What the hell happened to the summer? I kinda lost it in a whirlwind or frenetic activity. I wasn’t at home for a single full weekend. Entertaining, mini breaks, socialising, work. The week I got back from Australia I headed for a four day festival. Not of the Glastonbury kind, but the ‘if John Lewis did festivals’ kind.
The Wilderness Festival in Oxfordshire every August is my (not so secret) passion. Where food, music, intellectual debate, politics, the Arts, comedy, kids crafts, glam rock, and literature combine in a 4 day extravaganza..exclusively for middle class Britain. Seriously, where else would you spot David Cameron, Margaret Heffernan (check out her TED talks), Russel Brand, Mary Portas, Grace Jones, Benedict Cumberbatch and Will Young, watch the National Ballet, pop into the Laurent Perrier Champagne bar, enjoy talks from The Sunday Assembly, School of Life, The Economist, BBC, (almost ) eat Angela Hartnetts cooking (it was fully booked), go skinny dipping (I didn’t do that), enjoy a rave in a valley (I didn’t do that either) or drink Pimms while soaking wet watching Ronni Scots Jazz Club in a field in one long weekend?
Even Mildred came with me (see last blog)
And the FOOD!! Jesus. Over FIFTY of the best fast food joints in the country.
It was torture…but I discovered JACK FRUIT. The actual fruit looks like an enormous green bollock, but don’t hold that against it. It tastes like pulled pork. Who knew?
But Wilderness is amazing, and you can easily rack up 14,350 steps a day without even realising. Book it now.
It was the first of TWO camping trips. Although Wilderness was not strictly camping. I booked a HUGE motor home…driving it almost resulted in a stress induced heart attack (and that was just my passengers).
The second trip was not so enjoyable. ‘Let’s go for a quick break to a camp site in northern France’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun for the kids’ he said. These photo’s sum it up. I have no more words on the subject, ever.
On a completely different note, I’ve had to buy some new bras. I’ve gone down two cup sizes. I’m rather delighted about this and it made me remember an email I sent years ago to some of my closest friends. I kept a copy, and to give you all a laugh at my expense, here it is…
‘Last week I went for a bra fitting at Rigby and Peller. I’ve been before and was impressed by the way they measured me by eye. I remember last time being something like a 40FF.
So this time, given some weight loss since my most recent hospital stay, I was hoping I’d be a little smaller. She led me into a fitting room, I stripped off, and she eyed me up before bringing me two bras which fitted perfectly. As she was leaving the room I casually asked what size the bras were. ‘You’re a 38’ she said, ‘brilliant’ I thought ‘down a whole bra size’. Then I asked.. ‘What cup size?’
The woman lowered her head, leaned toward me and said these words…. ‘You’re an i cup’ GASP..not a double F, nor a G, not a GG, or an H, or even an HH. Nope, that’s an ‘I’ as in IGLOO for fucks sake!! And do you wanna know the worst thing?…she actually whispered it. And get this, after a J cup they stop manufacturing! What the fuck is a woman supposed to do then? If I get any bigger I may never be able to leave the house. Alternatively I could let them hang free, tie them to my waist with a belt and pass myself off as a man with a paunch!
So, I actually own the biggest tits I’ve ever seen. They are, officially, bigger than footballs. I left the shop with enough material in 2 bras to shelter a small family in Africa. Only in hindsight do I think it’s actually quite funny.’
And on another random note; My youngest daughter is worried that my losing weight is causing me to, well, sag a bit. She’s become preoccupied with the loose skin on my arms and under my chin. Last week she was lying face to face with me in bed for morning snuggles. She was looking deep into my eyes, like, really deep. Suddenly I noticed her welling up a bit..
‘Mummy’ she said slowly..
I thought – oh bless her, she’s gonna tell me how much she loves me..
‘Yes darling?’ I said with a smile..
‘Mummy…your eyelids are drooping right over your lashes, I think you face is falling and its making me think you’re getting really old!’
Oh for fucks sake! Nothing like an honest eleven year old to keep you real..
OUTCOME: I lost 4 pounds. So running total 42 pounds or 19 kilos and FINALLY hit 3 stone mark. Gotta get a move on though. Still have that sinking feeling that ongoing weight loss will only be achieved through upping the physical stuff. Shit.