Hurrah! I got through the Easter break without mainlining on chocolate or stealing children’s eggs, so feel quite virtuous. Actually chocolate doesn’t do it for me anymore – I’m definitely more of a savoury than a sweet. Besides I get enough extra calories from my great love/ indulgence/life support machine – or wine as most people refer to it. I had a truely mortifying moment recently, when I was learning how to up load material onto this blog and the lovely person who set it up for me, told me just to type in anything in the subject box to see if it works. Other people might have written something clever, pertinent or witty, a quote perhaps from their favourite book, a line of poetry, or maybe they might even have whipped up a quick haiku. I wrote wine. In my defence it was nearly 7 pm and I had a glass of Prosecco fizzing cheekily away in front of me. When I later googled to check the blog was there, to my horror half way down the list of links with my name came Rebecca Farnworth wine! I mean, I wouldn’t mind but I have really cut down lately. And why? Was it reading all those articles about women of a certain age, drinking way over the limit each week? Alas it was not, even though I do so hate to be a cliché. It was my 21 year old personal trainer [ha ha that makes me sound like an uber yummy mummy and I’m so not] who said that I would be cheating myself and him if I didn’t cut down. Readers, I was ashamed to be put on the spot by a youngster. I stopped drinking wine in the week and only allowed myself alcohol at the weekend. At the end of the first week when I had my first sip of Sauvingnon Blanc it was like that scene in Trainspotting when Ewan Mcgregor’s character shoots up and Perfect Day plays… Alas, I have slipped since, but console myself with the thought that at least wine is legal…
