Trying not to get fat on holiday
It’s a fact of life that I put on weight when I’m in England. Usually about 2kgs in a month and, for me, someone who cares about her weight, that’s just awful.
It’s most likely due to the high sugar content of the marmalade, I think, and nothing at all to do with the 250ml glasses of sauvignon I have with lunch every day and the fries that seems to company everything in Cafe Rouge (I go there for the sticker kits for the children, you know, not at all for the Croque au Sauman Fumé avec Frîtes).
So this year I’ve been going out for a “power walk” in those few minutes after the kids are bathed and before they’ll go to bed given it’s light so goddamned LATE in this country and the air’s so cool and clean.
But my mum calls my “walk” a “run” so I thought I may as well try a bit of a run (it’s a quiet street) and now I run 100 steps (downhill, if you must know) till my lungs are bursting and my thighs exploding, then I walk for a bit, looking at the property and trying to value it in my head (how small must those bedrooms be?), then I run another 100 steps, then I go home and drink half a bottle of Rioja and eat a calorific dinner.
Much as I don’t like England, there are certain consolations to being here.