, how many we could take with us, she said that they would like to meet us first to finalise arrangements, in Maidenhead. My brain whirred into gear, I've heard this before, only it was Windsor last time and I lost nearly a whole precious day of my life, with no holiday at the end of it. ' Do I have to come to receive my holiday', 'You AND your husband have to come', Alison Stedman sound-a-like replied. 'I have to decline then', I responded. End of little fantasy. Oh well, I was philosophical but now I'm sad, even sadder than I was before they rang this morning. I DISLIKE INTENSELY TIMESHARE COMPANIES.
It's me! Well, they got the age wrong, who I watch on telly, going on a rollercoaster, and the amount of exercise I do, oh, and a lot of other stuff, but apart from that, it's me.
Kismet
Last night I turned to hubby, and in all seriousness informed him that I wanted a personal trainer. At first he didn't believe me but when he finally realised that I meant it he was shocked to the core. I am really very low maintenance. I have my hair cropped every 10 weeks and I dye it whatever colour happens to be on special. I don't like shopping for clothes, it depresses me. I had a manicure once and decided that it was a waste of money, I could do a better job. Daughter does my eyebrows for me and I shave or wax myself dependant on how masochistic I feel at the time. I have never had membership to a gym. Hubby is unused to the concept of me employing someone to attempt to improve any part of me, or do any job for me, so he cannot believe that I would entertain the idea of paying someone to make me be energetic, and telling me what to eat.
Today I went and booked someone for their midwifery care, and guess what her husband is, yes that's right, he's a personal trainer. What an amazing co-incidence, it has to be a sign. Someone is trying to tell me that this is the direction I should be going in. I havn't dared ask, yet, what he charges, but I'm seeing his wife again in two weeks so I shall then. I'm so sad that I'm really excited about this. It's just what I need, an external conscience that forces me into activity. Someone encouraging me to improve my fitness. What am I saying - "improve my fitness", "get fit" is the truth of the matter, I am a mass of shrunken muscle and enlaged sub-cutaneous fat just wobbling away waiting for a mentor.
On the subject of shrunken muscle - GET JASON OUT. When he sat there the other night and asked Becki (trollope) to talk like a 17 year old, and pretend that she was wearing a school uniform, I had to hold myself very tightly because my skin was busy crawling away across the carpet. The man is not a basic life form emerging from the slime, he is the slime.
Wow!!!!!
I'm about to explode with excitement. Yesterday my sister, who is approaching a really important birthday, phoned and asked if I wanted to go away for a short holiday with her, I replied that I would love to but I didn't really have any time when I could, apart from 5-6 days at the end of July. Following the suggestion I did a quick peruse on the internet, couldn't find anything and so resigned myself to it not happening. How wrong could I be? Got in from work a while ago and she phoned asking was I still up for it. My wonderful, baby sister had spent hours surfing and checking and has come up with 4 nights, at a 5 star hotel, on the right dates, with flights, in...........Minorca. Yes, my favourite balearic. I'm so happy I could burst. It's not even my birthday but I feel as if I am the one having the treat and, she's paying for the hotel. Can't write any more, I'm being like Marco, running round in circles, flapping my arms and squealing. Me and matilda on holiday together, the first time since she was 8, things will be a bit different this time. As youngest daughter said "nightmare, you two together"!
Massacre
They're clever these men. They sit there apparently just watching c..p on the telly, but really they are absorbing ploys which may come in useful, not immediately, maybe not even within the next year, but at some point they will drag the stratagem out of the vaults and use it. Years ago I got eldest daughter to do the ironing for me. As a result of her efforts I lost one of my blouses to an over hot iron, I never asked her again. One year I encouraged son to mow the lawn, he scalped it, never again. Earlier this year Hubby tried mowing the lawn, he churned it up as he broke the mower in half. At the time I thought it was an unfortunate accident, now I'm not so sure. Whilst I was at work on Sunday hubby attacked the hedges, I was really pleased, initially, it's a horrid job which I was pleased he had taken on. When I had the chance to look at his handiwork I noticed that he had managed to flattened several plants and also ruin one of my honeysuckles, I remained quiet about the damage and thanked him profusely for his efforts. Then this evening I noticed something horrible, he had cut down my clematis, not randomly run through it with the hedge-trimmer, but precisely severed each stem with the secateurs. What people need to understand is that I love my garden. I nurture it. I look forward to each plant reaching it's full potential, and that's the point my clematis was about to reach. The buds were swollen, just waiting to burst into flower. Not anymore. Now they are just trailing through the cotaneaster, soon they will wilt, turn brown, and die. My reaction was instant. The neighbours now know that hubby is intellectually challenged, the road has been advised that he is a moron, the town is on the lookout for a barbarian. Hubby, well he acted as if he was contrite, as much as a man will ever admit that he is wrong, there is always an excuse, a logical answer which me "being a woman, and therefore lacking logic" will never manage to understand and, unfortunately, never manage to argue with any great success. I know why he did it though, the same reason daughter burnt my blouse, he knows, from watching previous reactions, that I will never, never let him loose in the garden again. Clever eh?
I've started packing for my sisters birthday treat. So far I've got Andrews and a bat and ball set. Going shopping now for the rest, this is Hubby's penance for mutilating my clematis. 
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The evidence.
Ban multiple mirrors in changing rooms
I've been shopping. I am now, officially, the woman with an undulating back. Yes, I am tubby, but I know I am and have, to some extent, come to terms with it, so when I go shopping for clothes it is with the knowledge that size 12 doesn't do it for me. The first hit to my body image came when I tried on a size 16 dress, it fitted like a glove, eventually. I had thought that it might be slightly figure hugging, hence the 16 rather than the 14, but not that it would resemble a body condom. My instant reaction was that 1) I was not going on holiday 2) I was going home, luckily then came 3) Look at the label, it was a 10. A cheer resounded from my cubicle, I was positively sylph-like, to have got into a size 10, okay so it looked absolutely terrible but, it had gone over my hips without tearing. No, I didn't buy it, but with renewed optimism I continued shopping. The joie de vivre carried me onwards until John Lewis. Oozing confidence I gathered floaty tops in my arms and entered the changing room. Security, doors, not unpredictable curtains, but a lockable door protected me from prying eyes as I undressed, I looked up and was face to face with Michelin woman. There she stooped, massive bum, rolls of fat, orange peel thighs, I'd seen all that before but never a panoramic view, I didn't know I had a roll of fat on my back. It's not huge, but it's there, and I hate it. I was surrounded by mirrors, whichever way I looked I could see from angles that I had never been unlucky to view myself from before. My body image plummeted to an all time low, I dressed, pulled myself up to my full 5ft 2+ , left the shop and drove home. I am currently attempting to join a closed religious order, preferably one that still wears floor length habits.
If you consider the above to be extreme please bear in mind that in 2 weeks and 4 days I am going on holiday with my sister. Facially we are very similar. However the similarity ends there. She is 1" shorter than me but weighs at least 2 stone less. Her boobs are self-supporting, her stomach is flat, her thighs don't rub together when she walks and most importantly, she hasn't got an undulating back!