Seemingly, a couple of other motorists had similar ideas, as between us, we stopped traffic completely on one side and two chappies and myself herded panicked baby quacklets into the hedgerow where we scooped them up, passed them to Mark stood on high on a bank and er, tossed them into the neighbouring field. One of the blighters was comically waddling off, at some bloody speed it has to be said, down the road so I had to leg it after it. Had a bit of a scare that after committing myself to chasing it in front of an audience that I wouldn't be able to match it's pace and I would be exposed as a failed Townie Huntress. Ducklings are surprisingly easy to catch. And very sweet, and very tiny. As there was an adult duck flying around I have dreamy hopes they were reunited and have lived happily ever after. A lady shouted 'good job guys' from her car window with the thumbs up, and the whole little episode left me feeling happy and heart-warmed that sometimes people do still give a shit and will put themselves out to collectively do some good.
So, with dirty hands and aglow with the milk of human kindness we pressed on to Shute Barton. This place is only open four weekends a year, and by guided tour only. Personally I like guided tours, as you do learn more, but it is hard going sometimes what with the pedigree of every beam and brick being pointed out. When not having its innards gawped at by tourists, the house is let out by the NT for £3000 per week to up to 10 guests. 'Tis nicely done.
Here we are, a little slimmer I like to think than we were after Christmas.
Since Friday I have been trying to knit socks, ably assisted by this aggressive American chick. So far my success has begun and ended with the purchase of wool and needles, as my attempts to cast on 40 stitches have now reached double figures and undertaken with the fierce concentration of someone studying for a degree in astrophysics. I have empty needles and a crossly crumpled pattern to show for my efforts, but I will give it another go when I have an empty house and four hours to spare. Ha ha.
Cooked this egg curry on Saturday night. Sorry the pic is blurred. I was under pressure because my very hungry and impatient husband was stood behind me tapping his foot and tutting as only he knows how. It was spookily good, and not at all the seriously bad wind-giver I feared it might be.
Fasting continues and I have now lost 9lbs since 22nd April. I am now at my lightest weight and fast approaching the stage where I get bored with the relentless necessity of calorie patrol. Blimey, it's only been a month and I've had enough already. Staying power is not really my thing, clearly. I am however really pleased that the jeans I had to undo in order to eat my lunch comfortably are now needing to be pulled in by my belt for a good fit. I have also taken to regular plods round the block again - much easier on my hips and knees at over half a stone lighter. Yesterday I went twice around and still didn't collapse on the pavement afterwards from respiratory arrest. It is a good, good feeling. As Janet Dibley likes to say in the very hilarious Fat Friends: 'Nothing tastes as good as thin feels'. She is more than probably right, but life is short my friends, and there are many calories to get through.
I have spent the last two weeks buying clothes in chocolate brown, navy and apricot, with scarves in orange and red. As silver is apparently not the colour jewellery for me (gutted) and fake gold looks veeerrrrry shiny and tacky, I have gone for bronze-y stuff. To this end this caught my eye on ebay:
Which, when it arrived, is approximately the size of a mobile phone. I threw my head back and howled with laughter. Again, I have fallen foul of paying heed to measurement when buying on line. All is not lost however, as it does look ok. I think. Although Mark did snigger and say 'twit twOOOOOO' when I got in the car on Saturday wearing said amulet.
Sunday saw us giving this a go:
Which I found all terribly complicated and involved much rule-reading. It's so old that the rules talk about the money in terms of guineas and shillings. Flip. As if I weren't confused enough. I think it's me - I am getting denser by the bloody day. But an enjoyable family afternoon nonetheless.
I have had a hankering for a Barbour jacket since last Wednesday. My well-heeled friend at work wears one and this has immediately appealed to my sense of being easily influenced. I spotted this one (new with tags and all) on ebay. (I love you ebay):
Which is in my colour range, and I wanted it to be mine. But I missed the end of the auction, and it sold for £77. Which is a bona fide bargain in Barbour world. Ironically, I missed the end of the auction because I was covering a shift for the friend who is the Barbour-wearer whilst earning the money to pay for the bloody thing. Meh.
The weekend was topped off nicely with the remains of a rather nice prosecco whilst watching Dr Who from the comfort of the sofa on my kindle. Which I didn't understand. At all. In fact, reading back over this post it seems I have spent the last three days in a spaced out dream not knowing what the fuck is going on. With anything.
Tripping along happily in a world of my own: 8 Firing on all cylinders: nil.
I blame the lack of calories.
