Yesterday I went to the gym. Today I cannot move. Every muscle in my body, and I’m talking about muscles that I didn’t even know existed, really really hurt. They hurt so much that I’m wondering how I am going to make it downstairs, or drive the kids to school (walking that far is out of the question today). Even attempting to have a pee is torture as it means using my thigh muscles to lower myself on to the loo seat. The gym has officially broken me!

Typically, I chose to start my get fit February programme in the week that I am on my own with the kids, and husband jollies it up in France ‘working’ as he calls it. This ‘work’ requires him to hang out in the South of France for 3 days sampling delicious organic wines. I keep swiping my weather app checking the Marseille weather (my fingers are about the only things not broken) and smirking at the very average 14 degrees and bit cloudy icons laughing back at me. Yes, I’m that pathetic and jealous. I also decided to jump head first into fit February, signing myself up for an hours worth of full on body conditioning, not really knowing what it entailed, but safe in the knowledge that I would have to stay the whole hour and put a bit of effort in in order to save face amongst a room full of regulars. I’ll be honest, I had originally tried to get into the yoga or pilates class, but those classes are harder to get into than Babington Farmhouse. Seriously, who can schedule their day that far in advance!  If I’d not had the kids I could have tried the 7pm yoga class which strangely enough always has a space. But even before having kids, I attempted one of these evening classes thinking what a lovely way to de-stress after a long day at work. Problem is, they make you relax your whole body right at the beginning, and at some point after what seemed like only 2 minutes, I opened my eyes to find everyone else in the room in the downward dog pose, clearly trying not to make eye contact with the girl who’d come for a nap.

Not slime, juice! looks yum…

I’m not the kind of person to completely shy away from exercise, and I’m not totally unfit, or at least I hadn’t thought so. Running is usually my go to exercise as it’s free and flexible, or even a bit of 15 mins Davina (even I think 7 mins is a bit short). But a full on hour of jumping, squatting, lunging, more squatting, press ups, push ups, sit ups and more squatting has pushed my body to retaliate and freeze in protest. The kids keep asking me why I’m walking like a need a poo. Cos I can’t straighten my fucking legs!!!!! I can’t get my top over my head because my arms won’t reach high enough without seizing up and I’m getting to the point where I think I might just drive the kids to school in my pyjamas, that is of course if my legs will allow me to use the clutch and I can turn the steering wheel. Shame it’s not a direct straight line to the school gates.

Eventually, my body starts to loosen up a bit so that I can at least shower and dress and deliver the kids to their destination. I am not giving in, this is normal for someone who hasn’t done any real form of exercise since about November, I just have to push through. So the next task is to filter what I’m eating and drinking. I’m not disillusional and I never attempted dry January (why would I?), but I can try and cut out the sugar from my coffee, the bagels at lunch and the choccy digestives in the afternoon. The rest of the time I reckon I eat pretty healthily really. So I dust off the nutri bullet which has been out of action since the 8 rounds of Margaritas at Christmas (tip – Nutri bullets are multi talented and make the perfect margarita cocktail when not being used for breaking down flaxseeds and chia seeds). I don’t have protein powder or any of that old bollocks, but I do have spinach, pineapple, cucumber and a load of coconut water. Believe it or not, it’s actually quite delicious. I also make myself some poached eggs with avocado on toast. A cliché healthy brekkie but a very good one. My idea is to now skip lunch, only consuming the green stuff until dinner. So far so good.

Drink me, I’m green too!

3pm arrives and it’s time to collect the kids. I’ve been sitting at my desk working for about 3 hours solid, not even a loo break, and attempt to get up. Stumbling like a constipated animal I painfully try to get my legs working again so I can yet again make my way downstairs. At this point I’m thinking about living on one floor for the next few weeks whilst I get through this fitness hell, or alternatively using a sleeping bag to bum slide down. Kids collected, I dish out the snacks and drinks, chuck them their ipads and retreat back to the office upstairs. 5pm and I’m patting myself on the back for managing to only consume green juice and water without diving head first into some mid afternoon chocolate digestives.  I can hear a fight about wotsits breaking out downstairs, so give up working for a while and head to the kitchen to start making dinner. Luckily I have kids that eat very well, so when they’re informed we’re having a heavily vegged up Chinese stirfry, they are more than happy to partake. And then I open the fridge. In the door with cold glistening beads on its glorious sleek and slender frame stands heaven. Cork poking out the top, almost waving at me. I stare for a while, mainly working out in my head how to factor this in to my plan. And then bingo, there it is. I read about this a lot. The best fitness instructors and nutritionists spew out this stuff constantly. Balance. It’s all about balance. And before I can talk myself out of it, as why would I, I grab a glass and pour. After all, it is kind of green too! Balance, balance, balance.

Much later……small fess up, around 10pm I found a little pot of reindeer chocolates that Santa forgot to put in the kids stocking at Christmas. They were teeny tiny and really good quality – balance, balance, balance.

Teeny Chocs don’t count

Over the last 2 years I have had to become a bit of a master at packing a carry on suitcase. It is an art in itself, especially if you are limited to just one piece of carry-on luggage, which includes your handbag, however small it may be (yes that’s you Easyjet, making me stuff it into my already ram-packed case). Plus, the 100ml liquid rule throws up all kinds of issues, causing me numerous meltdowns in my quest to become an expert packer. I’m just thankful they’ve stopped weighing bags!

An example of how the 100ml rule can wreak havoc at the start of a trip, is an incident with my friend J.  She was flying out to meet me for a girlie weekend in La La La Rochelle as it is now known (it’s a lot of fun there). She normally pays to chuck a bag in the hold, but on this occasion decided to carry on as it was only a fleeting 2 night visit. However, on arrival at security she was summoned to one side as a lady pointed out that she would have to hand over most of her products as she had failed the 100ml plastic bag test. Not only had she not decanted into 100ml or less containers, but she didn’t even have said plastic bag!

Hysterical and attempting to explain in a high pitched voice at full speed, how her brand new Dermalogica and Clarins were totally necessary for her stressed out skin, and how hideous it is that she’s in her 40’s and shouldn’t even be getting these breakouts, but, life is so stressful at the moment, and this was a special trip to ease the pain momentarily, plus, and more importantly, the products were worth more than the flight itself (Ryan Air special). The lady, probably one screech away from calling security, actually took sympathy on her and allowed her to go back and decant some bits. She then informed her that there were lock ups that she could leave her full sized bottles in and retrieve later on her return. That is clearly a huge secret that nobody else but her knows about, but I guess if you get hysterical and squeaky enough and are lucky to get someone sympathetic they may let you in on it.

I too had a similar but less hysterical incident, and I did have the necessary plastic bag, however, I tried to sneak 2 bags through so I must take a bit of responsibility.  My trip had been for a seminar hosted by RED magazine, which I later discovered for this particular one meant lots of great freebies. To me it was a no-brainer – just get another bag!  All the gifts fell below the 100ml mark, and my wisdom told me that if they both went in a different box whilst going through x-ray, who would know?  The box police that is who, and my word of warning – try it, but risk having to choose between your free OPI nail varnish and the free Elemis hand cream. At this point, if I’d had the time (or courage), I would have opened the hand cream and smothered it on to every bit of skin on display and painted my nails with 8 coats each, just to prove a point, but I didn’t, and had to wave goodbye to things I luckily hadn’t actually paid for in the first place, whilst the lady behind the x-ray looked on with glee at her new nail varnish and hand cream.

I travel on budget airlines quite a bit with work, mainly from Bordeaux to London, and I am pretty meticulous about what I take, and normally manage my packing with ease. However, throw in a friends’ party and a posh dinner where something other than converse are essential, and this is where my packing skills really do get put to the test, as packing more than 1 pair of heeled shoes is a challenge to say the least!

It doesn’t help that I am a beauty product fiend, and of course the 100ml clear plastic bag issue causes a massive headache for someone like me who is nearing 50 with problematic skin. Hence, I have become a hoarder of those little samples and miniatures you receive with magazines. Just before Christmas, 3 magazines were running promotions on cover – Benefit priming mascara, Clinique mascara, Clinique face cream, estee lauder night serum etc etc. It may seem strange to purchase exactly the same magazine 3 times over, and it’s quite a weight to carry, but like Martin Lewis money saving expert would point out, the value of the freebie completely outweighs the cost of the magazine, plus, my friends get a free mag too. It’s a win win situation.

I also always ask for samples whenever I buy products in store, and online there is normally an offer of a free miniature, from which I choose very carefully depending on what is running low in my never emptied plastic bag.

Another very handy collection are the travel sizes at Boots. These are a godsend, and it means that whichever way I’m going, I can either stock up in departures on missing bits whilst flying out, or if I’m flying in, run to the nearest Boots where I grab my long weekends worth of body cream, deodorant, shampoo etc, and leave precious space in my little plastic bag for the important facial products.

The other great thing I did was to invest time in finding the perfect sized case. It’s easy to find cases that comply with the cheaper/budget airlines restrictions, but when you open the case and look inside, the space hasn’t been utilised as well as it could have been most of the time. I used to have the perfect case with hard exterior, necessary restricted dimensions and tardis-like interior, with enough little zip compartments to satisfy the fiercest compartmental OCD behaviour. The best part, it was from LIDL and only cost £30! So imagine my dismay when after a year of bouncing it carelessly across many a cobbled street that the zip broke. It is possibly fixable but the fastest option was to just buy another, and as I was in London when it broke, I headed to both Selfridges and John Lewis to see what they had to offer.

For 3 hours I became the luggage sales assistants worst nightmare. Yes Mr salesperson, it is the correct dimension, on the outside, but what about inside? Those wheels are taking up too much space, I could easily fit my imac cable and a hairbrush there. The bit where the handle is takes up the space of a whole converse trainer, and no Mr Salesperson I am not willing to look at a £500 case. This went on and on until I literally broke them.

I was about to give up and head off defeated, up to the haberdashery department with the intentions of attempting to fix the zip, when there it was.  Just to be sure, I took off a trainer and moved it around the inside, carefully placing it at all angles to be certain it would easily fill the gaps without leaving unnecessary unused space. It was like a Cinderella glass shoe moment. But oh lord, what is the price of the holy grail of this perfect carry on case? The make is a Delsey Paris Vavin Securite 55cm, and just the word Paris started to ring alarm bells. It comes in 3 colours, although John Lewis didn’t have this option at the time, so unbeknown to me, my only option was gun mental, which I didn’t really give one about if I’m honest. And the cost – around £170 give or take. SOLD to the mad lady with the roaming trainer.

7 months in, and this case has served me well. It has taken many a bounce around airports and has been pushed to its full capacity limit. It’s whizzed off from me on the odd occasion with its over zealous wheels and knocked over a small child or 2 without my knowledge, but it is a trusty reliable friend. Except of course when I’m heading off somewhere that requires more than 3 pairs of shoes, 2 dress up dinners and a ton of make-up a drag queen would be proud of. On these occasions it is banished to the loft, and its knackered heavier distant relative emerges. A bit older, shabby and wrinkly around the edges but who cares, as you my dear friend are to be thrown in the hold, unseen until emerging on the belt amongst a sea of equally well stuffed cases baring a belly full of shoes, jewellery and as much full size liquids as can possibly be squeezed in!

Today is my birthday

Today I am 46

Today I decided to start a blog

Today is my very First Post

Today I will eat and drink lots!

Why start a blog now? Because I have wanted to for some time now. I have been toying with the idea for a while (well, about 5 years to be exact), but like most people over 30 with children and a full time job (or 2), I simply don’t have the time to do anything for myself that doesn’t involve having to take anyone else’s opinion into account. Therefore, I have taken the plunge and this is my first post. It will probably be dull to most, but for me, it’s a bit like therapy. A diary for the world to see, if they choose, where I talk out loud (I talk to myself most days anyway), share ideas, opinions and stories. Basic stuff that doesn’t revolve around pink unicorns or Minecraft. 

I am now 46 (did I say that already)…. That is 4 years away from 50. It is the wrong side of 40 and I am DEFINITELY middle aged. I used to work in TV advertising, and from what I remember, age demographics go like this 16-34, 35-44, 45-54, 55+. I also remember the brands that used to target the 45-54 age bracket, and believe me, I don’t want to go there. I like to think that they have now changed this, and added a new age bracket on from 55, leaving the ‘+’ for the 70’s.

But, I don’t feel like I’m nearing 50, most of the time. I’m definitely creakier than I was in my 20’s/30’s, and I get bigger hangovers than I used to, but on less alcohol. I can still party with the best of them, when or if there ever is a rare party to attend. I can still just about get in some of my clothes from before I had kids, and I don’t have that many significant wrinkles. However, my skin is playing a lot of other mean tricks on me, and every now and again, a new indication that I’m getting older reveals itself, and I start trawling the internet for new and wonderful potions that will aid in my desperation to fend of the inevitable jowly look, but without sticking needles in myself. Not that I’m opposed to a bit of necessary scaffolding, but 1, it’s expensive, and 2, I imagine it bloody well hurts like hell!

So I am trying to be positive about this birthday, and instead of sliding into a deep dark post-xmas depression like I usually do (normally because I’m half a stone heavier than I was going into the Christmas period), I have created a small wish list of things I need and have forced this onto my husband and sent him on his merry way.

I have a decent sized obsession with cosmetics and beauty products (after shoes and handbags that is). Now that I am approaching 50 (grimaces and weeps a little), I have become even more passionate when it comes to finding none invasive ways of ageing gracefully, naturally and as glamourously as is feasibly possible.

So with this in mind, I asked husband to buy me a cream that nourishes, brightens and lifts to the point of taking away 20 years overnight. Tough task for anyone, especially a man. But seeing as though he came up trumps at Christmas, I reckoned I could leave it in his capable hands. At Christmas, he was given a list of skin complaints and needs and then pointed in the direction of the beauty floor of Gallery Lafayette in Bordeaux (the closest thing I can get to Selfridges at the moment). The complaints – elasticity on the decline, red veins drawing maps on my face like they’re tunnelling an escape route, tired looking (not sure there’s much help for that right now unless someone adopts my kids), droopy everything. But my main focus was redness. Since I had my first child, my skin just hasn’t been the same. I’ve got pretty good genes when it comes to ageing, but only a few months after having my son, these tiny wormy red suckers started to appear on my face. I have since struggled with fighting them off, a battle where I start to think I’m winning, until they bring in reinforcements for their tiny worm army (a story on which I will elaborate on at a later date).

So when it came to choosing my birthday present (yes unfortunately, my man needs help), he may well have succeeded for a second time. My gorgeous 5 year old daughter came running in exclaiming that she had something wonderful for bedtime (hurray)! Until I revealed the gift, and she looked at me in disbelief. Where is the stuffed animal? That will be me later on rolling around with a belly full of oysters and cake darling. The little pot she was holding though, was to transform me from bleary eyed ‘mum’ into glamourous goddess while I sleep. It doesn’t exactly say that on the pot, a brand of which I’ve never heard of before, but it does claim that the product is exclusively formulated with Mont Blanc thermal spring water.  Ooooh, now that sounds interesting, please read on. Eau Thermale Saint-Gervais Mont Blanc MB Active claims, amongst other things, that the water originating in the heart of the Mont Blanc mountain is miraculously protected thanks to the preserved environment. Heated on it’s 60 year journey through the depths of the earth, and completely protected from pollution, it emerges at the foot of the Alpine massif at a constant, year-round temperature of 39degrees C. Hmmm, not sure where this is going….. Its unique composition, the right proportion of elements, make this active water a ‘true beauty serum’ in perfect affinity with the skin. Ok, that bit I like. It is also pure and PH neutral so good for crappy sensitive skin like mine. The best claim though, and a reason I can’t wait to go to bed, is that it says its benefits are new skin restorer, reduces wrinkles, smooths the skin increases firmness and refines skin texture. PLUS, wait for it…. upon waking, the complexion is visibly fresh and rested, and the skin is radiant. Now where are my pyjamas!

It does also state on the instructions of use, that it can cause a stinging sensation, and if it persists not to use every night. When I applied it, it did tingle somewhat, but nothing so bad I feel it necessary to stop use, not when it can make me look like new. It has a rich creaminess to it, and after applying a not so sparing layer, I skipped off to bed to let the magic work.

UPDATE:- I am happy to report that the next morning my skin did feel and look pretty good. I will keep using, and see if there’s anything significant worth talking about in a month or so.

My friends laugh at my face cream/serum obsessions, and I’m sure there will be lots of eye-rolling when I mention the journey the water in my new night cream had to face before making its way into my bathroom cupboard. But for today, I will ignore their sniggers and the extra half mm droop in my eyelid (another ongoing battle), and I will cover up the new broken vein on my cheek. I will crack open some fizz, do a few rounds of birthday bellinis, dine on oysters and steak tartare (as I do every birthday) and put on some very high heels, even if I’m not leaving the house, because that is what us glamourous almost 50 year olds do. Happy Birthday to me!