DH is slowly recovering from Saturday's 'excesses' at the rugby - he claimed to have only had 3 and a half pints (this was half way through his sixth by our more sober counting - accountants eh?), because by some weird logic, if they taste awful, it doesn't count as alcohol units? B. and I tried to adapt that to our new WeightWatchers diet, so that the fact we had to rush our cheeseburgers and chips meant that they had no points value, and so we could pig out later with a clear conscience.
There's not very much scandalous gossip to report back, as neither DH nor A. could remember which mother in the playground has been branded a 'loose woman', and we didn't know any of the inappropriately dressed teenagers in the pub.
However, I have taken up running (that's running in it's loosest most fluid sense) as I agreed to take part in the Flora Light Challenge - 5 miles of sheer hell in Hyde Park this coming September. Don't laugh folks, I know I'm not built for running, but as soon as I can track down a support bra which is powerful enough to keep everything contained, I shall be taking this seriously. And I shall expect lots of sponsorship money for Verity.