Getting my hair cut used to be an absolute ordeal, but finding a hairdresser you trust is one of life’s great pleasures. Especially one you can enjoy a glass of wine with.
Over the years I’ve had my fair share of hairtastrophes, namely:
- when a hairdresser cut into my ear rather my hair (ears bleed more than you think they would)
- when a hairdresser gives you chemical burns and your fringe falls out
- when you ask for an inch off and they give you a pixie crop
- when a perm took so long I had to leave the salon with my hair dripping wet and still toxic to make the ferry home from university
Thus, when I find a hairdresser who makes me look great and feel fabulous, who’s had me in tears of laughter and who I trust enough to say, “do what you want” – that’s someone I’ll share a glass of wine with. Lately this has been mid appointment, although she waits until all the chemicals have been washed out and the cutting is complete before quaffing along with me.
One of life’s guilty pleasures – you bet. But I leave with a smile and a swagger (minus the bobble hat) looking my best.
I’ve tried quite hard to get myself bikini fit in my forties, but not quite hard enough.
There’s been a little too much of this:
And nowhere near enough of this:
And, if truth be told, I could have been a little more disciplined on the working out front. However, all is not lost as I’m 24 lbs lighter than this time last year and I have a new target – become bikini fit by Spring, or Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits’ birthday, to be more precise. That’s a 14 week boot camp ahead of me, removing that last 14 lbs of excess. I’m pleased at how far I’ve come, but I know that I could have done better – and that’s downright annoying. I could have pushed myself a lot harder, but I didn’t – buggerations.
The truth is it’s always easier to do something other than a little bit of exercise. I’m absolutely fine if I’m in a routine, but if I lose momentum then it’s hard to get going again. And with work commitments, breaks away, trips to see family etc, it’s really ridiculously easy to lose the drive. Over these last few months I’ve not been working out enough and I’ve been been a little bit greedier than I should be – those pesky glasses of wine or two really do add up after all. Not to mention bacon sandwich Fridays. And the small inconsequential fact that I ate more than 2.5 times my calorie allocation on Christmas Eve alone – if you drinketh the wine, then you succumb to the cheese and crackers – true fact.
Therefore over the next few weeks I’ll propel myself back into my regime and stick to it come hell or high water (although I’d better not make jokes about high water at the moment). I need to stay motivated and force myself to accept the truth that ‘nearly’ isn’t good enough this time. MrShoeThatAlwaysFits inadvertently helped me out yesterday by absconding off to work with the last of the chocolate buttons, without as much as a ‘by your leave’.
On the plus side, I’ll get more than enough exercise on my walk home tonight leaping out of the way of fast car puddle-spray, navigating large deep puddles via a complex stepping stone routine, and running for my life between hailstorm showers. Who knew that winter could be so invigorating?
Hooray – my favourite day of the year! The frenzy is nearly over, it’s almost time to kick back and relax and it’s almost too late to buy anything else.
I love Christmas – I always have. My parents take it very seriously – I once arrived home late one night post school Christmas dance to find my Mum sewing cotton wool onto invisible thread. Our dog was having the time of his life wrapping himself up in it all. When I asked her what exactly she was doing, she simply replied, “I’m making snow”. Beautiful. Twenty years later that snow still makes a comeback in her living room window. They moved from the islands to the highlands when I was at university and that first Christmas she had people knocking on her door to find out how she had made the snow. Trade secret, I could tell you, but then she’d have to kill me.
I embrace a non-traditional Christmas look – I’m allergic to real trees so I have a 7ft navy blue prelit tree decorated with turquoise, blue and silver. I love it – MrShoeThatAlwaysFits is a bit of a Christmas Bah Humbug so he suffers a lot living with me , but them’s the breaks – tee hee hee. And whilst we’re on a non-traditional Christmas theme – I don’t make Christmas dinner (and not just because I can’t cook). My all time favourite meal is curry, luckily, it’s the same for Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits, so we’ll be settling down on Christmas day (if he’s not working) to champagne, curry and red wine, followed up with a cheese board. We’ve done that for a few years now and it’s our kind of Christmas day.
We really miss our families, but we’ve done our Christmas visit already and feel totally loved up. And with the inventions of skype and facetime you’re never really that far away.
Now, I’m away to liven up the office with some Christmas music and a warm mince pie or two. Merry Christmas one and all, good tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy.
November sucks – there, I’ve said it, so it must be true.
I’ve barely blogged, barely shopped and barely slept. And I’ve not managed to hit the gym quite as often as I should and appear to have hit the wine considerably more – definitely more beaujolais than bufftastic.
November is our silly season; clients want the impossible, employees need to use up annual leave; and the whole office is like a plague-ship, hacking coughs and spectacular sneezefests are compulsory. Our nerds are praying for a zombie apocalypse or something that will destroy their need to meet a particularly imminent and immobile deadline; whilst the young ones are getting excited about the Christmas party and those that were born after the 1980s want to wear brash Christmas jumpers, those of us who lived through that decade shudder at the very thought. There are lunchtime gaggles around monitors with ASOS shopping baskets filling up quicker than you can say, “can you really wear a bra under that?”
And then I stop and remember, it’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas…roll on December.
During my last post I mentioned that my parents were coming down to visit for a few days – there have been a few health issues with them both over the last 18 months so I wasn’t sure how fit they were going to be.
I needn’t have worried – we ate out a lot, drank a drop or two of wine, we shopped until we dropped, Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits took us sightseeing and we even took in a round of pitch and putt when taking a break from all the shopping, eating and drinking.
The pitch and putt was hilarious – it brought out the inner competitor in all of us and there were multiple displays of childlike delight on achieving a hole in one and foot stomping frustrations at gaining a par five or more per hole.
My mother was particularly enthusiastic when driving off, with some of her shots ricocheting around the course. Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits won on the day, although he has the twin advantages of good eyesight and a sizeable amount of hand-eye coordination. We would have stayed longer if they improved their wine list, but that’s a small complaint on an otherwise hilarious outing.
I also showed my parents around our new offices, however, I’m not sure I would recommend “Bring Your Parents to Work” – it meant all of my staff were trying to be super polite whilst my parents were intent on being mischievous. Our R&D team really didn’t know how to respond to some of mum’s more pointed questions. And I did find myself explaining some of the nerdier t-shirt designs because of it being dress-down Friday.
All in all in was a fabulous visit and I can’t wait until the next one. If in doubt, pitch and putt, it really bonds a family together all the while bringing out the aeons old rivalries – a bit like Monopoly but less cutthroat.
I have 3 general moods:
- Happy go lucky
- Bit out of sorts
- Truly, madly, deeply weepy
Number 3 is my code red. It usually only comes on during a particular moving film; the first incident occurred after watching “Truly Madly Deeply” with Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits. We hadn’t been dating for very long, and he had only experienced the normal aspects of my personality, along with my over-tired giggly self. We both love movies and he thought a bit of a romantic weepy was in order after a stint of more serious-minded films. Bless him – he knew not what he did.
I loved the film itself, but I was in such a state of teary-eyed despair, that Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits was seriously worried that I was going to dehydrate, He was prepared for me to cry a bit – and cry I did, for hours and hours. I was inconsolable, I couldn’t stop – that film was just too heartbreaking and I’m a true romantic – love literally does conquer all for me.
He did eventually realise that I was indeed a stable and rational being, but that when I feel something deeply, I have to let it run its course. We choose films more carefully these days.
I had another of those experiences last night watching “A Late Quartet”. Again, I really loved the film, but I felt it a bit too much, especially two thirds into a bottle of red wine. Mere tissues could not cope with the amount of water pouring out of me, drastic measures were required, my fleecy throw had the soft texture required and was also super-absorbent . Definitely not a pretty sight, but nearly twenty years on, my Mr ShoeThatAlwaysFits is now used to those little moments of madness.
It’s Saturday, the sun is shining and I’m only slightly hungover – all in all a good start to the day.
I was at a fabulous friend’s wedding yesterday and I managed to get sunburnt. There’s advantages to being pale and interesting – but not in sweltering heat. So I’m going to have to cover up a bit before heading out into the big bad world – although I may have to get my legs out to try and get them slightly more bronzed than alabaster.
The other half is working so I may head into town or to the park to find myself a nice spot to sit and read. It’ll be hard to avoid the dual temptations of ice cream and delightfully chilled sauvignon blanc (NZ) – but today is a work out day so I must try to desist.
Anyway, off on a meaningful meander.