Over the past month I’ve watched friends and colleagues be slain by various colds and bugs. I sailed along untouched, thinking the power of citrus and green vegetables made me invincible. But the wee tickle in my throat has turned into a bark and I’ve got a fever and more gravel in my voice than Bonnie Tyler. D’oh!
You know those adverts for flu tablets, where a red-nosed woman juggles three toddlers in one hand and a multinational corporation in the other while the voiceover sighs, In Today’s Modern World, I Just Don’t Have Time For A Cold! I would always snort, "Shut up, you overpaid martyr! Nobody’s that busy!" But this year, despite not having kids nor a briefcase, I’ve discovered such insane levels of activity. Which is fair enough because I’ve been coasting along for 30 years in a truly half-arsed manner. I only blog about the ACTION, which might create some sort of illusion of a wildly exciting life, but really it’s mostly been me faffing around and shouting at televisions.
Anyway, I feel like shite today. It’s a good excuse to put on my tracky dacks (that’s Australian for sweatpants) and my baffies (that’s Scots for slippers) and curl up on the couch with a book. I’m supposed to do an eight-mile training walk tomorrow but I might need to postpone until Sunday. I feel twitchy at the thought of NOT ticking off that box on the training schedule but I spose one should listen to ones body. Right now the body says: LET THERE BE TOAST.
. . .
In other news, apparently the Dietgirl book has flapped its way down to South Africa (thanks Moira!). I think it might also have made it to India, as there was a little mention in The Hindu that charmed my pants off:
"The concerns about obesity and how to beat it finds expression through the ‘Amazing Adventures of Diet Girl.’ … The interested may also Google their way to her blog for more information."
Bon weekend, groovers!