... feminist, atheist, autistic academic and historic narrowboater ...
Likes snooker, beer, tea, rivets and solitude, and is strangely fascinated by the cinema organ.
And there might be something about railways.

Monday 11 May 2020

Artist's impression

This is what I shall look like after another forty days with no exercise:
OK, it's butter, not lard. One of the consequences of shopping exclusively at the right-on local wholefood co-op is becoming a vegetarian again. I still have a small piece of chorizo in the fridge, but when that's gone ...

Yes, I know I'm 'allowed' to go out for exercise - and not only for an hour, and not only once a day. But I've never been very good at doing what I'm 'allowed' to. So I'm sticking it to the man by sitting on my arse all day getting steadily less fit and watching my Sheffield-issue calves reverting to more standard dimensions. Not only will they have to drag me in to work, I don't fancy my chances of making it back up Blake Street to get home again. On the other hand (see above), I'm eating more healthily and wholesomely than I have done for years, so swings and roundabouts, maybe.

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