What a strange week.
As a friend or two noted: Who’d have guessed, this time last year, that Bankers would become the new Paedos. Least I haven’t come home to a burned out car and slogans daubed all over the house.
I felt old and tired and fat, and a little sickly at the start, before deciding that, well, I am old(er) than I used to be - there’s no denying the fact; but I’m working on having my Birth Date recalculated by Darling Alistair, so I should come in at 19 by the summer - and I am tired - of not really knowing what to do in my professional life, other than survive, and of the fact that I don’t sleep enough; have been waking on average three times a night for the past few months - and I have put a little weight on, due to the fact that all the Christmas goodies kept on coming through January and Feb, and, coupled with the fact that I’ve been sickly for much of the start of this year, haven’t been exercising as enthusiastically as I did previously.
But it’s all good. You can’t start climb tge hill until you have your feet firmly on the ground. And I now have some Interesting objectives at work - realistic? Possibly not; but fun, nonetheless, and challenging, which is more important. I have a new haircut (see pic), and have made it back to the gym 4 times this past week, gradually increasing the intensity each time til it felt good, yesterday, to pound both the treadmill and the weights.
And sickly? Well, this morning I can feel a bit of a wheeze / sore throat. But fukkit! I am off to the gym this afternoon. I will not be sick in March; it is decided.
I haven’t been reading anything, because I’ve been writing during my commute. Five days, five thousand words (give or take). The new book. What I’m referring to as a ‘gay cosy,’ which is either a great marketing idea, or the worst made-up genre in history. We’ll see.
It’s at the planning stage at the moment, and I’d been killing myself with the usual “Well how long you gonna plan before you write” thing, but you know what? It’s been so worth it. I reckon another week, and we start writing (we being me and the muses - 9 rather buff Mediterraneans, who just fit into this rather tiny room with me. It’s a cramped space, but we’re managing).
6 of the muses. the other two are with me behind the camera