Spring it is sprunging. Or at least trying to sprig.

point one: Gah. I missed a trick there.

Last week, I begged on my blog for someone to return spring to its rightful place (here, now) and the next day was as sunny and bright and adorably springlike as I could ever hope.

Did I do the proper and clever thing, and follow that up with a post the very next day requesting that the internet send me a million pounds? Or an enormous pile of new work? Or a pony?

No.

Honestly, I shouldnt be allowed access to magic, I only end up squandering it, it seems.

point two: Life continues, filled with gymming and cooking and working and sleeping and more gymming and some sociability but really, not that much at all. I have decided, however, that I will start writing weekly notes on this blog, to tide me over between the other things – and there will be other things, just weekly notes as well. My Beloved does them, mainly to keep track of which bits of work hes currently doing, and how theyre going. I will keep them for everything BUT work, I think. And I shall do it on Friday. Or the weekend. Because that is better.

Good.

point three: But in the meantime, here is a bear we found when we went for a walk a few miles down the coast to Shoreham the other day (thanks to lovely Diamond Geezer, who did the same walk a few weeks ago. Although I somehow managed to gloss over the part of his post where he described the unending drudgery of several miles of industrial estate when I sold My Beloved on going on the walk with me).

He was perched slightly uncomfortably – no, VERY uncomfortably, as it happens, and somewhat unhygenically – on a bollard outside a teddybear themed cafe.

It was the miserably resigned sag of his shoulders that killed me.

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Oh, the indignity, I can almost hear him saying.

point four: I start bootcamp again in the morning. As you wake at 7 – those of you who are unfortunate enough to be awake at seven – think of me already on the seafront, swinging kettlebells and doing press-ups. I know Ill enjoy it – or I did last time – but right now, the butterflies in my stomach are killing me. It feels a bit like the night before school starts, and school starts with a double PE lesson, and you already know youre the fattest girl in class, and everyones going to laugh at you because you cant catch a ball, let alone throw one.

In fact, lets face it, its *exactly* that.
Which is insane. Im 33, not 13. Im happy enough, and reasonably successful, not quite the size of a bus (not a double decker bus, anyway), and fitter than I used to be but well, I cant help how it feels.
And it feels like that.

But you know what? However bad it gets, Im not that bear.
Poor bear. Oh, the indignity.