A heart-attack with Jessica Ennis Hill :-D

These are not the abs of a woman
addicted to co-op almond croissants

So, on my first visit to the gym, on my own, I am on the running machine. I am plodding away at a steady pace (euphemism for sloooooow) and watching the tv built into the running machine screen in front of me.

I have no earphones, so I am kinda guessing what's going on.  Richard Wilson is on screen.  I hope, as I jog, that he has won an award.  Back home later, turns out he has had a heart attack.   Not my best guess...

Hestia has ....joined the gym

Too many fecking mirrors

So, it came to pass that I found myself in a hotel bathroom that was overly endowed with mirrors, all of which conveniently unfogged as I was drying myself after a shower.

Of course, if I had been expecting to see myself naked from a million different angles I would have sucked my tummy in and stuck my ass out ... or maybe just not showered for the entire weekend.

BUT, as it was, I suddenly encountered myself in my full Rubansesque nakedness.  Which would be FINE if I was living in the 1600s (I would have been a BABE) but not so hot in 21st century Scotland.

It wasn't good.

Bute Noir | an investigation | with wine and cake

The Case of Bute Noir

It was a bright and sunny lunchtime when I strolled down to Bute Museum for the inaugural event for Bute Noir. 

I didn't know what to expect: the weekend event had been organised in a rush by one Karen Latto. She was the kind of broad that makes grown men go weak at the knees – capable, efficient and a rabid Liverpool fan: this was one broad not to be messed with.