It Is Time...

...HIGH time, indeed, to start that fitness thing everyone's talking about. You know going to the gym regularly and sweating and all that.
A colleague of mine asked (outright asked me) me whether I was pregnant. Or perhaps it just looked that way - he felt obliged to add quickly - that did not make it better, I have you know. 
This coming from a man whose paunch is simply phenomenal, I doubt he can see his... oh whatever.

Go bite yourself, fatso! As of next week will turn into Greek Goddess. Some bloke named Ian or Isaac or Zac or something is going to be my helper, or trainer as lingo goes in sporting world.

Pregnant, my ass!
Let's hope this training business works... like overnight...

And I shall not be made to eat my words... despite recent events and the emergence of a rather charming and handsome young man on the "tableau* of my life".
I remain on this "island" of mine. Of course, we all know, thanks to Donne's John and his many meditations, that No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
Be that as it may - rather than being an island, which apparently no one can do, I shall simply remain on the island which I have created for myself. Think less Gilligan's and more a "Do not disturb" on the doorknob to my life.



*tableau indeed! StagnationRUs