I hope that today finds you in fine fettle. For some reason, my faulty memory had reminded me that I should write about today being the Ides of March. This was a key date in the Roman Calendar, most famous as the date of the assassination of Julius Caesar in 44BC. Actually every month has Ides, but those in March have this special historical resonance for us. However, as I have already indicated that my memory has let me down. The Ides were last Monday, 15th March.
Having got that out of the way, I must report on my progress as, one day at a time, I am sticking to my guns and avoiding these four things:
I apologise for having repeated this list on here yet again, its appearance on the screen is to reinforce myself rather than inform you.
So in this horrendous week of meetings, today’s excellent, informal, interesting, and fun session was the South Derbyshire Volunteer Managers’ Forum.
But setting aside the content of the meeting, my colleague Chris produced several plates of Hot Cross buns.
I agonised about whether to have one.
Earlier in this Lenten period of “giving up”, I wrote a little about whether scones, buns, swiss roll and other items that didn’t include the word “cake” should be included in my list.
Today, I decided that I wouldn’t have a hot cross bun. I am doing so well with “giving up” that I am become much more hard-line with myself, and surely the whole “giving up” thing is about what I decide anyway.
So the alternative at the meeting? Chocolate biscuits. No tug of conscience here, I simply ignored them.
After the meeting, back at work, I realised that a major setback had happened. I had left my lunchtime sandwiches that are carefully and loving prepared by Sue at home in the fridge. I wandered off to Greggs and located a Tuna and low-fat mayonnaise sandwich and returned to work.
By this time word was getting around that the Volunteer Centre’s human dustbin (me) was in the middle of a food crisis. I was stopped in reception by Jaymie of our lovely admin team and offered half of a quiche, which I was, of course, happy to accept. A little later, another colleague, Andy came into the Volunteer Centre with a couple of leftover sandwiches from the buffet at his training session. Together, these generous donations held my body and soul together for the whole afternoon.
When I phoned Sue to bemoan the fact that my sandwich box was at home in the fridge, (not that there was anything practical achieved by this), she suggested that we could meet for dinner at out favourite Toby restaurant, The Priory, in Nottingham.
I duly did this and met Sue and her mum at, or close to, the appointed hour and we went in for a carvery meal. (Good value at £5.25 each).
After she had eaten her carvery main course, Sue’s mum said that felt very hot, so Sue said, jokingly, I think, “Would you like an ice cream to cool down?” It didn’t take mum long to agree, so, of course, I had to have one as well.
This took no soul-searching at all. Throughout this whole adventure, I have been very clear in my own mind that I would continue to take the odd opportunity to eat ice cream. I don’t often have the opportunity; from memory, no more than a couple of times in the past month.
With my work week over, the string of temptations to which I have been subjected won’t feature during the (long-ish) weekend. So with only a couple more weeks until Easter, it will soon be time to plan for whether I return to the wonderful world of biscuits, or continue to plough an (almost) lone furrow.
A have to say “almost”, because Mandi, for whom this “giving up” has been annual occurrence for several years, appears to shrug off the agonies and uncertainties of refusing comfort food things that she likes. But maybe she’s just made of tougher stuff.