I rather suspect when Sainsbury’s came up with that advertising slogan they weren’t thinking along the lines of: you know that pizza takeaway you discovered on the way home when you were quite drunk after too many half price champagne cocktails, well try it sober. But, y’know, that’s by the by. Yesterday was a day that necessitated pizza and that was that (also cake but I digress) – let’s face it, a day off the diet wagon from time to time isn’t the end of the world.
The thing is, I got back off holiday and promptly hit a slump about everything. Twenty four carat, in your face, mind blowing slump. And then I started a cold which I thought I’d shaken off on holiday, apparently not. Gone is the tubercular-esque hacking cough but here with a vengeance is the headachey, sinsuy, I-think-my-face-may-explode cold. Between anti-histamine, Lemsip and the occasional Nurofen for my tooth, I’m keeping Boots happily in business right now. Cranky, verily it is me.
Despite the slump and a case of the blahs, I thought it time I pulled my finger out on the blog front…
‘Stretching With Darcey B’
Okay, so I had reservations after I wrenched my neck the first time I tried to “Stretch With Darcey B” and I wasn’t entirely convinced that my pathological laziness wouldn’t win out but I seem to be keeping this up on days without class. I’ve even palmed the book off on my housemate so she can work on a post-gym stretching routine à la Darcey B. And maybe, I whisper tentatively, it’s starting to pay off. When I take a forward porte-de-bras my fingertips skim the floor, barre stretch no longer wants to make me howl in pain (just sob a little ;)) and there was something else that has now slipped my mind…
An accidental spate of book buying
My current ‘to read’ pile is the largest it’s been in a while. I’d say ‘oops’ but I really have no issue with this (except that I’ve put myself on a book buying embargo until it shrinks a bit, that is woeful). Anyway, I bought myself a few dance related books by following ‘Amazon recommends’ (which my bank balance does not recommend but hey-ho) and wound up with a copy of Deborah Bull’s Dancing Away. I’d read her Everyday Dancer earlier in the year as an ‘emergency read’ (translate: I finished my book and needed to buy something to read on the way home) and my whelm was neither under nor over by it. On the other hand, Dancing Away which chronicles Bull’s time away from the Royal Opera House whilst it was being redeveloped, I adored. Upshot: Deborah Bull is ace and you should all read it.
You can take the girl out of ballet…
Remember at the beginning of the year I had some half-assed intentions of things I wanted to do this year? Maybe? Well I still haven’t learned to crochet and my ‘learning to cook’ stalled a little when I went back to ballet but I have branched out a little on the dance front. What have I learned? You can take the girl out of ballet, but you can’t take ballet out of the girl. My run in with street dance was hilarious, everything about it my inner-ballet-ness simply went ‘no’ to. Oh dear. I loved the class but it was something I could only do once. Tap’s going better but I need to get shoes with heel taps because I keep missing beats (also need to relax more, but again: ballet says no). On the other hand, the ballet/yoga fusion class I did was pretty neat: aced the ballet parts, floundered a little with the yoga parts (but apparently I have “nice extensions”, get in) but certainly left feeling well worked and well stretched.
I know I’ve made my feelings on pink tights quite plain, also pink shoes and just pink in general. Anyway I’ve been on/off braving pink shoes of late and for some reason unknown to myself I now own a pair of pink tights. At the moment they are offensively pink, I’m hoping that a few washes will make them less so… I’m almost loath to admit it but my legs don’t look as dreadful as I feared in them and, well, actually they go quite well with my pink shoes.
But I’d just like to state for the record: I WILL NOT NEVER EVER BE BUYING A ‘BALLET PINK’ LEOTARD. Even the mere notion is enough to make me want to vomit.
STEPHANIE O’BRIEN, JUST… WHAT… WHAT… I can’t even. I have no words, no feelings, no… nothing. Anything else I’d even half contemplated sticking in this blog post has gone out of the window at Steph announcing she’s leaving the Puppini Sisters. STEPH WHO KISSED MY CHEEK AND CALLED ME A ‘GOOD GIRL’. Don’t mind me, I’m just going to be in the corner CRYING ALL THE TEARS. (Yerno, good luck to her with her new ventures and what not but I’m still uber sad.)
Coming on the back of the fact I am still having all of the ~feels having watched In Excelsis Deo (West Wing 1.9) last night, my fangirl heart is not coping. Toby, Mrs Landingham, CJ/Danny…
I need to go and live in a cave. Or maybe just go to Rural Derbyshire for the weekend and cold turkey on life in general. Just as well I’m off there tomorrow night then! As Mr T would advise: RECOUP.