I wondered what I looked like setting off across snowy fields with a gritty grin and wicking lycra, heavy walking boots and the fur at half past eight this morning. Daft punk or Yummy Mummy looking for her Monday morning pilates fix with Jesus Jones, aka Mike the Instructor? Either way I made it, thanks to Darling parking his car in the foothills. We are now big in the bog paper department too, as I took my granny trolley out for another trip and stocked up on the essentials. The Seige of Leningrad this is not, and Terrier, 8, can rest assurred that we will not be roasting her in the Aga this week or next. Darling left for La La Land and Vegas later in the day too, so food reserves will stretch just that little bit further.
I am not sure how many more times I can be bothered to drag fresh stuff up the hill though. BBF 1996 canned sardines suit me just fine, and girl 12 will be back in school soon and the snow will eventually melt. And then I will be (Boz Skaggs) All Alone.
Mike is a great instructor. He was surprised to hear that even my teeth hurt after last weeks (my first) session. I was thrilled when he told everyone else (ok the other person) to get her head on the floor, 'but not you Lucy, yours is already there'. I have always yearned to be a teacher's pet, God alone knows why.
So today was a good day. Not brilliant in the old sense, and neither was yesterday or the day before. Perhaps I have turned that point, and can settle for truly great instead.