Its been an interesting week involving Prosecco, sackcloth and ashes and ending with a crystalline crisis. In between there’s been a fair bit of cycling, with nearly 25 miles under the belt or rather the saddle and a bit more to come tonight. And herein lies the final crisis of the week, there is a rather lovely trip planned for this evening around the Ribble Valley – so whats the problem?
Well you may notice that I have had my regular pedicure today – the purple is just because I like the colour and is not a tribute to the Peril which departed with not so much a backward glance at me this week. My wonderful pedicurist threw a hissy fit and there was a distinct danger of hot wax (and not in Madonna in a rather bad film type of way) flying round the room when I explained this evenings activity which requires rather more substantial footwear than a pair of Fit Flops. The thought of her handiwork being plunged into a pair of sweaty trainers so soon after completion was clearly a major issue. However we discussed the problem, applied a systems approach, a bit of appreciative enquiry and any other bit of management speak I could think of and discovered the solution to ensure my crystals remain intact and sparkling for my trip to London tomorrow is apparently… clingfilm. If I wrap my toes in cling film and then put my socks on this will do the trick – I am now boggling my mind at how many other cyclists we will pass this evening with cosy toes of clingfilm – needless to say I am rooting out the clingfilm as we speak, but there is a little voice telling me that my previous pedicure complete with crystals has survived a months worth of trainer abuse and so these may just have to take their chances and I will suffer the consequences at my next appointment.
But consequences have been suffered this week already, the Prosecco flowed on Saturday evening at a rather gentle and lovely BBQ and had little effect the next morning on a fabulous ride from Wrea Green to Lytham and back. I was sure that any excess calories had been burnt from that ride and another trip down the canal. Alas it was not to be as I stood weeping on the scales at Fat Club and retreated in shame in my sackcloth and ashes repenting my sins (or rather Syns) vowing to stay on track this next week. I need to make sure I do not transgress again as our fat club leader is a happy and lovely lady but has a fearsome streak and is not to be messed with. So bearing in mind that every action has a consequence I may just go and find that clingfilm..
