We've been back 3 days. We're still all getting along. No-one has, to my knowledge, cried although there have been intense bouts of teasing, screaching and general mayhem. J, E & I are in the midst of 'show fever'. Our village show takes place every August. There is a fun fair with the best dodgems in England, a shooting gallery, equestrian competitions and the horticultural and industrial competitions in a huge marquee. It's as British and as dibley-esque as can be.
The kids have been poring over the schedule of classes and have been preparing their exhibits with gusto. I've never entered but this year I'm tempted. I'm considering 2 classes - 'knitted bag' and 'knitted scarf'. We have to confirm our intent to enter by tomorrow, 5pm. Watch this space.
My exercise regime has become a little more intense with sit-ups and other bits of flouncing about in the evening, whilst watching tv and first thing in the morning. If nothing else, I am determined to do something about the wobbly bits between my knees and my shoulders. Every time I have a bath, I am confronted by the reflection of my jelly-like torso, headless in our strategically placed bathroom mirror. It's not pretty (yet) but it does remind me to pull in my abdominals and think about my core something or others.
I wonder whether all this really matters to me that much. And does it matter to other people? Will anyone else but me care that I've lost a few pounds and gone to a better colourist? What will be the payoff? Do I care more about what I look like than what I do and who I am? Will I ever be satisfied? I'm never going to look like all those gorgeous creatures in magazines? I'm not going to go down the acryclic/extension route to become a pornclone. I don't depend on my looks for the love of those who love me anyway (thank god). It will be interesting to see what will happen if the outside starts to look a bit more how I want it to look.