Making it to the Top of My Own List

I don’t think it’s just me, but summer dressing for work is a nightmare.   This little burst of good weather has thrown me into a frenzy.   Things are made worse (in a good way) by being two clothes sizes smaller than I was last summer, so when I say I’ve got nothing to wear, I mean it literally.   Ok, I’ve got a couple of strapless maxi-dresses, but it’s not the kind of capable, in-charge yet (slightly) human image I like to rock in work.   And we have a no bare shoulders policy. Crisis One:   Colour.   Am I ready to bare?   Of course not.   My natural pallor makes Wednesday Adams look healthy, and I don’t want to embrace pale.   There’s a difference between ‘pale and interesting’ and ‘let’s check for a pulse’.   So, Operation Tan must commence.   And of course it’s not just a case of slapping it on.   There’s scrubbing and buffing and bed linen to consider.   It was a bit of a school-girl error to change the bed and...

I find the Easter break a bit of a strange one.   It has far less appeal when every food item has a weight-loss plan value as soon as you look at it.   Yes, that hot cross bun dripping in butter might be divine, but it costs about the same as stir-fried chicken and rice…or 3 gins!   I love chocolate, but an article in my weight-loss mag haunts me with values of 12 plus for Easter eggs – not far off half of my daily allowance.   And yes, of course I’d eat it all in one go! In my single days, me and Sister would hot-foot it to Cyprus.   The first year we were promised glorious weather, and shivered for a week.   One of our favourite haunts became a bar with an open fire.   But it was always a fantastic holiday.   We were wise in subsequent years and packed a bit better (only a bit).   Picking up fiancees, husbands, mortgages and children put paid to the Easter jaunt, so now it’s all about searching for the Perfect Day Out.   But we’re...

Now that I’ve been 40 for a quarter of a year, I’ve decided I’ve been coasting on my ‘fab at forty’ plan.   I’ve lost my Zumba habit, not lost my Christmas weight, allowed some grey hair to come through, and haven’t been out with the girls since Christmas (although have enjoyed a very nice night out with Husband). So, in a flash of motivation, I’m ready to change it all. The grey hair is easiest fixed – by Saturday lunch time I will be glossy and swingy and not a hint of silver.   I’ve done very well – I’ve still got less than 10 greys (or thereabouts – it would smack of unacceptable vanity to have actually counted them.   And what if there’s any I can’t see?!), but since I’ve turned 40 they are picking up their pace.   I can’t see me ever embracing grey.   I’m that pale that I would be invisible with grey hair, like some kind of X-Man but without the useful powers.   But nor do I want to be that septuagenarian with the unconvincing raven barnet…Age...

I listen to Radio 2, which I’m sure will come as no surprise!   On Thursday’s, there is a ‘higher or lower’ song feature, requiring the lovely sports presenter (never seen him, just sounds like a good egg) to guess whether the second song was out earlier or later than the first one played.   Anyway, last week it was ‘Good Enough’ by Dodgy, which took me right back to the day I got my finals.   My friend K had stayed over at my house, having travelled back to Liverpool to get the results.   We hit my local the night before and somehow K managed to rip her jeans on the way home and we never worked out why.   Seven pints does seem to dull the brain cells.   The morning of the results, the radio alarm went off and the song playing was ‘Good Enough’ (clearly not listening to Radio 2 when I was 21!).   As it turned out it was more than good enough as I nabbed a better classification that I had been expecting! It got me thinking about K, and how we’re ju...

I love telly.   There, I’ve said it.   I gorge on books, spend more time on Facebook than is appropriate for a woman of my age, don my trainers a couple of times a week and jump about, enjoy the therapeutic value of a bit of baking and what have you, but I do love a good old session of square-eyesism.   And demand TV has revolutionised my viewing.   I’m a busy woman, work full time, including at least one late night a week, house, family and a magically re-filling washing basket, so my real-time viewing opportunities are limited.   Plus our TV only seems to have two channels – Sky Sports and Pop! (not even Tiny Pop anymore, sniff sniff at my baby not being a baby!) and so   I do very much appreciate a bit of catch-up. Husband and I have a bit of a Venn diagram approach to joint viewing, with my side consisting of hospital dramas, anything starring Rob Lowe, 'women's stuff', and his consisting of sport and Masterchef, and our common ground being Midsome...

L reminded me I hadn’t blogged in a while, and I said I hadn’t had any inspiration.   Well of course that’s not true, because it’s all around, but I haven’t had time to connect all the dots of inspiration.   Then, last night, lying in bed watching Last Tango in Halifax on my iPad (rock ‘n’ roll baby, rock ‘n’ roll.   The night before would have found me watching Silent Witness in bed when it was actually on instead of on some kind of catch-up! Living on the edge…)   inspiration struck.   Very pleased with myself I was.   Then I went to brush my teeth and the bathroom light exploded and took with it all my ideas.   And perhaps I swept them up with the broken glass (how can such a small bulb make so much mess?!) because whatever I was thinking of eludes me. But I did find myself giggling a couple of times at the very near miss I had at Zumba last night.   I’ve changed class, largely to go with L again as I like a fitness buddy so that your sens...

So, forty finally arrived.   It looks alien on the screen to me. Me, 40!   It sounds so mature.   Grown up. Like I should be able to knit.   Or at least sew a button on. I know you want to know whether I was indeed Fab at Forty.   Well of course I couldn’t say…but I can say that after ten months of counting and pointing and shaking my thang at Zumba, I’ve managed to knock a couple of stone and a couple of dress sizes off.   Never got to my holy grail 12 though, so at least I’ve still got something I can put on my New Year list. After not knowing what to do, I decided to have a party, where enough people duly oohed and aahed about my reinvention to have made it worthwhile.   Three generations of family raised a glass, and friends old and new put on their gladrags and helped me have a lovely time.   But now what?   I’ve been planning for months, buying shimmery and glimmery doo-dahs to put some fab in the very functional function ro...