The weekly weigh-in. No
weight loss this week. Hardly surprising really. I had a choccy bar
on Wednesday, a fry up and Ben & Jerry's ice cream on Thursday
and fish and chips in the week too. For weight loss to happen, intake
has to be less than requirement. Still, not feeling constantly hungry
made for a nice change for a while.
And with that thought in
mind we set off to the Gorge for a full English breakfast. Eight of
us met up, and once we'd each scoffed over a thousand calories of
brekkie we went round to Chippy's house. "Trannie"
the Ford Transit was full of stuff to be unloaded, so we got busy.
"Trannie"
was soon emptied, and so we set off to Kennington to fill it again.
That didn't take long; nor did emptying it. Getting stuff into the
house was a different matter. The arm chair wouldn't fit through the
door. No matter how we tried it wouldn't go. So we took the door off
of it's hinges. That made all the difference. The sofa-bed was a
different matter. It went through the front door, but wouldn't go
into through the living room door. And when we tried to get vigorous
with it, the bed bit popped open and the whole thing was firmly
wedged in the hallway for half an hour. Oh how we laughed. Eventually
we prised the sofa-bed out of the house, and in sheer desperation we
thought we'd try to get it in through the window. It went straight
in, and was in place in less than a minute.
Back to Kennington for
loads more furniture, and then after a quick buffet (very nice!)
we made one last run with "Trannie"; this time to
empty a garage. We played heading the garage door a few times, and
then having filled Chip's house full to overflowing with furniture,
boxes and stuff we all left them to the unpacking.
Saturday is now catalogue
collection day. On Thursday we dished out catalogues; this afternoon
we fetched them back. And my piss boiled. As I went up to one of the
houses I saw they hadn't left the catalogue out. I was about to pop a
"we'll call back" note though the door when a little
old lady came to the door. I asked if she had the catalogue; as she
handed it over she apologised that she'd not had time to go through
it; she'd just got back from hospital. She'd been there for several
days having had treatment for her cancer. She chattered on with me
for some time about her illness. It was quite clear to me that she
had no one else to talk to about her cancer. What kind of world have
we created when cancer patients have no one closer than the
door-to-door delivery man to talk with about their illness?
To Tesco for some
shopping, and then home where I had a Belgian bun for tea. (Four
hundred calories.) And then we went out. We had two invites for
Euro-vision song contest parties, but this year I really didn't fancy
it. I had the option of a Monty-Python-a-thon as well. But we turned
down all offers in favour of watching the two recent Sherlock Holmes
movies.
I think we made the wrong
choice. For all that the movies were (relatively)
entertaining, I don't know why they were called "Sherlock
Holmes" movies. They had as much in common with Doyle's
Holmes as they did with Star Trek or Coronation Street. I liked the
idea of seeing Tower Bridge being built, but on reflection I think
I'd rather have watched Monty Python...
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