‘Do not store in direct sunlight’

Last week I bought (yet another) notebook and a lovely skinny pen, and the first thing I did – apart from sketch a thing that could have been a Sunday roast or an arctic roll being frowned at by an angry-looking fish – was write a to-do list on the back page in an effort to get thoughts and deeds in order.

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The loneliness of the long distance walker/runner/writer

I haven’t slept properly for the past four nights and, since I can’t pin the blame on caffeine, stress or much else, I’ve decided that part of the problem might be lack of decent exercise.

The Thursday after the Great North Run, I took myself off up to Scotland for four days alone. I stayed at an incredibly romantic and quite fancy shepherd’s hut (and completely recommend the place). No electricity, so when night started to fall, that was bedtime. After the first day, if I wanted a fire I needed to chop wood; if I wanted water, I had to fetch it from the next field over and slightly up a hill. Point being that even making a cup of tea involved some measure of effort. And I decided, in between reading a lot and writing a bit, to go walking. I bought a map of the area with trails marked on it, and went for a short explore on Thursday evening, and for longer walks on my own (six miles and ten miles each on Friday and Saturday. Sunday was a lazy day involving cake and a dog-sitting for the lovely people I met there).

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The whiniest woman in the west

Pity me. I’ve been struck down in the prime of the bank holiday with some sort of head-achey cold hybrid monster.

I had planned to be up early this morning and run over to Brockwell Lido for a swim. Instead I’ve been lolling around feeling sorry for myself. My throat feels as though it’s got a shard of glass stuck in it, very specifically on the right hand side, at the top. My head has been banging so badly that last night I didn’t sleep at all. Instead I wasted Sunday’s daylight hours asleep on the sofa after painkillers finally kicked in. My nose is running on and off, and my skin feels super-sensitive and sore.  It’s a bit of a let-down as bank holiday weekends go. Continue reading

I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam

I read a lot of feminist websites and blogs, and as such my little corner of the internet is completely swamped with articles on body acceptance, HAES (Health at Every Size), fat positivity, loving the skin you’re in and so forth. It has also, more noticeably of recent, started to see a surge in a backlash against those schools of thoughts from people who don’t feel it represents them.* Continue reading