The weekend came and went.
Nothing outrageous, but certainly not as healthy or as active as it might have been.
Friday was spent largely in silence, drinking cups of tea, two bacon rolls in the morning my sole sustenance until a dinner of roasted chicken and veg.
There was no gym as had been planned, not even an attempt to try and reduce my guilt with a swim.
Saturday involved a day of toast and banana for breakfast and no lunch as penance for the previous week’s exploits.
Of course that too was offset by going out for a curry with my wife, although I did go for the healthy garlic masala option and boiled rice.
Don’t suppose the two pints of Cobra will have helped though.
Although I did at last come clean to my wife about joining the gym.
Did she laugh?
No. A smile and gentle words of encouragement.
At that, I passed the naan bread…..
Sunday morning came, boiled egg on toast went, and then followed an afternoon of hard labour.
Yes, four hours cutting, digging, pruning in the unexpected served as some kind of work-out.
There was even beads of sweat on my fevered brow.
Perhaps there was hope yet.
Perhaps tomorrow would be better.
Wouldn’t it?
