Well being

MOT for the mum (taxi) …

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Thursday 20 July 2023

Well pour me a large glass of wine and switch off the 6am alarm for the next month! I have, finally, finished work for the Summer. The only thing on the agenda for tomorrow is Windsor, the trusty Toyota’s, MOT…

My old car has definitely earned his stripes and a well deserved break from us all, if only for a few hours this Friday. He has covered a fair few miles recently.

He’s been up to Edinburgh and across to Middlesbrough, to collect and store student belongings, trundling hundreds of motorway miles with his spacious boot crammed to the rafters with clothes, kitchenware … and even a chest of drawers! He was the reliable roadster taking mum and I to a recent hospital visit on the other side of Manchester (She had offered to go alone by taxi but, by good fortune Windsor and I were also there because her previous solo visit, it transpired, had resulted in a minor meds mix-up. All now, thankfully, resolved) He’s gallivanted across the Northwest from Fleetwood to Eccles delivering me to rehearsals and concerts. And he’s been by my side for the daily work commute (a round trip of over 200 miles per week.)

So he needs this MOT and a bit of RnR, I think as I drop him off the next morning. Possibly a fair bit of work too, as the old boy now has over 120 000 mile on the clock, plus a few bashes and bruises after nearly a decade of my driving.

I meander home to pass a very pleasant and relaxing morning as well. With no vehicle, I am suddenly at no-one’s beck and call. Instead, I spend my time doing… pretty much what I had planned to do with my first day of holidays. It is marvellous. I am productive. I am creative. I complete yoga routine one. I am uninterrupted and stress free. I am also about to get a huge surprise. It’s the garage,

“Your car’s passed, so you can pick it up whenever you’re ready”

‘Passed?’ I repeat several times in hushed tones. But it is true; not even an advisory on the paperwork. I am so shocked that I post the news straight into the family WhatsApp …

Oh what a dismal, disastrous school-girl error!

Within seconds the screen lights up,

“Oh does that mean you can pick me up from work at 4?”

“Can you give us a lift to basketball at 8?”

“My train gets into Piccadilly at 7:33″

What have I done? A day of delicious self-indulgence shatters before my eyes. I collect my faithful old car and the pair of us stagger straight back into our usual, exhausting taxi-routine. By 9:30 pm, I am finally trying to de-frazzle on the sofa with a glass of whiskey.

There is however a dim light on the horizon. On Monday morning, I am, for some reason, rising at 4am to drive my trio and their dad to the airport for a flight to Berlin. A miserably early start for sure, but possibly one that means, maybe.. just maybe … I get a one peaceful week and a chance to put on the brakes and recharge my batteries this holiday…

Osma in Prestwich…

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Thursday 13 April 2023

In the late 80’s, a university boyfriend who’d travelled to visit me, in my home town of Prestwich, insisted on a pilgrimage to the house of Mark E Smith, sadly now late but ever irascible frontman of the Fall. Two weeks ago, another uni friend calls to say that we must ‘do lunch‘ at a great Prestwich restaurant that is featuring on The Great British Menu. Yes, all Prestwich, my childhood stomping ground, … who knew?

Is there no end to the eclectic mix of fame and fortune in this small Mancunian suburb? (Prestwich also boasts, to name but a few: Victoria Wood, Elkie Brookes, Arlene Phillips, novellist Howard Jacobson and Godley and Creme!) Well, clearly not; indeed I could be forgiven for feeling quite the serial underachiever as a local of these parts! But enough of my life reflections, what of the latest star on the Prestwich podium?

Requests from old uni pals aside, we have already been once, but when I frantically text my fellow diner with the exciting news that chef Danielle Heron is indeed now on the TV, we decide that we have to go again. So let me tell you our latest trip to Osma…

What can I say but… an outstanding evening!

Our waiter is a delight. Knowledgeable, attentive and fun. He also gets full marks for navigating the hilarious confusion my friend causes when mistaking the wine prices for the alcohol percentage. (Oh yes, it will be a while before I let this one drop!) And then comes the food. We share five small plates and each is sensational, I mean I write my fanciful adjectives now, but at the time after one dish I just have to tell our spirited server,

“That was bloomin’ fantastic!”

Influenced by the chef’s time in Oslo, the plates have a definite ‘Scandi-feel’; fresh and light but utterly full of flavour. In short, each serving appears crafted to make your taste buds sing. It also looks beautiful. What’s not to love?

The atmosphere is also friendly and relaxed. It is one of those evenings when 7pm becomes 10pm before you’ve even noticed. We are having such an amazing time, that we also share a desert and dawdle over coffee.

So would I recommend? I definitely would. In fact, I cannot wait until my other uni friend visits is the Summer to try out the ‘Lunch Menu’. Whilst the evening is all about , “small sharing plates … accompanied by wines and cocktail” the midday menu promises

“open Scandinavian sandwiches and hearty salads – using seasonal ingredients from local British farms and producers – alongside fresh juices and great coffee.”

Sounds delicious!

So for this evening a fond farewell to Osma, a definite reason to feel even prouder than ever to come from Prestwich, but be assured, I shall be back … it might even become a compulsion with me …

Small moments to savour on the parenthood journey …

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Sunday 19 March 2023

Mother’s day 2023, my card tells me that I ‘deserve to have the best day!‘ … and I do!

Why so great? Well for one, my eldest child pops home for the weekend. But for two, she takes me out for lunch! Yes, let me say that one again, very slowly; she takes me out. She books the table. She invites the guests. She organises the transport. She evens pays. I don’t have to do anything! Great restaurant, great company; it’s a treat I shall cherish.

Could this be, I ponder, the moment when I pass on the baton of ‘chief organiser and sorter-outer’ to the next generation? Probably not, but for today at least it is amazing, because I can tell you this. The child-rearing journey is one relentless marathon. But, those of you with of small infants, do not despair! Just when you think you cannot take anymore and have hit your parental wall, take heart. Around every corner, come small life-saving moments to savour. After two decades of muddling through motherhood, here are mine

My first game changer is cow’s milk, which arrives at the age of 12 months. It is ‘farewell’ to battling with breastfeeding and a grateful ‘goodbye’ to prepping the cursed formula bottles each evening; sterilising, scooping, measuring and mixing through eyes so weary they are propped open with matchsticks. The calendar shows that 1 year and passed and overnight, you are simply allowed to open the fridge and pour some milk into a beaker. Goodness gracious, it feels like a wondrous miracle!

Next for me; the end of nappies. I’m not going to lie, the potty training months are a tense time, but oh so worth it! As your toddler finally masters the art of using the loo, it is off to the tip for that dreadful device know as the ‘changing bag’! Once again, you step out with a swing in your step, no longer weighed down with nappies and wipes and bags and changes of clothes and ….oh, it is glorious. How did you not appreciate this simple pleasure before? And, from my viewpoint, even better is to come.

Probably one of my favourite moments of all. You feed and drag your child up to the magical mark of 135 cm and the car seat can go! It’s utterly liberating. One day, your life is a drudge of lifting and securing offspring’s arms and legs into complex arrays of straps and fasteners. The next you are just breezily shouting ‘time to go kids!‘, opening the car door and watching them climb in and sort themselves out. On the first few occasions, you’ll just stand there open mouthed with your car keys thinking, ‘Is that it, can I just set off?’ And ‘Hallelujah’ yes you can! A magnificent moment indeed.

High school also occurs around this time, bringing with it a surge in offspring independence. This one is a little double edged, but I shall start with the positives. Let’s take a moment to appreciate the humble bus pass. Your children now get themselves to school. It is beyond fantastic. I’m a working mum and as I waved my youngest child off on the 472 in his new school blazer, my working life was about to transform. No longer tied to breakfast club opening times and after school club hours, I could just set off when it suited me. No longer shouting at kids to ‘get through the bathroom’, ‘get dressed’ and ‘get in the car‘, I could drive calmly to and from school thinking about the day ahead. I was consistently on time for the management meeting for the first time in 7 years, no longer stressed out about late pick-up fees, if I was caught in traffic at the end of the day. I thanked my lucky stars, felt incredulous at how much easier life seemed to be once more and marvelled at how many more hours there were in each day.

As a cautionary note however, I did warn that the teenage years also bring their disadvantages in terms of your blossoming freedoms, and here they are. As your children advance through school and sixth-form, their social lives also take off, so, unless you have the pockets to keep your local Uber company in business, do be prepared for your duties as late night taxi service! I am currently in the midst of this one. Small boy and his considerable circle of friends are a very sociable lot and most weeks bring an enviable offering of outings, parties and general merrymaking for them. For me, alas, it means too many evening when the cherished glass of red has to be replaced by a consolation cup of tea. I suppose eventually they’ll all learn to drive and get cars!

Looking back, I cannot actually believe I made it to this stage, particularly as I did most of it on my own. Well, to be fair that’s not quite true, for 7 years I did have my ‘pretty nice guy’ to keep me sane! He may never have helped out much with the kids but he did remind me that parenting was not my only role in life. You’ll find, young mothers in particular, that people stop asking ‘how are you?’ and replace it with ‘how are the kids?’. It’s okay to a point but you can start to feel a bit invisible so I am very thankful that I did have an adult companion for many great adventures and crazy capers, during the toughest of the child-raising years! It definitely stopped me going under.

So, add a few dates nights into your survival notes too! But I’m now dreaming of the day when all my trio can drive me around for a change so I’ll end my post there. I’m off to sign Small boy up for his provisional license…

Those little pink lines …

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Saturday 25 February 2022

As it turns out, being ‘gruff and throaty’ was not, in fact, a credible nod to my ‘rock n’ roll’ lifestyle. Towards the end of the week, I test positive for covid-19…

Urghh! My throat and chest are pretty grim for most of the week and a raspy Joe Cocker teaching voice eventually packs up completely around noon on Friday, which is why someone hands me a (long forgotten) box of tests. I endure the cursed tonsil ticklers and a bit of nostril prodding and, within a minute, am staring at two distinctive pink lines. Bugger …

Sore larynx aside, I feel do okay which is a relief, I mean not sparkling but not too bad. I also know that isolation is no longer a legal requirement. Nonetheless, I have done the test and decide I’d feel pretty rubbish to be out and about in public knowing that I posed an infection threat. So I decide to cancel all weekend plans and … just lie low.

To my surprise, I really enjoy a rare day of idling and nothingness. No running, no shopping, no cleaning the bathroom, no tram rides into town. No, no no. I don’t even bother to get dressed! I do a bit of cooking but for most of the day I set absolutely no goals. Small boy brings me cups of tea, a cushion for my feet and the remote control and I re-watch Derry Girls, catch-up with Jane Eyre, and, well there’s no less cliched way to say it, sit still and let my crowded head get back into gear.

Apparently, there is also scientific proof, in a plethora of studies, that ‘doing nothing‘ is good for us. In many reports, such as Eating well’s, ‘The Legit Mental Health Benefits of Doing Nothing, According to Science‘ the definition of ‘doing nothing‘ is far more exacting than mine. There is no, smartphone, computer or TV Screen, even book reading it out! And what most studies find is that people tend to enjoy time to just sit and allow their thoughts to wander much more than they initially thought. This and other research also hints to additional gains such as, less stress, increased energy, enhanced creativity and improved abilities to resolve problems.

I think that my foggy brain is not fully in these lofty realms today. But, what I find I do enjoy, on my lazy Saturday, is just the time and space to reset and recharge. It is a day for being kind to myself and allowing a few hours to rest, relax and … breathe. And that feels luxurious.

So, I look forward to my voice returning and certainly wouldn’t wish corona virus on anyone, but I would recommend a day, or even a half hour, of putting your feet up, forgetting the to-do list and just allowing yourself to do nothing at all for a while…

You can’t do nothing all the time – it’d get pretty boring, pretty quickly. But carving out small windows where you can just sit down … and let yourself be is good for you, good for your brain … No more feeling guilty for a weekend spent doing nothing – it’s vital.

Christmas Eve eve …

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23 December 2022

Amidst the pre-Christmas bustle, a few hours out in the tranqility of the nearby RHS gardens is a lovely change of pace…

This oasis of woodland, lakes and gardens is actually on my doorstep so, ‘how have I not been before?‘ Perhaps it is not only pre-Christmas weeks that get clogged up with busyness and stress?

Take this Autumn term for example; such a demanding one for me! High levels of absenteeism at work have resulted in everyone else’s workload becoming … quite frankly overwhelming. I have also had worries about my mum and, like everyone else, about spiralling bills and static wages. The only reason that none of it has kept me awake at night is, I reason,because I am permanently shattered and could fall asleep ‘on a dime.’

So few hours away from: gift wrap, shopping lists, decorations and tannoys blaring out ‘All I want for Christmas …’ for a peaceful stroll through the winter gardens is ideal. Our countryside and green places play a pivotal role in the preservation of our wildlife and ecosystem but there is also evidence that they also promote a sense of wellbeing for humans too. Plants have a long history of association with medicines and healing. Furthermore, in our modern world, we also increasingly acknowledge that gardens and green spaces are also associated with better social and mental health. To quote British physician Sir Muir Gray,

“…everyone needs a ‘Natural Health Service’ as well as a National Health Service.”

Well the visit certainly puts a smile on my face. Great company; easy chat and lots of laughter. Plus natural beauty and nature’s might and elegance to soothe the spirits and clear the troubled mind. I can also give a shout out for the scones in the cafe, which I polish off enthusiastically with my usual crazed- calorie trio of cream, jam…and butter! Revived and refreshed, I am ready again for last-minute gifts, the great Christmas Dinner spreadsheet and, yes, even Mariah…

All in all, I have had a lovely first week of holidays. Roll on yuletide festivities and week 2…

Mum moment…

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Friday June 2021

It’s Friday night and everyone is okay! Quick… pour me a drink!

As mums and dads across the land will tell you, the life of a parent can feel like a life of worry at times. So, when the occasional oasis emerges from those desolate plains of teen- anxiety, stress and tension, it is more than enough reason to celebrate.

This week, I have a child who has passed First Year Medicine, a second who has completed all her A’Level assessments and a third who has a grade 6 piano distinction, a box of KFC and …. a wall chart for Euro 2020, which is currently keeping him more than happy!

So , at least for the next 2 hours, no-one needs help; no-one needs money, no-one needs … me at all! It’s bliss and I intend to make the most of it. So a longer post for my beloved blog must wait until tomorrow! I have got serious amounts of bubbly wine to consume…

Smile?

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Sunday 23 May 2021

“Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it’s breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through for you…”

Composer: Charlie Chaplin with lyrics by Turner and Parsons

I am sure that at one time or another, we’ve all tried to fake a brave smile in the face of adversity. But is that notion of cheerily ploughing on come what may, the quintessential ‘British stiff upper lip’, always good for you?

Well, ‘yes’ says Nabin Paudyal in Life Hack’s ‘10 reasons you should smile more often.‘ He argues that smiling not only reflects happiness but that it can also trick your brain into actually feeling happier. And countless other writers agree. Why to many, the seemingly simple smile is unrivalled in it powers. From making you more attractive and a better leader to claims that it can even prolong your life. Let’s get grinning right now everyone?

But ‘no’ counters Live Science’s Agate Blaszczak-Boxe in the article Why Smiling Too Much May Be Bad for You, where it it proposed that smiling too much when you are ‘faking it’ can actually make you feel worse. The conclusion here is that , “Whether a wide grin will hurt your emotional well-being depends on the motivation behind it,...”

So I really don’t know but I do think, as I look back as some old family photos that the false smile, for me and my teens, is pretty easy to spot. Here goes!

Holiday in Ireland – a year before the family break-up
First Communion for my Eldest – 2 months after family break-up
Our new life in the N West 3 years after family break-up
My confident squad on Holiday in 2019

It’s all about the second photo for me. First Communion for my Eldest, a few weeks after ex Hub left the family home. Gosh we look a tense and nervous quartet. Unsure, uncertain and uncomfortable. I recall that the children’s dad did not come and so we presented ourselves to the world, for the first time, in the most family-orientated of settings, as a lone parent unit. Which sounds as if it would have been very daunting. But I have to be honest… only ‘sounds as if’…. because, on a very startling note, I remember absolutely nothing else about any emotions on the day. Were we feeling sad and sacred? Were we worrying about the unknown future that lay ahead? I’d be lying if I claimed I knew!

So if this is you, currently finding the strength to face a conventional world as a slightly different version of the norm, take heart! Try not to worry. It probably is going to be alright, by which I mean, as alright as anyone else. For life is an ever-changing , up and down experience for us all. I actually love the fact that we have a picture from one of the tough times along the way because it makes me feel proud of the progress we have made since as a family. As you see, just 3 short years later, in a picture taken to mark the move into our new house in the NorthWest, we look far more relaxed and together. And by 2019, on a wonderful holiday in the Sun, happier and stronger together.

So I plan to smile…or not smile as the mood takes me. But I will keep taking the pictures and will not shy away from the ones that show the trickier times in life, when the grins are a little more strained and those beams heart-breakingly brave. Because they will remind me that, if we stick together and face the challenges with those we love, more often than not, there will be better times around the corner…

Flowers…

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Sunday 25 April 2021

Flower,  they have become my weekly treat

It all began in Lockdown 1. As people, fearful to leave the covid-safety of their home and fortress, flocked to sign up for online grocery shopping, I, a confirmed devotee of the doorstep delivery was forced off the schedule for the first time in about 10 years.  Yes a decade of  whipping through the weekly food shop with a swift half hour of laptop clicks from the sofa … came to an abrupt end. It was simply impossible to get a slot unless I could foresee fluctuations in the food cupboard at least a fortnight in advance.  So it was farewell to the time-saving lifeline my brother had signed me up for the week I became a single parent, and … hello to the supermarket shelves once more.

Was it terrible? Can I be frank; it really wasn’t. Let’s face it, there wasn’t much else to do! But, as I was often the only person to leave our house for an entire week, I found myself feeling duty bound to return to the homestead with treats to boost morale. We stocked up on alcohol, we groaned under the weight of endless snacks and I bought flowers. And long after, the unhealthy options have dwindled away the beautiful blooms have stayed, because…who doesn’t love flowers?

Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, Monet’s Water Lilies, O’Keeffe’s White Iris; artists have been drawn to the beauty and evocative qualities of flowers for centuries. In poetry Wordsworth immortalised the daffodil and the poppies of Flander’s Field, so fragile yet so resilient, are honoured as our symbol of remembrance in John McCrae’s poignant verse. Flowers are woven into popular culture too, from the ‘Flower Power’ of the 1960’s to  Portugal’s Carnation Revolution; today, in fact, marks the anniversary, in 1974, of the peaceful overthrow of the Estado Novo dictatorship, where carnations, placed into soldiers’ rifles became the enduring image of the movement.

As I wander happily around Tesco’s flowery displays however, I think I am mostly drawn in by my own fond memories of flowers? As gifts go, they are hard to beat! Its is many years since I turned eighteen and I do struggle to remember much about the day, but I can still picture my boyfriend appearing at the door with a bouquet of 18 red carnations. I know that I got married with white roses. The flowers on my desk the Monday morning after I dropped my eldest child off at university made me smile .. and made me cry. Because, of course, flowers are beautiful and it is undeniable that bringing the loveliness of the natural world into our home never fails to lift the mood or brighten the room.  But I think flowers are even more than that. They say , ‘you’re special‘  ;  they say ‘I’m thinking of you‘ ;  they say ‘you matter‘.

And, during the craziness of this pandemic,  that’s a message it’s been important to being home every week from my trip to the Tesco aisles. In fact, even as we thankfully start to return to normal,  I think I might hold onto our new floral tradition. A lovely lasting legacy of this strangest of covid-years…

Car wash!

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Monday 29 March 2021

Meeting friends on park benches? Early morning rounds of golf? Outdoor actual swimming pools (in March)! You can forget any of that – I am just counting down the days until the car washes open again!

Yes, poor old Windsor, my trust Toyota, is in a very sorry state after 3 months of national lockdown. Everyone needs one luxury in their life …. and mine is the car-valeter. As the only parent in the house, I do almost everything else. I launder, I clean, I shop, I try to cook, I mow the lawn, I experiment with DIY and I put out the bins. I just never clean or vacuum the car. In consequence, Windsor has just festered in mud and grime since January 2021. And he is not pleasant sight or smell any more. But my resolve to see it out, until the automobile washers and waxers are able to start us their businesses again, is unflinching.

I claim that it could …maybe… make financial sense, too. Windsor’s predecessor, Big Bertha, was always scrubbed and sluiced, by hand… my weary hand… and it did not end well. On a memorable, sadly fraught, final trip to the ‘We’ll take any car.com’ traders they scorned her faded, patchy paintwork worn away, it transpired, by my liberal use of washing-up liquid in the car-wash bucket. Noble Bertha, the vehicle that brought my children home from hospital, drove me up and down the M5 and M6 when my Dad was ill and transported me to a new life in the North West, when my marriage fell apart, was exchanged for a desultory three figure sum. She also had a dodgy exhaust and questionable head gasket, but no-one seemed to notice this. For those forecourt financiers, it was all about appearances. So when I bought my new car, I packed my squeezy liquid away and decided to let the professionals take charge. And once you allow someone else to clean your vehicle, there is just no going back!

Whether it’s the local hand car washers or, on my more decadent days, the pricier outfits who buff and polish your vehicle while you lunch or shop, it’s farewell to sloshing buckets of water through the house. Adios to endless rinses to get rid of those darned bubbles. So long to soggy jumpers and jeans and red freezing hands. And no more tangling and tripping myself up in the cord for the hoover. Above all, it is protecting a few precious minutes in my day from yet another task of sheer drudgery. I think I definitely deserve that!

And so I am prepared to wait just a little bit longer. Can’t say I have heard much about car-washes in Boris’ road map out of Lockdown but maybe that’s a good thing. Let them re-open quietly, without fanfares and fuss. Let’s divert the crowds with the lure of alfresco cafes and groups of six in the back garden and leave me (and Windsor) to be at the front of the queue…

Cheese pie, sprouts and beer!

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Friday 8 January 2020

Home-made cheese and onion, with chutney and a few brussels all washed down with a dark fruity stout- could there be a better way to end a very long week…

With a third national Lockdown, schools closing and exams cancelled, it’s certainly been a challenging 5 days, but I do feel okay. And okay for me at the moment is a lot better than usual.

Yes, on a more serious note, my mental health has been on a downward turn in recent months and threatened to spiral out of control over the holidays. For the first time ever, I went to bed on Christmas Eve dreading that Christmas Day would be a ‘1 out of 10 day’, terrified that I would not be able to paint on a cheery festive face and make sure that everyone had a lovely time.  I live at a comfortable ‘5 out of 10’ most of the time. Not great, I concede, but sufficient to function and ‘fool the crowd’.

“Above all, I hope that I can be as happy as you always seem to be!”,  a pupil wrote on a thank-you card to me a couple of years ago. And I recall feeling shocked and an utter fraud. I almost ran after them shouting,

“Please please please, let me be a role model for anything but this…because this is a lie and a sham. I  actually can’t remember what ‘happy’ feels like!”

But I didn’t. I just smiled, pinned the card onto my board with all the others and faked on with the day!

But something about corona virus has knocked even this stoic ‘get on with it’ spirit out of me and, to my horror, as the sun rises on 25 December, I feel the dark cloud of despair descend and although I do drag myself out of bed, I am gripped with a panic about ruining the day for everyone.

Until this happens… people arrive. It’s mum and an old friend, and just these relatively new faces really cheer me up. Thereafter I have the meal to prepare and the busyness and sense of purpose, not to say challenge for this self-confessed cooking calamity, drive the darkness away and I am able to ‘keep calm and carry on’.

And Christmas continues in this way. Friends call on Zoom. The teens’ Dad visits. And all of it is a wonderful change and distraction from the news and the gloom and the horrible uncertainty of our covid-world. It also gives me a wake up call.  I need to be occupied and I need goals and diversions. Parenting is tough; single parenting even more so. My hobbies are a life line because, they give me space to be me again. Not only a Mum marking the march through life with the lines on her face. No the me who still feels 25 on the inside and loves that when she runs, she feels the strength in her body and the oxygen in her lungs. Loves that when she plays music she is part of the noise and feels her emotions soar.  Loves that when she tackles some tricky maths, or reads a great novel (or even writes a blog post) the numbers, concepts and words dance around in her mind forming and re-forming and making new thoughts and ideas.  But at more basic level, my hobbies keep me busy. If covid has taken some of this away; I need to put something back

So my resolutions for 2021 are formed. Forget ‘Dry January’, writing a novel or training for a half marathon! These are simply about well being and routine. I commit to: drinking at least 2 litres of water a day, running at least a mile a day (The Ron Hill idea), and doing 2 yoga workouts per week. 

And after a week of my new regime, I am feeling okay; focused and stable. I enjoy ‘Yoga with Adriene‘, a rare space of 40 minutes that seems, luxuriously, about self-care. The water; well probably my favourite thing of all, as it gets rid of the scourge of daily headaches. For the first time in years, I walk past the the anadin-extra shelf  in the supermarket, without adding a weekly box to my trolley. As for the running – well what a week to start! Weather- wise, it is more than ‘grim up North’  as January 2021 gets into gear, it is the bleak bloomin’ mid-winter. How much do I feel like running as I arrive home in the cold, ice and fog? I struggle to think of anything that seems less appealing. But I make myself do it – it’s only 10 minutes after all.  And, once out, I love it. Crisp, energising and peaceful. Just very very chilly.  I could probably do with some gloves! Maybe, if I keep on saving on the anadin -extra, I’ll treat myself to a pair! In the meantime, I’m off to enjoy my cheese and onion pie…