Well now, shall we have un petit (apologies, have just read a text from my Dad that was written in worryingly accurate french…) catch-up? A catch-up accompanied by a garden shot or two, naturally. Said garden shots taken when pigs flew and the sun shone during a weekend. A Bank Holiday weekend. In Blighty. Shocker.
New Job continues as does a whole host of other stuff, namely the adding of a wee string to my qualifications bow; Fully Qualified Exercise to Music teacher.
Yeah baby!
After a challenging few years and a subsequent eating of too many cakes, I hit the gym in late February last year. And it’s wouldn’t be all that wrong to say I’ve barely left since. (“What, back again?”, question the long-suffering reception staff.)
Fast forward to March this year; the daily grind of 3.5 hours commuting to London for 8 hours of bum-on-chair action is sending me steadily loopy and various chats with a lovely ex-colleague have- somehow- led me to google opportunities within the fitness industry. All ready to dismiss the results returned- such an idea is laughable, surely? And besides, I’m not nearly fit enough- an oh so inspiring current teacher of mine offers some truly wise words. Words which, for once, I actually listen to.
Days later it’s Monday, it’s 6am and I’m London-bound. Except this time I’m decked out in lycra; attire usually exclusive to play and not work.
I spend the next three weeks with my head in an anatomy textbook, feet periodically bursting into a grapevining-boxstepping-hamstring-curling frenzy. I learn 32 count choreography, become a fountain of skeletal knowledge and have a number of wobbles- most questioning what the actual heck I am doing with my life.
With the bombardment of practical and anatomical theory and assessments over and a returning to of normal life- in my case a new job entirely unrelated to the fitness industry (oh life, you rollercoaster, you!)- I choreograph various routines, shout along to music in the car and bark teaching points at peers with whom I would usually participate.
Sporty little socks well and truly practised off, I hoof back up to London and return a fully qualified lady!
So yes, that’s my slight wild card of an update.
Anyone for a lunge?
Something beginning with 91 and ending in Magazine is out.
And it looks set to be stunning.
Yes, yes, yes, long time no chin wagga wag. Life’s gone slightly crackers on me. But before we chat life, can we just talk about the above cake. Are you salivating? Well that was the weekend. Thank goodness my baking skills aren’t up the standard of 
Anyway, the briefest of brief updates is that I’ve got a new jobby job that came unexpectedly (but brilliantly, obvs), am mid-gaining an additional qualification (given this afternoon’s four hours of fruitless practise, however, the gaining of said qualification is questionable) and continue to drop everything that briefly comes into contact with my hands. Living with Yours Truly: not for the faint-hearted.
We also received some absolutely amazing news this past week that has been fourteen or so long months in the making. Needless to say, there was champagne.
To those deserving Mummies of the United Kingdom; Happy Mother’s Day!
Warning: Unless 
