Bad Blood*

“Hi, I’m Tanya,” I say, arriving at the new Spin studio at the farm.  “I booked this morning and…”

“Hello,” the instructor says, an Italian inflection in his voice.  He’s  short, looks in his late forties and has a moustache.  Clad in tight cycling gear – he looks the part.

“Oooohhhh want!” I say, my eye caught by a rail of flouroscent cycling gear.

“Let’s set up your bike and you can  try on the clothes later,” he says.

“I’ve just got out of hospital so please can you turn the music down?” I say.  Some dreadful techno is blasting out of the speakers.

“The music is very important,” he says, adjusting my saddle height and its distance from the handlebars.

“Yes, I know,” I say.  “It hurts my ears when it’s so loud though.”

“Try now,” he says.

“Yes that’s fine,” I say.  “Different bikes at my other place and…”

The others arrive and the class gets underway.  It’s such fun to be back in the saddle.

“Whack the resistance up,” he says.  “Stand up in the saddle.”

After a week in bed, it comes back like, well, riding a bicycle.  My muscles remember.

“Revs up and sprint!” He says.  Whacking the dial up, standing, it’s not even difficult.

“Last track,” he says, after what doesn’t seem longer than ten minutes.  Looking at the clock – a bicycle wheel with hands – I see that we’ve been going for forty minutes.  Time flies when you’re cycling.  It’s a great class.  Have purchased a ten day membership here.

Trying on the trousers, they’re all gorgeous.  After frantic texts to MadFatRunner I settle on these two pairs:

Today have also achieved:

1.  Dress to wear for Christmas lunch.

2.  New Minx toes:

And festive fingers:

So my front and back paws are covered in seasonal sparkle.

2.  Zolodex injection –

Dad booked in for it with a nurse.

“I can’t do this,” she says.  “I’ve never done this before and…”

“Oh,” I say, bursting into tears.

“There, there,” she says, passing me a tin, “have a Celebration.”

“Thank you,” I say, choosing a baby Snickers.

“If you come back at five thirty this afternoon, one of the doctors will do it for you,” she says, looking at a spreadsheet on her screen.

“OK,” I say, gathering up my coat, scarf, handbag and magazines.

“We’ve got to return at five thirty,” I tell Dad, approaching him in the waiting room.

“What do you mean?”Dad says, looking tired and rumpled.

“Well the nurse says,” I say, “That a doctor needs to do it and…”

“Don’t go, wait,” the nurse says, running towards us, her heels clicking on the floor.  “The doctor can do it now, if we’re quick.”

So, achieve my Zolodex injection after all.  It joins the network of needle marks all over my tummy and bleeds on my trousers.

3.  Cuddles with my fluffy monster and feeding him some lunch.

Attached photo is that person trying to attract some attention whilst we were making the Christmas pudding.

Happy Wednesday everyone!
*2014.  Taylor Swift song from 1989 album, released in 2015.