My involvement with our local village fete has been somewhat limited this year by my re-entry into the job market, my run of domestic upheaval (won't go into that again) and my determination to spend a little more time writing and creating. I can't do everything and I have had to be strict and remove myself from various committees and activities whilst practicing the mantra "I'm sorry, I've got so much on now, I don't think I can".
I helped at the fete and it was a wonderful occasion, as always. Almost everyone comes to the fete and it's great to see the gathering come together. As I understand it, the traditional date is the second Friday evening in June, from 6.30pm. It finishes at around nine and is, I believe, one of the most profitable two hours I've seen in motion.
All good fun and a slice of traditional British life down to the cider and the sausages and the chipped crockery donated to the white elephant stall.
Since my Friday night of altruism and community, my nose has run and my eyes have streamed. As I'm writing I can see the offending pollen bobbing about in the air, just waiting to drop onto my eyelashes. Unless my hayfever medication (which I've been taking since the beginning of May) kicks in, I'm going to have to stay indoors until September.
I've bought myself some short shorts in order to prepare the milk-bottles that are attached to my bottom for summer sunning on holiday in Turkey. I now have to remind myself not to wear wellies while gardening as this will result in brown thighs and knees, white shins and ankles. My ability to tan unevenly is unsurpassed but I must concentrate and, at least, attempt brown summer legs. If I don't lose any weight doing projectforty, at least they'll look slimmer if tanned.
Projectforty is going rather well. I've lost 3lbs over 2 weeks and am now doing the circuit every couple of days very early in the morning. Apart from the hayfever, I'm feeling fitter and brighter during the day. I'm convinced this is more to do with the smugness engendered by early morning exercise. Even if I eat half a packet of custard creams out of boredom, I can console myself that I'd biked for 40 minutes before the kids have woken up.
By the way: Cluck-ometer = 0 eggs. Bets are still being taken.