That's what I've done today. First came the exercising, I hate exercising - I'm much more suited to curling up in chair with a book, but alas my ever-spreading rear end dictates otherwise and occasionally I catch sight of my reflection in a shop window or mirror, let out an involuntary squeal and head straight to the gym. I bought a one year membership last October and let's just say I haven't exactly got my money's worth, in fact to date it's cost me about $78 a visit - I need to go more often. So off I went this morning full of enthusiasm and the delusion that after my 30 minute workout I'd exit looking like a bit like Angelina Jolie. Surprisingly this wasn't the case. After 30 minutes of uncoordinated shuffling about, jumping on and off pieces of equipment and sweating profusely I didn't look anything like her (she's taller). However I could feel smug that I'd actually done some exercise today and I'll be milking that one for the rest of the week.
I also decided today to clear out my wardrobe once and for all. I went and got some boxes to pack it all up and pulled a pile of stuff out and it now lies strewn across my bed. It's still there.
Then I read some blogs, including Dave's, he was reminiscing about David Essex and that song 'If I Had Words'. So then I did some singing (well, painful cawing more like). I commented to Dave that the scene from Babe where the farmer sings that song to the pig makes me cry. Every. Single. Time. It should make me cry because it's so soppy and silly but no, I cry for that little pig and that nice man singing to him.
So here you go.....
Sob, and now I have to go. Before I do, here's the original
Why, I haven't made a young lady cry for simply ages. How remiss of me.
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