Breakfast the Twenty-Second

Muesli yoghurt and banana.

Having just watched One Born Every Minute, I wonder whether it isn't some underhand governmental ploy to reduce the country's birthrate.

If any of us ever want to retire though, shouldn't we as a nation be producing more babies? Or indeed welcoming immigration. (I imagine that every time you say this a BNP member dies a little inside. Altogether now: if you believe in immigration, clap your hands.)

Here's to retirement. And epidurals.

Breakfast the Twenty-First

Reconstruction: Boiled egg and soldiers. (Was staying with friends
 and forgot to photograph my breakfast this morning.)

There are, no doubt, some people in this world who can eat two, or perhaps three, jaffa cakes at a time: I must eat the whole packet.

On the bright side, this afternoon's jaffa cake binge did fuel me well for the flat clean-up. I am breadcrumb free and have clean sheets too.

Breakfast the Twentieth

Cinnamon and raisin bagel with raspberry jam.

I wish I was Kate Atkinson. She's so completely excellent. I've just been sucked into Started Early, Took my Dog. So much for my good intentions about cleaning my house today.

(For those confused about the timing of this posting, I cheated and back posted it so that all the breakfasts appear on the right day.)

Breakfast the Nineteenth

Bananas! (One eaten after lunch in the end.)

Breakfast on the run again.

This evening I arrived at a bar for a quiet drink only to find it distinctly non-quiet and stuffed with hot dogs (or rather people dressed as hot dogs). Like the party-animals we are, my drinking (and also running) partner and I vetoed this and one more bar before beating a hasty retreat for my home, and a bottle of wine.

A half-bottle later, I agreed to do a half-marathon. Then I trotted off to a hot dog free bar, and helped with the last of today's Guardian quick crossword. Oh the hedonism.

Breakfast the Eighteenth

Bread with apple and pear spread, and a banana
(in case you were wondering what the yellow thing was).

Breakfast was quaffed on the run today. I bought some plasters for no reason other than that it seemed rude to walk out of the chemist with nothing. (I went in to buy shampoo, then decided against it as I would have had to lug it around all day.)

Breakfast the Seventeenth

Muesli with yoghurt and raspberries.

According to the BBC, "Events occurring in the brain when we are in love have similarities with mental illness." Golly. Though it does explain a few things.

Breakfast the Sixteenth

Muesli, yoghurt and raspberries again.

Good news. 2011 is The Year of the Rabbit, which means we shall all be at it like the proverbial.

In other news, I finally managed to hook my fingers around my toes in yoga today -- though only very briefly. I also did a bridge, for about the first time in 15 years.

After all this exersion I went to the supermarket to buy orange juice and yoghurt. I came home with fishcakes. Tomorrow I will try again.

Breakfast the Fifteenth

Cinnamon and raisin bagel with raspberry jam. 

I was wondering today what the collective noun for traffic wardens ought to be. When I see them in the mornings in their reflective yellow jackets and black trousers, as they set out to sting over-sleepers and the like, they do rather seem to be swarming. So, a swarm of traffic wardens? Or maybe a penalty...

I must have spent most of my student loan on parking fines. Once I actually walked past my own car, parked in a restricted space just before 8.30 in the morning, and thought "I hope they move it soon." Then, off I went for a swim. On the way back, there the car was still, with a parking ticket. I remember thinking "poor bastard" before the realisation that I was the poor bastard in question hit.

Breakfast the Fourteenth

Poor Man's Crunchy Nut Cornflakes and banana.

I saw this headline on the New York Times today: "Nobody Expects the Macroeconomic Inquisition." Paul Krugman, how could you? What would the Monty Python boys say? And furthermore what would John Hannah say? (The second may be lost on all but those guilty or repeat viewings of Sliding Doors...)

Breakfast the Thirteenth

Muesli and banana again.

Oh to be the kind of person who doesn't chew the end off all pens.  Or at the very least the kind of person who only chews their own pens. There are few things more shudder-inducing than realising that the pen you are currently gnawing is not your own -- and suspecting that those teeth marks have been on the cap rather longer than that particular pen has been in your custody...

Breakfast the Twelfth

Muesli with banana.

Today I bought a book on Amazon for work. It recommended that I might also like to buy the Cranford boxset, multi-functional HP Office A4 paper, and a "3-piece Hot Air Styling Kit." I don't. Though it begs the question, how does Amazon know about my unruly locks?

A few clicks through the recommended list and things only got worse: a Ministry of Sound CD (really?); and a swirly lettering covered book by someone called Lisa Jewell. I'm sure she's quite charming and what not; but I don't, judging by the cover, think she's the author for me. I thought Amazon remembered what you last bought. Admittedly recent purchases include a halogen heater, but still.

Breakfast the Eleventh

Muesli, yoghurt and raspberries. 

I wish it was spring. It's been so long since I could feel my toes. And I'm tired of having to dress like an arctic explorer at bedtime. (I've been ever so slightly afraid of my hotwater bottle since I woke up with a blister on my tummy one morning).

The lovely people at the BBC tell me that it's going to be -2º at run time tomorrow morning. I wonder whether I oughtn't to whip out my Russian hat. It would probably keep my ears warm. And might, if any PETA people are out, cause me to run faster…

Breakfast the Tenth

Toast with pear and apple spread.

After a false start at one cinema, I saw the King's Speech this evening. Loved it. Top hole. And Colin Firth... Oh Mr Firth, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I wonder though, have I reached the moment where my love comes dangerously close to constituting an Electra complex? I swore off George Clooney recently after my father remarked that he and Mr Clooney were about the same age. (I don't recall if I was tactful enough to refrain from saying 'yes, but he's rather better preserved.')

Breakfast the Ninth

Muesli with yoghurt, raspberries and honey.

Today has been remarkable only in terms of my cheese consumption. Well, cheese and oatcakes. Both provided by the delectable Miss Ferguson. My stomach thanks you. My resolve not to become a big fattypuff, not so much.

Breakfast the Eighth

Toast with pear and apple spread again. 

Who mandated that we all be depressed today? The overriding feeling for me was one of hunger. Other than that, I've been feeling positively chipper.  Perhaps it's endorphins. I went running today (with my partner in crime) for the first time in actual whole months. I'm delaying going to bed because I know that the now slight pain in my legs is going to become an inability to move by the morning.

At least The Guardian didn't buy into the Blue Monday thing. Apparently Ben Goldacre debunked the myth some years ago. Good old Goldacre. It makes me more happy than is reasonable that he calls Gillian McKeith (who must surely be in cahoots with some Mung bean producing mogul) the Awful Poo Lady. I can't say I've ever paid particular attention to Gillian McKeith; but she's one of those people who somehow insinuates their way into your consciousness.

Breakfast the Seventh

Special K with red berries and banana again. 

There's nothing like the fluorescent glare of changing-room lighting to make you swear never to go shopping again without troweling on the make-up. While viewing one's not exactly pert bottom from every possible angle has a rather catalyzing effect on one's willingness to exercise.

I actually practised some yoga moves this evening. No more successfully than last time. I get so confused as to when I'm supposed to be breathing in or out that I stop breathing altogether. Alas, I fear shall be the class dunce again on Tuesday. Asphyxiation problems aside, I'm also hopelessly inflexible. Last week the teacher kept saying things like, "if you can, hook your fingers around your toes; but if not, just hold your ankles." I could barely reach my knees. Naturally the girl next to me was implausibly bendy which made me look all the more ridiculous.

Breakfast the Sixth

Toast with pear and apple spread.

Rather a mean looking breakfast, but I was quaffing it while cooking lunch for friends: tomato and yellow pepper pasta sauce with some very vicious onions. I'm seriously considering wearing my swimming goggles in the kitchen again. I cottoned on to this wheeze the summer I was working in my parents' hotel. Guests kept ringing the bell while I was chopping onions and I'd arrive weeping copiously.

Breakfast the Fifth

Special K with berries and banana.

Just noticed this photo also includes my socks. I do love spotty socks.

Breakfast the Fourth

Muesli with banana, yoghurt and honey.

Today I had two glasses of wine. Apparently this was sufficient alcohol to prompt me to reminisce about the school nurse's preoccupation with cystitis: whatever the ailment – sprained ankle, soar throat – a visit to the infirmary always elicited the question "does it burn when you pee?"

It was also enough wine to convince me to share my head-lice story... When I was about 13, I went to the nurse telling her that I was pretty sure I had nits; because attention seeking was rather rife at my school (all those homesick girls I suppose), she sent me on my way. Bizarre really as if I had been after sympathy I would have concocted a rather more romantic affliction – consumption perhaps. By the time she finally believed me, the infestation was such that I required pints and pints of head-lice shampoo (my hair was very long). And woke up the following morning to a nit Somme on my pillow.

I don't know how we got onto the subject of school nurses.

Breakfast the Third

Muesli with blueberries, blackberries & strawberry yogurt – yum.

Today I received three parcels. None of them contained explosives; I must be loved.

Breakfast the Second

Mixture of Co-op malties & Special K red berries (they're hidingsomewhere 

under the banana).

A healthy(ish) affair for the day I discovered I have no aptitude whatsoever for yoga. (I also found out that "warrior breathing" makes everyone sound like they're snorkeling.)

Breakfast the First

Cinnamon and raisin bagel with butter (slightly tainted byt the smelly
cheeae in the fridge) & raspberry jam.

Reader, I give you my breakfast. Consider this the antidote to those relentlessly trendy types and their daily sartorial assaults on we folks who cannot shake off the morning sleep fug enough to put together an outfit that is anything more than functional.

As an alternative to these modish missives, I shall endeavour to keep you abreast of my morning gobblings. An added advantage may be that this blog will shame me out of feasting on condensed milk of a morning.