There are those of you that will tell me that even knowing about it, it still won’t hurt me. I know this, but it doesn’t help. No, it really doesn’t.
It is all my own fault though. If I’d gone for the walk that I should have done, I wouldn’t know. I’d be blissfully ignorant. But it’s hard to motivate oneself to go for even a short walk on such a cold, blustery, damp day. Walking with friends would have been easier, because then you don’t notice the elements, you are safely cocooned by the camaraderie and gossip. So I opted to iron, hence, I’m blogging, ahem.
So no, I didn’t go and this is my punishment.
Yes, that’s it. The cause of my angst, my distress, my upset.
It appeared on the tiles behind the kitchen sink, disappeared, then reappeared behind the kettle. It then made it’s way between various objects, (it’s a working kitchen, use your imagination!) a rather round about route to the corner, hidden by jars and bottles containing dried pasta, pulses and cooking alcohol, (only to be consumed in desperation).
I’m sure David will tell me it’s not big, but I know otherwise.
I shall seek comfort in maps, planning a walk for Saturday with a friend, because ‘Hoppy’ can’t go and everyone else is banging out. Cowards! It’s looking like the Glenlivet Estate at the moment.
Due to unforeseen circumstances, today could be the start of my diet…