- Work has been busy and I’ve been applying for jobs which takes AGES. And one that is coming up is WAY over the top in what it wants: I keep checking the job description to make sure I haven’t inadvertently applied to be a spy, so rigorous is the process.
- Illness. I keep getting an upset stomach (and then I had a nasty bout of food poisoning) which has made me feel really quite rotten. There’s not even the usual silver lining here of weight loss since I survived Syrian dysentery without losing so much as an oz
- Torpitude. I feel like a hamster on a wheel, metaphorically speaking. I am very unhappy with the way I look, I try to lose weight, I fail to lose weight, I get upset. It’s dull for me, how much duller must it be for you, dear Reader? I’m kind of surprised if there’s anyone still there.
So I’m not going to talk about any of this (okay, maybe the food poisoning) but tell you about our weekend in York.
We went to celebrate P’s birthday. Now, I have always wanted to live in a village or rural environment, cities leave me cold. Until now. I really love York. It’s our third time there and the love shows no sign of abating. We’d hoped to get out into the countryside and do some hiking but P injured his foot last month, chasing a small child (in a playful way, you understand, the child was not traumatised) and it’s still causing him to limp and experience quite a bit of pain. Walking was out but we saw some of the countryside as we drove to two castles – one was RUBBISH (essentially life passed it by – useful, I imagine, if you were an inhabitant of the castle but quite dull for subsequent tourism) and one was interesting. We also went to Harrogate which essentially consisted of P keep saying mournfully “It’s nowhere near as nice as York”. Yes, he too has the York love. We visited Bettys A LOT. Twice for breakfast and once for lunch (all on different days) where extreme cheesiness was consumed. And I mean that literally, not in its figurative sense. And I took P for a very sybaritic birthday dinner that resulted in me sweating, shaking and ejecting botulism (or whatever bacteria it is) from all orifices at 3am. Being me, I woke up at 9am, starving. And the restaurant was very good about it – I was just unlucky with a dodgy lobster. It tasted delicious but there was clearly something wrong with it (judging from the violence of my reaction). We also had a shockingly grim pizza at Zizzis but it was an emergency meal. And what should have been a very nice lunch on the way up in Rutland except I discovered that I don’t like Grouse and especially not when it still has feathery ankles and claws still intact. I like pheasant and pigeon so I thought I’d like it but it was just too strong for me. And my stomach was too weak for the clawy/feathery bits.
So, a bit of fat-chat. Since I last