Saturday morning. The sun was out, floating serenely in an azure sky. The weekend stretched ahead, beckoning with a promise of adventure. It was like a blank canvas, waiting, longing for an artist to caress it with his oils.
And I was walking through Tyseley, trying to find a van hire depot.
Actually, it all went very well; I did indeed manage to employ the truckers' elbow as promised. And more importantly, brother no. 1 is now fully ensconced in his new home with a variety of furniture, some of it almost unmarked from the journey. There was a scary moment with a wardrobe that had been clearly grown organically in his old bedroom; there was no way it had made the stairs up, (or the doorway in, for that matter) in its present size. At one point we were seriously considering a chainsaw.
Last night my in-laws treated us to a barbeque that was in line with our new dietary needs - no bread, low fat, loads of salad. The obscene amount of wine we got through was probably not part of the plan, but I treat the grapes involved as one of my five portions of fruit per day.
And then this morning the scales said* this to me:
That's another pound off since last week. But more significantly, it marks the first stone lost since I started. So I'm officially half-way there.
Hmmm. Now I can't get "Livin' on a Prayer" out of my mind. Great.
*(Obviously the scales didn't actually speak to me. Since I reduced my dosage last year I'm finding that household implements are far less chatty.)