Flutter by: even Lindsey' phobias are quirky and just that little bit different. Pic: © Luc Viatour
I’ve had quite the self-righteous week. I decided enough was enough and have embarked on a whirlwind of get thin quick activity. Spurred on by the absence of anything to wear which doesn’t resemble a two man tent, I decided to undertake some exercise and healthy (ish) eating.
First things first; a ruthless fridge inspection. This uncovered the following contraband: A plethora of vegetables in the crisper drawer in various states of decomposition, including a limp leek, three half onions, potatoes with a May expiry date, and a wizened butternut squash, purchased in a moment of aspirational Nigella-like culinary madness. All this rotting matter presented a serious health issue so I chucked it. Together with two half empty (natural pessimist, see?) bottles of Zinfandel (Don’t judge me. Wine scares me. I can only drink sweet jammy stuff). I also chucked half a calorie laden cheesecake which had seen better days and a Camembert which had become so ripe it had practically decomposed completely and was going through a period of rebirth. I kept a twin pack of pork pies in case of an emergency lard craving situation. I’m not stupid.
Bored with fridge emptying, I moved on to compile my activity plan for the week. This has involved swimming and walking. I hunted out my swimsuit, and packed it ready for an assault on the local pool. The wean accompanied me on my inaugural swim. I huffed and puffed my way into my swimsuit and had to call for her assistance to fasten the damned thing at the back. I haven’t worn that swimsuit for a while, and it had obviously SHRUNK.
She emerged from her cubicle resplendent in a teeny tankini (I nearly typed mankini there. A nubile 19 year old in a mankini would have caused quite a sensation in Dumfries Swimming Pool, I’m sure, and would certainly have caused a diversion while I tried to leg it from the changing cubicle to the pool whilst sucking in my considerable stomach). I enjoyed my swim. Hell, I may even do it again.
Y’see the plan of action is to get up extra early, and hit the pool by 7am twice a week, before work. On the other days I plan to walk the two and a half miles to work, and back again at night. I had a trial run of this plan (well, more of a trial stagger) earlier this week and it went rather well. It appears I’m a natural at putting one leg in front of the other. Who knew? The only worry is that walking to work involves being outside for a length of time. This involves potential exposure to butterflies at this time of year.
I’ve already had two separate butterfly incidents this week. You’ll know about my butterfly phobia I’m sure. It’s pretty well documented elsewhere on these prestigious pages. The first incident occurred whilst I’m outside Mason Towers minding my own business and half-heartedly yanking out the odd weed between the paving stones, when the wean pipes up “Umm, I don’t want to frighten you, but…”. Of course I’m immediately frightened, and already an assortment of scary scenarios pass through my mind; mainly OHMYGODIMGOINGTOBEAGRANNYPLEASEGODNO.
Actually, the real reason was much scarier than that, by my standards. There was a butterfly at large. I ran into the house screaming like a banshee, locking the wean out of the house until she assured me it was outside the “safe zone” (i.e. it was either DEID or had landed on Pluto or any other Kuiper Belt object at the outer perimeter of the Solar System (a wee bit of geeky astrotalk for you for a Friday).
The SELF SAME butterfly (it was; it definitely was – they can smell my fear) made an appearance again in the office on Wednesday. I was alone, busy tippy tapping away when all of a sudden my butterfly radar zapped in to action. Chaos ensued. The butterfly disposal team (Christine and Peigi) were scrambled and after a tense ten minutes scouring the office while I cowered in the corner of the downstairs kitchen, they assured me that the butterfly had Left The Room. I doubted this as they admitted they hadn’t actually “seen” the offending beast leave. Still, I bravely returned to my desk with my cardigan wrapped round my neck. Don’t ask me why – I just felt safer with my cardigan round my neck - vampire butterflies?
Five minutes later it appeared again. It had been hiding out in the stationery cupboard. I knew it. I drafted in replacement troops and it was finally brave Paul who disposed of it. I still have the heebie-jeebies. I couldn’t bring the washing in last night for fear of butterflies clinging on to my undergarments.
So that’s the walking to work on hold until the seasons change. And if you’re passing Mason Towers, please bring the washing in and frisk it for butterflies. I thank you.
