I'm wondering at the moment if my working life could actually get any busier and I'm in danger of throwing a 'passive postal' where instead of arriving at work armed with a sawn off shot gun I come with a yoga mat and position myself in the middle of the open plan office and spend the day chanting whilst striking a dog pose. I shall refuse to work or move until my chakras are balanced and I am in a zen like state with a heart rate so low I could be an elite athlete.
Yes well the last bit is definitely fantasy. After another hectic day at work I decided to take the opposite approach of what I really wanted to do which was come home, get into pyjamas, commandeer TV remote and ring for take away. Oh no I went to the gym. I dragged my weary body there, ignored its tears and protests and went to a Swiss ball class...and this is what I was grateful for...Elle McPherson does not come to my Swiss ball class. I could be my flabby little self in a room full of bodies not dissimilar to my own. There were no supermodel like Gazelles with legs that need a room to themselves - just all normal women in a variety of outfits. That is a good thing when you feel under par.
I had a fraudster moment at the end though. I went to the nice cafe in the foyer of the gym and ordered a salad to take away. The hunky man who served me said would you like anything else with that as though he couldn't quite believe that anyone could exist just on a salad. I fluttered my weary eyelashes at him and said 'No thanks, that's all.' What he didn't know is that I needed the salad to go with the garlic bread and pizza I already had in the fridge!!! I'm off to enjoy it and commandeer the remote...Bliss!
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