Despite monkeyhands’ eschewing of the hello-I’m-back post, I have no such inhibitions. We had a lovely holiday
My parents have finally grasped the art of leaving us alone once in a while, and they no longer plan events for every hour of every day in the holiday. My father has yet to consistently resist sending me a “where are you?” text when we haven’t arrived ten minutes before we were meant to; the two of them also tend to descend on us ten minutes early as if checking that we’re getting ready to go out at the agreed time, but otherwise we all got on very well. There were no major arguments, even though I nearly sparked one by saying “you can ignore everything you see on Sky News, of course.” And I got on better with my maternal aunt than I’ve managed for years.
Falling back into old routines, one can always end up landing hard. I spent at least some of the holiday trying to encourage my still-griping stomach to heal. Along with taking the prescription medication I drank the occasional Actimel, had cereal for breakfast, and avoided the first-thing glass of acidic fruit juice. I don’t believe any of the good/bad-bacteria hype about that weird yoghurty drink, but there’s no doubt that it’s chalky, gloopy and along with milky muesli (oh, to what depths have I fallen?) it lines my lesioned breadbasket, ready for the day.
Now, though, there’s a worry that I’ll now go back to eating the same old awful snacks. Given that I also need to lose around a stone, and the pills play tricks with my blood sugar, I have more than one reason to try to maintain a healthy diet and annoyingly more than one excuse not to. I couldn’t begin to explain why cycling twenty miles a day isn’t losing me any weight, but I’m sure biscuits come into the picture somewhere; without biscuits, though, I’d only get through four of those miles before coming to a gradual halt and then falling sideways, my lifeless toes still in their clips.