For the last week I have calorie-tracked
every single item that I have shoved down my neck. I have made a point of being
under my daily calorie requirements every day. I have taken up swimming, and
have borrowed my grand-dog to do more exercise. I have been permanently hungry.
And at this morning’s weekly weigh-in I find I’ve actually gained a pound in
weight. What’s that all about?
I then spent some time arguing with the bank
and building society. The endowment part of the mortgage has been paid off; the
repayment part is still running. Despite having been set up some fifteen years
apart, both are paid on the same direct debit. The building society told me
that this was impossible, and told me to ask the bank what they were playing
at. The bank assured me that this was impossible, and told me to ask the
building society what they were up to.
After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing the
building society said that they (probably)
wouldn’t take the money they didn’t need any more. So I shall bide my time, and
if they do I shall get the bank to claim it back, and I’ll worry about it then.
To town. I needed some insoles for my shoes –
the current ones are wearing thin. eBay would have been cheaper, but a walk to
town and back is all good exercise.
Whilst there I had a plan to have a crafty
McDonalds. But have you seen the calorie content of their scoff? My favourite
McTipple (Quarter-Pounder meal with
ketchup, banana milkshake and toffee sundae) comes in at 1870 calories.
That would have been nearly my entire day’s worth of calories in one hit. So I
contented myself with staring hungrily through the window, and came home for a
ham sandwich.
The original plan for the day involved going
to Folkestone to the Lees Lift Beer
Festival.
I’d been planning this for months, but I’m afraid that realistically it was a
non-starter of an idea. Much as I like a beer festival, by the time we’ve got
to Folkestone and poured endless ale down the necks of both myself and ‘er
indoors TM , had some dinner and come home again, we’d be lucky
to have change out of eighty quid. An afternoon’s fishing costs less than a
couple of quid, and I don’t feel grim for two days afterwards.
So me and the Rear Admiral went fishing. We
had a few tiddlers, and I again proved the efficacy of float-ledgering, and we
spent a pleasant few hours in the sunshine.
And then whilst the rest of the universe
enjoyed Saturday night I set about the laundry. Shirts don’t iron themselves,
nor do undercrackers and socks sort themselves…
