To Diet would be an Awfully Big Adventure ...

Like Hell it would. This is tedium in the extreme.

Although I did have a very nice salad tonight, with half a roast poussin in it - cooked without any oil, only a little mace, rosemary, salt and pepper in the skin, and a slice of Maltese lemon (brought by my mother) in the cavity. Delicious. I also made honey-lemonade with the rest of the lemons. Gorgeous. The smell coming off them when I opened them up was just wonderful, putting all the crappy lemons we get in this country to shame.

So, food today:

Breakfast:
1 x tangerine
1 x banana

Lunch:
45g bowl chocolate shreddies

Supper (between 2 people):
Poussin salad, consisting of:
1 dry roasted poussin (see above)
1/2 bag herb salad
some cucumber
2 small tomatoes
1 sliced large tomato
5-6 sun dried tomatoes
1 avocado
some spring onions
a few parmesan shavings
1/2 pot bean salad
the little pot of mint dressing from the bean salad poured over everything

Drink:
2 x large coffees, 4 sweeteners total
1 glass honey-lemonade (2 tsp honey, 3/4 glass 7-Up)

And that's IT. Tomorrow, if the scales read the same as they did this morning, I'm throwing them off the balcony. I mean it.

Exercise wise, I went to the gym for half an hour after walking the dogs on the beach. Bridie was so funny - at least for 10 minutes. She got a bit wearisome after 15, and downright infuriating after 20, but even so ...

I took them down to the shoreline, and the tide was quite far out, so West Sands was beautifully flat, hard and clean. It being the most glorious day, with the sun shining like it doesn't know which country its in, the dogs were immediately keen on going for a swim, so off they tore like furry little darts. Next thing I see is white spray as two cockers hit the sea, followed by a gold and black dot leaping and cavorting with glee. Fair put a grin on my face. Then Bridie clocked a heron, standing serenely about 50 metres away, and raced towards it with bloodlust spurring her paws. The heron turned its majestic head and watched her approach with equanimity.

When she'd got about 10 feet away, the heron took gracefully to wing and glided some 100 metres down the beach. Bridie put her head down and gave chase. The heron came to rest. Bridie got closer, closer ...

... and the heron took off as gracefully as before and sailed 100 metres back down the beach from whence it came.

This went on for 20 minutes. Solid. Bridie didn't stop for breath, never slowed down save where she had to corner and chase the heron back the way it had come. At one point the heron saught a bit of peace and quiet on the end of a long promontory of sand, which started at the beach, stretched out under water for a little way, then resurfaced some few metres offshore. But this was nothing to Bri, who simply plunged in, swam like a lunatic, found her paws and came up running. She barely broke stride. Of course, the heron just gave a slight sigh and glided off again, sending Bri turning on a sixpence and pegging it back again.

Eventually I was pretty cheesed off with her completely ignoring my bellows. Baffie ran off to try and bring her back a few times, but she couldn't really catch her up, and the heron was a bit alarming as far as she was concerned. She did have a good go at giving chase at one point, but her arthritis doesn't agree with tearing up and down beaches, so she soon came to stand with me. Bri came back only after she'd tired herself out by flat out sprinting through water for 20 minutes.

I did some errands in town, then took the pooches to the vet (they whined, trembled and generally behaved as if they were on an outing with Pol Pot) for Bridie's jags and Baffie's arthritis check-up. Then I went to the gym and did a light workout of:

1 mile on the treadmill, under 10 mins
3 x 12 stomach crunches, on 11
3 x 12 leg presses, on 140kg (I think. Could have been lighter - but I couldn't actually lift it without pushing my knees with my hands. Once the weights were up it was easy enough, though)
3 x 12 bicep curl, on 7 (35kg)
3 x 12 chest press, on 40kg
1 x 12 pull down machine thingy, on 35kg, before deciding I was bored poopless and doing:
.5 mile on treadmill, around 4.30

This evening was rather lovely as I watched Man U beat Barcelona 1-0 in the Champions' League, meaning they go through to meet either Chelsea (c'mon!) or Liverpool (well ... ok) in the final! It's an all-England affair, which is deeply wonderful, despite there being a sum total of half an Englishman between both sides. (Not quite true. There are about 9 or so). I wonder if I could go to Moscow for the final? I'm sure it would only cost me six or seven million pounds.

If it's a Man U v Liverpool final, I pity Moscow. I also pity any Man U or Liverpool fans who decide to act like arseholes. I can't imagine the Moscow police will take any crap at all - and cue further breakdown in relations between the British and the Russians as the Russians kick seven shades of shit out of any English fan who even thinks about putting a foot wrong, the British object, and the Russians say the hoolies started it and deserved every inch of their battering. Ah, springtime in Moscow. It'll be a dream.

Now, I'm off to strum the ol' guitar for a while. Something odd has happened to my voice of late. I can't seem to keep in tune. Have I mentioned this before? I sort of want to go to the doctor, but don't want to bother him with something so trivial sounding. Odd, though. I suppose I'm a little catarrh-y, but not much. Well, I'll see how it goes tonight.

G'night.