Showing posts from April, 2018

Ancient remedies

I went away for the weekend and suffered a traumatic incident.

It started off quite innocently.  I was at my parents house, and they have properly (wastefully) good water pressure and gas hot water and so I had a very long shower and eventually followed that with borrowing Mum's hair dryer.

Ever since Hitchcock's shower scene, we have known that bathrooms are dangerous.  Behind the clean white lines lurk danger, and yesterday was no exception.  There should have been high pitched violins playing when I decided to step on Mum and Dad's scales.

The scales told a message I was not interested in hearing, using numbers I did not think should have relevance to me.  I thought they might be broken, but my longsuffering and ever loving husband just talked supportively about exercise when I told him, which is not the same at all as declaring the scales corrupt and incorrect.

So it's no bloody wonder that I'm looking at dressing in stretchy jeggings and flowy merino tunics.  …

Trousers should stay up

Trousers should stay up.  Who knows what part of my anatomy will need a sewing intervention next.  It took me far too many years to develop successful interventions on my cleavage (or more specifically, how to cover it without strain lines - even tent dresses require alterations). 

Ageing seems to be about parts of my body migrating south.  I can now see exactly how fat ankles come about, and no doubt that is a joy in store for me once I sort out keeping trousers in the right place.

I think back five years, even three, and I don't recall walking down corridors hitching my trousers back above my belly.  Or stopping in my office to hike my waistband back up to where it should live.  There is no positive behaviour management system for my body, or not one I'm looking for right now. This is not a zone for discussing exercise.  Or spanx.  I'm not that kind of feminist

So, I'm back in maths mode this afternoon, thinking about where the tension should best be in order to ho…