Ho Ho Ho from RCC HQ

Hello everyone, just a very quick post to wish you a Merry Christmas. Hope your stomachs are as bulging as ours and your hangovers as mild.

I tried to gather the gang together for a family portrait but the bird/cat/goldfish logistics were too much to cope with. So, i leave you with a picture of my crimbo dinner which contains many RCC herbs and veg and a distinct lack of roulade. Happy Holidays!

Wool envy

I'm crap at knitting - there, I’ve said it. Phew, sometimes just being honest with the world is wonderfully refreshing.

It's not that I don't like knitting; it's just that there are several key skill sets to be a good at it that I simply don’t possess:

1. Patience
2. Creative flair
3. The ability to keep count

So, it's with great envy that I admire the handiwork of those more competent than I. Take for instance my amazingly talented colleague Rebecca. Now, that's a girl that can knit! Her pièce de résistance is tea cosies. This is extremely fortunate as I have a teapot in desperate need of a jumper. So, over our Departmental Christmas curry we struck up this reciprocal deal - one tea cosy for a supply of River Cottage Croydon eggs. Brilliant, everyone’s a winner.

Like most of these crafts Rebecca's obviously learned this skill from her Mum. I became aware of the full extent of Mrs Glover’s knitting talents when Rebecca sent me the following photos on Friday.

Mrs Glover and her fellow members of the Little Chalfont (evening) Women’s Institute knitted this incredible nativity scene for the children of St George’s school.

Wow – Ladies, I salute you. These are quite simply the most awesome knitted items i have ever seen! I'd like to single out the ginger Archangel Gabriel and the wise men with the wispy beards for a special mention.

I'm so inspired by your efforts I’m going to continue to add to the 3.5 inches of scarf I managed to cobble together back in Winter 2007. Wish me luck.

Dear Delia

Dear Delia,

Let me begin by telling you i'm a lifelong fan. Some of my earliest memories of food are watching you cook on Swap Shop with Noel and Cheggers. I’ve always thought Christmas at your house would be culinary Nirvana. However, having witnessed your televisual nightmare ‘Delia’s Classic Christmas’ on BBC Two this week, I’ve revised that assumption.

Right, let’s start with the Christmas pudding (as indeed you did). I love Christmas pudding Delia, i really do, and i agree wholeheartedly that more people would eat it if it was home-made. Saying that, who on Earth in these recession-hit times can afford to have the hob on for EIGHT HOURS steaming a pudding that contains 95 separate ingredients? Certainly not me; I’m sat here typing this in two jumpers and a scarf to save putting the heating on. Do you have shares in one or all of the four main UK energy providers?

Whilst we’re on the subject of vested interests i also believe you may have a substantial personal portfolio involving the UK spirits industry, because  that was a lot of booze i saw glugging into practically every dish. I’m worried for you and your liver.

I was also deeply troubled by your obsession with that large upright freezer. There was something distinctly eerie about your night-time trips into the garage to visit it. I half expected it to contain your Husband’s dismembered body neatly packaged in date-marked Tupperware boxes.

Ok, now let’s move onto the pinnacle of my disgust, that vegetarian abomination. I think we both know I’m referring to the Roulade, or as I like to call it, cheese and parsnip vomit roll. Who would possibly want that for their Christmas dinner, Delia? Please tell me which of your friends and relatives you think would enjoy seeing that beige, oozing, pus-like mess placed in front of them on Christmas day? I know you don't hate vegetarians because you produced a very lovely recipe book just for us back in 2002, so explain to me why this crime against cookery exists? I’ve been a strict vegetarian for 18 years and I would scoff down a Turkey crown in a New York minute before ever putting that thing near my mouth.

Saying all this, I just can’t bear to leave our relationship on a sour note. There were a couple of redeeming features; the braised red cabbage looked nice.

I still love you Delia, I always will. Please make it all better in time for next year.

Best wishes, Lisa.

This is not a good precedent

Mark my words, this is the thin edge of the wedge. By Christmas they’ll be sat on the sofa watching Morecambe and Wise re-runs.

Bird meets birdbrain

To the untrained eye this may look like a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting chicken.

What's actually happened is Eli was minding his own business, pottering around the back of the raised beds, when he discovers to his absolute horror that he's four feet away from Margot – ON THE LOOSE. He's paralysed with fear, the daft animal.

I'll never understand how he’ll happily risk life and limb to chase a huge fox around the field in a Benny Hill-esque fashion but his feathered sisters scare the bejesus out of him.

One of my fellow Omleteers (Eglu owners) put forward the following hypothesis for Eli's behaviour:

I think it's a pride thing. Birds = dinner and dinner should not fight back! Chickens obviously haven't read the rule book and it isn't fair and the cats all go off and sulk. Foxes = competition and therefore they are fair game and expected to fight back.

Now, if only Ron the goldfish put up a tiny shred of resistance he may have a slightly happier retirement.

Seed porn

Mother Nature ensured that any quality time out in the garden today was reduced to zero thanks to the 80mph winds and torrential downpour. So, i remained in my pyjamas all day and resorted to my back-up plan – seed shopping (or as Mr Swift describes it,‘seed pornography’).

While i dispute my husband’s comparison of me to a sweaty loaner addicted to online porn, I will confess to scouring the internet looking for heritage seed providers. I’m determined to grow more unique and endangered varieties in 2010 rather than relying on the trusty Marshalls vegetable garden collection. Thankfully, Seeds of Italy and Thomas Etty have come up trumps. I’ve even gone as far as ordering a few varieties from Hugh himself.

I will admit to being somewhat of a seed snob (if there is such a thing). In my eyes you don’t have the right to call yourself a gardener unless at least one thing in your garden started off as a pack of seeds in your hand, in the same way that bunging a ready meal in the microwave doesn’t really make you Gordon Ramsey. I know not everyone is fortunate enough to have a greenhouse, but that doesn’t stop you chucking a few lettuce seeds in a window box and growing your own salad (sooooo much tastier and cheaper than those atrocious supermarket salad bags). If my argument has convinced any of you to give it a go, this variety is one of my favourites.

Let’s hope the weather eases up tomorrow long enough for me to plant my garlic and let Margot and Jerry out for a spot of free ranging. Otherwise both the hens and i may go a little stir crazy.

Never forget, you'll always be a novice......

One thing I love about gardening is just when you’ve getting a bit full of yourself and starting to feel ever so slightly competent; something comes along and knocks you on your arse. For me this week it was the Hostas. One of my raised beds is in a partially shady position so it became my only non-edible plant collection (saying that, a rhubarb did manage to sneak into the sunniest corner) which includes three lovely Hostas.

Imagine my horror when less than three months after buying them they all start dying! Cue frantic phone call to my Mother (the font of all gardening knowledge) to be told in no uncertain terms that that’s quite normal for this time of year and to stop panicking.

Oh, the shame.

Damn you leaves, when will it ever end?

I’m not going to start this with another apology for how long it’s been between posts. I was planning to blame my hectic schedule during Breast Cancer Awareness Month but seeing as Pamela, our Chief Exec, managed to knock out ten posts in October I really haven’t got a leg to stand on.

So, last time I was here i promised an update on River Cottage Croydon. Well, the world’s tiniest smallholding is looking very sorry for itself as we get ready for the rapid descent into Winter. Getting the plot into this depressing state has involved such fascinating tasks as deadheading and (my least favourite job) raking up leaves. In their defence, leaf mulch is a wonderful conditioner for the garden, but in order to harness it you have to rake up all the bloody leaves and store them for a year in well ventilated spot. The problem with this is leaf collecting is a thankless, never-ending task which would try the patience of the most saintly gardener. When you find yourself screaming at leaves for forever being on the move it’s definitely time to put the rake down and step away from the area.

Margot and Jerry, my lovely hens, have been at RCC for six week now and they’re a delightful addition to the family. They’re currently sitting in a box behind me as the neighbours have decided to turn the street into Sarajevo circa 1995 with a multitude of firework displays. Note to the residents of Addiscome: A – Guy Fawkes Night was FOUR DAYS AGO and B - you had all of yesterday evening to do this so why are we getting a repeat performance tonight? If anyone can point me in the direction of a petition to end the sale of fireworks for domestic use, I’ll happily sign it. Bar Humbug!

Max and Eli, now veterans of three bonfire nights, couldn’t care less. Instead, they’ve spent most of this week perfecting and employing a new (and deeply flawed) squirrel catching technique. This involves hiding up the tree (under the cover of non-existent leaves) ‘till said squirrel runs past, then chasing it round and round the school field until the squirrel’s superior stamina and speed forces the daring duo to retreat back to base and wait for the next target. Repeat ad infinitum. This kept them busy for a good four hours and i can report no squirrels were harmed during the making of this farce. Perhaps next week they’ll graduate to fox hunting with nets and spears.....

Ice-hockey, fascist puppets and freeloading.

Sorry i haven’t updated the blog sooner – it’s been a busy old time what with Margot and Jerry arriving, the start of Breast Cancer Awareness Month and my latest (almost) freebie holiday.

Last week I was lucky enough to have four days in Prague courtesy of my second job, Corporate Wife. Mr Swift was attending a risk management conference and i managed to sneak along as his plus-one. The whole trips cost a measly 50 quid thanks to Easyjet. So, while my husband interviewed the great and the good of the insurance world, i dragged myself off sightseeing.

One of the strangest things about the Czech Republic is the national obsession with marionettes. I will confess to finding puppets a tad disturbing, but nothing could have prepared me for one window display i saw in a shop close to Prague castle. On a puppet stage hung four characters ready for a performance – Hitler, Harry Potter, Barack Obama and Captain Jack Sparrow! I would have loved to seen the synopsis for that play....sadly i don’t have a photo as the shopkeeper came rushing out when he heard my laughter and scowled in a manner which indicated that photography wouldn’t have been appreciated.

In the evenings i kept myself entertained by wrangling invites to a fair few drinks receptions, all in the name of Corporate Wife duties. The good Socialist in me did feel uncomfortable reconciling this extravagance in the current economic climate; however, the champagne-swigging freeloader in me had a great time.

It wasn’t all work as we did manage to escape to the ice hockey to watch HC Slavia Praha destroy some team i can’t spell 6-1. There was a very strange incident at the beginning of the final third when the hardcore fans all disappeared, only to reappear moments later doing the conga led by their mascot, Max the lion. As you can see, Max did take time out of his busy conga-leading schedule to pose for a quick photo.

I promise to update you on River Cottage Croydon goings-on next time. For now, I bid you fairwell; I’m off to harvest some chillies from the greenhouse.

The girls are here!

Just wanted to introduce everyone to Margot and Jerry who arrived this morning.

Chickens, Mice, Cats and Eglus

On a scale of one to super-excited, I’m probably a nine this morning. Why? I finally got the green light from the Royal Bank of Mr Swift to order my Eglu and chickens for the garden. A bit of deliberating over the eglu’s colour, but we finally went for my favourite - purple. The Eglu will arrive with two chickens, a Miss Pepperpot (Margot) and a gingernut ranger (Jerry).

Just need to work out how to break this news to the cats. I’m guessing Max will hide under the bed until at least Christmas, whilst Eli will retreat to his ‘situation room’ (the study) to plan his campaign of attack. Mr Swift and i fully expect him to lose an eye within the first week. On the plus side, Ron the goldfish might get a couple of weeks respite from the feline ‘shock and awe’ attacks.

On a slightly more unpleasant note i think we’re reached that time of year when i have to face my arch-nemesis , the field mouse. One disadvantage of living in a Victorian house next door to a gigantic field is as soon as the nights take a turn for the worse, said mice try and break into my home.

The first autumn we were here I was watching The X-Factor (in my defence there was nothing else on at the time and it was before I owned all seven seasons of The West Wing) and a mouse brazenly scampered out from under the sofa and sat eyeballing me from the middle of the room. The next day i laid out numerous humane traps and caught four of them. Mr Swift was dispatched to release them in the local park. I may hate them but i understand their house invasion isn’t an act of war, but a necessity; hence they get to keep their lives.

Having the cats around has reduced the numbers significantly but not removed the threat entirely. Last Christmas Eve I was sat in bed reading ‘A Christmas Carol’ (a long-standing tradition of mine) when Max came running into the room with a live mouse in his mouth. I think I’d rather have had a visit from Marley’s ghost.

So, imagine my sinking heart when Max spent the whole of last night in the kitchen, sat in the darkness peering underneath the fridge. If they are not in the house already then I give them week. Sigh, time for the humane traps and peanut butter to make a guest appearance.

RIP Summer

The past week in RCC has been tinged with sadness. We’ve reached that time of year where plants that have been flogging their guts out to feed you for weeks head into full-on suicide-mode right in front of your eyes. Despite the wretchedness surrounding the death of my trusty friends, their departure does signal the arrival of my favourite season, autumn.

What’s not to like about autumn? Crisp air, burnt orange leaves, the return of jumpers, Bonfire night and Strictly Come Dancing on the telly – need I go on?

Only one plant is refusing to accept autumn’s on the horizon and that’s the ass-kickin’ courgettes. The best (and least PC) analogy would be to compare them to a Japanese WWII solider who no-one’s bothered to tell the war’s ended. This morning I did see the beginnings of mildew on their leaves which is a tell-tale sign their days are indeed numbered (shhh – don’t tell them). Mr Swift was heartbroken when he learned they’d have to be pulled in a matter of weeks. Clearly he’s become attached to pole vaulting over the top of them on his way to peg out the washing.

So, this weekend we’ll say goodbye to summer with a massive clean-up operation of uprooting the fallen in order to make room for my least favourite gardening crop – the winter/spring brassicas. Call me fickle but I can’t manage the same level of excitement over cabbages and broccoli. For the sake of the blog I’ll do my best to sound animated.

P.S – get your thinking caps on. The blog is in desperate need of a name change seeing as the walk is well and truly over. The winning suggestion will receive a special prize of my choosing

One step closer to The Good Life

The American humorist Kin Hubbard once said "In order to live off a garden, you practically have to live in it".

The last four weeks have been a terribly busy, but rewarding time at River Cottage Croydon. The many months of toiling over fragile seedlings are paying dividends with a constant supply of food. On the menu at the moment are: tomatoes, lettuce, radishes, beetroots, celery, green beans, courgettes, pink chard, chillies, apples and sweetcorn.

From what i can see Mother Nature’s primary downfall is the inability to stagger a harvest, which requires you to adopt cunning ploys such as freezing and pickling to keep up with the glut.

Take the courgettes for instance. They are like the terminator – they absolutely will not stop producing no matter what you do to them! When I first started gardening I saw a book entitled ‘What will i do with all these courgettes?’ and couldn’t believe anyone would need such a thing. Two years on and I wish I’d brought that bloody book when i had the chance. Anna very kindly gave me a recipe for courgette muffins, which despite most people's initial reservations eventually went down a storm. Nigel Slater published a courgette frittata recipe in last week’s Observer magazine, so clearly he’s having similar issues.

Despite all this success I have to confess to a huge gardening faux pas. I planted what i believed to be calabrese (broccoli to the uninitiated) in my brassica plot only to realise this week that they look very similar to the chili plants growing in the greenhouse.... I expect to have my RHS membership revoked with immediate effect.

By far and away the most exciting news is the expansion of my self-sustainability experiment to include chickens. The girls – Margot and Jerry (a nod to the Ledbetters, long-suffering neighbours of Tom and Barbara in ‘The Good Life’) will hopefully be with me by the end of October. More on this later.

How much?

After the wedding Mr Swift and I spent a couple of days in Copenhagen, which is about all most mortals can afford without taking out a second mortgage. It’s by far and away the most expensive place I’ve ever visited.

This shouldn’t have been such a surprise as I’d recently read in the Economist that Denmark fares poorly on their ‘Big Mac Index’ which allows you to judge if a currency is over/undervalued by comparing the cost of a commonly available item, the Big Mac.

Being a vegetarian this didn’t resonate with me so I’ve developed my own version - the ‘how much is a pint?’ index. A 400ml beer in most bars and restaurants in Copenhagen is 50kr which at today’s exchange rate is £5.76. Extrapolate that up to 568ml and you’re looking at £8.18 a pint. Over eight quid for a pint!

Despite the obvious financial drawbacks Copenhagen is a lovely city and i was very impressed with its prioritisation of cyclist and pedestrian. The vast majority of roads have six foot cycle paths and practically everyone, young and old, are cycling around. I was very taken with the Christiana bikes (essentially a tricycle with a box at the front for carrying round children/shopping). As someone without a car they appealed to me greatly, however, i suspect their quirky Scandinavian charm wouldn’t translate well to Croydon.

The Christiana bikes get their name from the Freetown of Christiana, which is for all intense and purposes a long-established squatter’s commune on disused MoD land in the middle of Copenhagen. Barely tolerated by the authorities it is a 1,000-strong community that governs by consensus, has its own rules and even its own currency. I had a wonderful time wandering around looking at the amazing homes and gardens they have fashioned from next to nothing. Unfortunately their existence is under renewed threat as they occupy some pricey real estate and pay nominal rent. Let’s hope the Dane’s well documented spirit of tolerance will ensure Christiana’s safety.

Wedded bliss

Goede middag iedereen. Ik ben droevig ik heb bijgewerkt meer onlangs mijn blog niet. Ik ben aan een huwelijk in Denemarken geweest.

If Babelfish is to be believed that paragraph might be Danish for ‘Good afternoon everyone. I’m sorry i haven’t updated my blog recently. I’ve been attending a wedding in Denmark’.

And what a wedding – Ralph and Christina’s day was filled with endless fun, heartfelt sincerity and bucketfuls of love.

Ralph is Mr Swift’s ex-news editor and we were accompanied to the wedding by a couple of other ex-Post hacks who will remain nameless for the sake of their current and future careers on national newspapers.

If you haven’t been to a Danish wedding i suggest you befriend an engaged Dane immediately as they are riotous fun. Here’s what I’ve learned about gettin’ hitched, the Scandinavian way

• The Danes are exceptionally fond of toasting (Skål!) at any given opportunity

• The wedding reception—a bryllupfest—not only consists of toasts and speeches but other random activities such as mass participation singing (complete with lyric handouts) and multimedia presentations

• All this results in a five hour dinner feast. The only thing i can see that prevents it from running any longer is yet another Danish tradition: that the bride and groom must take their first dance before midnight

• There is a lot of kissing. Whenever the groom leaves the room, all the men rush over and kiss the bride (and vice versa)

• The guests can demand the bride and groom kiss at any time. Banging your plate with cutlery forces the bride and groom to stand on their chairs to kiss. Pounding your feet on the floor will force them under the table for a snog

• The first dance is to a Danish waltz. All the guests circle the couple and inch towards them until at last they have no room to dance and must kiss (again). The groom is then wrenched away, held up in the air while someone comes along and cuts off the toes of his socks.

I have to admit that last tradition scared the life out of me. It had a touch of ‘The Wicker Man’ about it.

Anyway, us Brits have a few traditions of our own, namely we’ll get steaming drunk and participate in some morally and legally dubious behaviour. For once, I can hold my head up and say that my conduct was exemplary; the same cannot be said for some of my companions. Here’s a compilation of learning that may or may not have come about from actual events. I couldn’t possibly comment.

• Trying to source cigarettes at a wedding in the middle of nowhere will involve a lot of grovelling, the local restaurateur, a taxi ride and £70

• Snoring at 100 dbs-plus in a communal dorm may result in you getting punched hard in the face and smothered with your own pillow

• The 19 year old you’re slow dancing with will turn out to be 47 and have an irate husband. When you accuse him of being her Dad it’s time to leg it back to the hostel

• Before taking a young lady down to the beach for an evening of amorous entertainment check everything’s in working order.....

• Pack shoelaces, otherwise you’re going to the wedding with makeshift clingfilm alternatives

Let that be a lesson to us all.

More Fantastic Mr Fox news

The official Fantastic Mr Fox website is launched with a picture gallery. Is it wrong to be insanely jealous of a fictitious Badgers office?

Shopping frenzy

I always find shopping for weddings outfits a slightly hysterical experience. I know from my own time as a bride that you couldn’t care less what people wear just as long as they turn up, have a good time and don’t get too pissed before dinner. At our wedding not everyone managed to comply with the latter, but the alcohol bill suggested a good time was certainly had by all.

Despite being armed with this insider knowledge i still ended up on a frantic mission to secure a new frock for R&C’s Danish wedding next weekend.

I found myself at Westfields, the shiny new mega-mall over in White City. Am i the only one that finds those gigantic shopping meccas absolutely terrifying? Years ago when i lived in Sunderland i visited the Metro centre at Gateshead, which was then the largest of its kind in Europe. I got spectacularly lost and ended up in a blind panic desperately trying to locate the exit. The same thing happened to a lesser extent on Thursday. On the plus side, i did get myself kitted out.

I'm busy preparing for my Mum’s arrival on Thursday – she’s kindly agreed to cat/garden sit whilst we’re away. She’s bringing with her a new duvet and pillowcases set to, and I quote, 'save me from doing any washing’. Whilst this is such a sweet gesture it also implies my mother thinks i own just the one duvet cover....

River Cottage Croydon is in full produce mode. Got the last of the potatoes up on Monday and some of them were large enough to use for baking. I also picked my first courgette. Like Hugh, i employ the ‘rule of thumb’ to harvesting – if the courgette is longer than one of your fingers you can pick them. If you’ve ever seen my tiny hands you’ll understand how ridiculous that belief system is.

I’ve also become a little bit obsessed with playing a quiz game on the Xbox called 1 Vs 100. You compete live with thousands of other players worldwide for prizes. It's now my life’s ambition to be chosen as 'the one'.

Anyway, best be off to interact with the real word.

Come on August, my bored little brain needs you!

It became apparent to me this afternoon that since the walk training ended I’ve been in desperate need of a welcome distraction. Earlier I found myself giving serious consideration to learning to play the ukulele (perhaps something to do with The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain being on my iPod at the time). Me learning the ukulele is about as likely as Philip Glenister marrying my mother (sorry love, it just aint going to happen). So, it’s time for the thinking cap to go on....

Other things of note this week:

I’ve been ill. Whoh - before you start reaching for the Tamiflu I’m pretty certain it’s just a cold. My immune system is pathetic so if it had been anything more sinister I’d still be on my back demanding immediate hospitalisation. Really, all it meant was I spent Saturday night in a nest on the sofa watching the second season of ‘30 Rock’ and swigging back the Lemsips.

I’m ashamed to admit I watched ‘Twilight’. Not sure who I need to apologies to for this. Probably everyone.

I was over the moon that the first stills from Wes Anderson’s upcoming ‘Fantastic Mr Fox’ were released. A few of you will be aware of my Wes Anderson obsession (which borders on stalker-esque at times). If you haven’t seen ‘Rushmore’ I insist you see it immediately. If you hate it please don’t tell me; I’ve lost friends over it already.

This week begins the countdown to August – a month that’s brimming with comedy gold for the blog: R&C’s wedding in Denmark, holiday in Copenhagen, my 36th birthday, 5th wedding anniversary and - the piece de resistance - the final ever Swift family BBQ in Ironbridge (Will Kev exceed his record of 14 consecutive cans of Scrumpy Jack or will my father-in-law have to intervene again?).

I’ll be boring you to tears about all of this shortly.

What do you think radishes taste like?

Ok, so it would appear stopping the blog would cause me more grief than keeping it going – so you win!

So, what have i done this week? I saw Oasis at Wembley on Thursday night, which was much better than I expected. In my opinion Oasis haven’t had a decent album in over a decade and only a scattering of half-passable singles in the same timeframe. So, whilst they played too much of their new stuff for me it was good to hear the old favourites belted out. The brothers Gallagher were very well behaved on stage; the same cannot be said of the men in the box two down from us (yes, another corporate freebie) who had a riotous punch-up with the punters below. Silly boys.....

I’ve spent a lot of the weekend tending to River Cottage Croydon. I’ve pulled up another bumper crop of potatoes and my first radish (singular). Didn’t know what to do with the radish as I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never eaten one before. Bloody hell, i can’t believe I’ve got to 35 without eating a radish. That sounds so ridiculous.

We also had the Breast Cancer Campaign staff conference last Wednesday – i had a great time and i direct you to Pamela’s write-up of the day as I couldn’t put it any better myself.

Lots of my clothes arrived from EBay and thankfully everything fits. The 7 for all Mankind jeans i brought are exquisite – they’re also four inches too long for me. This didn’t stop me wearing them the whole of Friday. Fortunately i was working at home so no-one saw quite how ridiculous I looked. They’ll be off to the tailors tomorrow.

Anyway, better go and tend to Mr Swift; he’s come down with what I’m praying is a cold. He’s managed to built himself a nest on the sofa and has been asking pitifully for Lemsips all afternoon.

To blog or not to blog?

That is indeed the question. I only ever intended to keep this going until the walk was over. However, since finishing STEP ON IT I’ve had a few requests for it to continue in some format or other. Being a woman of the people I’ve decided to let the masses decide. Let me know by commenting or emailing if you’d like this to continue. In the meantime, I’ll invent a number of responses I’m going to need to to carry on writing.

My fate is in your hands......

Happy Birthday.....

...to Max and Eli who are two today! They’ll be getting a birthday roast chicken rather than a cake.

Back (for good) to reality

So, here we are, one week to the very day since I completed my STEP ON IT challenge. The last seven days have been very reminiscent of the first week back after my Honeymoon almost five years ago. You spend so much time preparing for the big day, that once it's over you're not quite sure what you used to do with your life before worrying about table favours, who's picking up the cake and will the best man be dying his hair a frightful shade of peroxide blonde(the answer to the latter was yes)?

So, I’ve tried to keep myself busy post-challenge with a number of things:

1. Ebay - as several people have pointed out a pleasant side-effect of the walking has been the shedding of a few unwanted pounds. So, I’ve been selling some of my nicer too-big clothes on Ebay. This is beneficial in two ways; firstly it's an incentive to keep the weight off, secondly I’ve been using the proceeds to buy new clothes. I'm sat here typing this in a (large) size 8 denim skirt. The last time I squeezed my ample backside into any item of single digit-sized clothing Gareth Southgate’s penalty was saved by the Germans in a European Championship semi-final (that was a grim evening for us Villa fans). Ask a boy if you can't work out the year.

2. Take That - I’m not what you'd describe as a huge Take That fan - in fact I remember laughing at my then colleagues at Office International who cried when their split was announced on Radio 1 (ironically, the same year as Southgate's missed penalty). This didn't deter me from traipsing over to Wembley on Wednesday to see them in concert, courtesy of one of Mr Swift's corporate freebies. A good time was had by all; my lovely friend Lynn Rouse was also there so it was more of a mate’s night out than a stuffy corporate affair. The box we were in (yes, box - no slumming it for Rouse and I) was two away from the Beckhams. Sadly there was no sign of David and Victoria; I am reliably informed by The Sun they were busy having marital problems in the South of France.

3. The garden - River Cottage Croydon has taken a bit of a back seat in the last two weeks, so I’ve lavished it with tender loving care all weekend. I am starting to see the first harvests of veg other than lettuce. All my garlic is now up and either made into soup or drying. I've just unearthed my first potatoes of the season - 1.5kg of Swifts (we like to keep it in the family). I will be scoffing most of them for dinner this evening.

4. Walking - yes, you read that correctly. Now I’m free from the shackles of enforced walking I’m still keeping it up. Went for a nine mile stroll this lunchtime; it was nice to know it was out of choice, not necessity.

Finally, just want to say thanks again to all of you who've sponsored me. My total is now at £419, and I’m still waiting for a couple more sponsors (my dad and the cats). Speaking of cats, today’s picture gives you an idea of what I have to put up with living with Max and Eli. Max is very fond of the new computer and likes to sit in front of the screen at every available opportunity. Happy days!

P.s – Federer has just won Wimbledon. I think anyone that sells their soul to Satan and appears in those terrible Gillette adverts should be banned indefinitely from re-entering polite society, let alone major sporting events.

Ta-da!

Match report

I often find myself in slightly ridiculous situations which may explain why I power walked 21 miles on the hottest day of the year so far.

Just in case you missed yesterdays post, the walk is done – 21 miles, five hours 35 mins, 46,096 steps. A week earlier than anticipated, but hey-ho! I have photographic evidence of the pedometer and hopefully Natalie will be able to get it off my phone tomorrow (I can be such a Luddite at times). Plenty of my colleagues have seen it so I can produce character witnesses if required.

Anyway, back to the walk. I knew something was afoot on Saturday evening when I was putting together my iPod’s 16 mile playlist (imaginatively titled ‘Walkies!’). I decided to add on an extra hour’s worth of tunes ‘just in case’ - hmmmm.

Woke up on Sunday morning and I knew what I had to do – get this walk out of the way. Rather than fully admit that to myself or anyone else I set off on my training walk as planned, just with extra provisions on the off-chance I fancied tagging an extra five miles on the end.

I would love to report some kind of triumph over adversity tale of five and a half hours of hell but it really wasn’t the case; in the main it was very enjoyable. The only problem I encountered was crushing boredom. To overcome this I mulled over such insightful topics as:

‘Would I like to live at River Cottage?’ (yes, but only if Hugh moved out)

‘What would being married to Tim Roth be like?’ (awesome)

‘Is my neighbour using his ice cream van empire as a cover for drug dealing (quite possibly)

The only time I came close to breaking was being forced to return to the house when I ran out of water at 37,000 steps. It was heartbreaking to dash in, fill up and leave again – all the time knowing that all that stood between me and that sofa was another 9,000 steps (sigh).

Mr Swift was kind enough to accompany me for the last hour and his company was greatly appreciated. His sense of humour at 43,000 steps, was not. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I locked you out of the house when we got back?” Err, no. We’re friends again now.

Once it was all over i celebrated by having a glass of bubbly and watching the second half of the Bollywood film Fanaa – an epic tale of casual holiday sex and international terrorism.

The good news is it’s not too late to sponsor me if you’re feeling that way inclined; my justgiving page is still very much open for business. So far I’ve raised £369 (thank you, thank you, thank you) and would love to see that grow a little larger.

Right, I bid you all goodnight; I’ll be back in the next couple of days to give you an update on progress.

Hip Hip Hooray

Hello again. I’ve only gone and bloody done it!

You’re going to have to take my word for it at the moment as I can’t get the pic of my pedometer off my phone.

So, 21 miles in 5 hours and 35 minutes has got me to 46,000 steps. I wasn't planning the big push until next week, but i just knew that today should be the day from the moment i woke up.

I am extremely relieved to have it in the bag. My calves ache the tiniest bit, but I think that may be down to dehydration rather than anything else. It was extremely warm out there today.

There will be a full match report tomorrow once I’ve recovered, but tonight there will be some long overdue chocolate cake and champagne - hooray!

Week eight round-up

Week eight! My, it only seems like yesterday Stuart convinced me this blog would be a good idea.

Can i get a drum roll please ............. 16 miles nailed in 4 hours 10 mins. I'm chuffed to bits with the time and the distance. No major problems to report apart from abject boredom. I desperately need some new tunes on the iPod to keep me entertained.

Anyhoo - here's what i've learned this week:

• Hugh's River Cottage Garlic Soup is amazing (even if you substitute the chicken stock for a veg alternative)
• Never underestimate the comedy value of a short Irish man in a cape and jackboots (or a giant purple cow)
• iTunes support section is full of lies

So, week nine - the penultimate week. I'm looking at three midweek walks (two six miles and one seven miler) then a repeat of today's 16 mile endurance test next Sunday. I feel tired just typing that.

Pollen, Garlic, Hooowwwwwllllll

What a blissful way to start the weekend - I’m sat in my study (at my shiny new computer) looking out over the garden, wondering what on earth I’m going to do with abundance of fruit ripening nicely on my apple tree (I’m leaning towards cider).

The only thing spoiling this scenario is the puffy eyes and streaming nose courtesy of my arch nemesis, pollen. I’ve had hay fever for the last 20 years but for some reason this season is particularly bad. For someone who spends a great deal of time in the garden, this is not cool.

This week has been pretty easy going on the training front; just a couple of six-mile midweek jaunts. Six miles really is nothing now, I can do it well within the 90 minutes recommended in my training schedule. However, tomorrow’s 16 miler looms menacingly in the background. My clothes and trainers are sitting in a pile, ready for me to drag myself out of bed early doors in order to get round in time to still have some of the day left to enjoy. Last week’s 14 miler wasn’t the nightmare it could have been, so pollen permitting it could be ok.

I should really mention the crushing tiredness that’s probably making the pollen appear ten times worse than it actually is. I had a very late night/early morning thanks to Andrew Maxwell and his merry band of fullmooners (hooowwwwwllllll) . As per usual, Maxwell overran by a good 40 minutes, meaning that Waterloo had closed for the night by the time we got there. Cue much frantic TFL checking on the iPhone (Natalie) and desperate attempts to locate bus stop D (Me). 50 minutes later we arrive in deepest, darkest Penge. I’m not complaining – the gig was a riotous laugh, and ended with Des Bishops's Gaelic rendition of House of Pain’s ‘Jump Around’. Des was accompanied on stage by Maxwell, three breakdancers and a giant dancing purple cow. If that’s not worth braving a trip on the night bus, I don’t know what is.

Anyway – will leave you all to your respective Saturday pursuits. I plan to spend the day repotting chili plants and picking my first garlic of the season. Can’t make my mind up whether to roast the bulbs whole or make a garlic soup. Either way, I apologise in advance to any Campaign staff that have to speak to me next week – its’ going to be a fragrant experience.

I love research!

I’ve just got back from one of my favourite Breast Cancer Campaign events, our annual Induction Day. The event, in its ninth year (I’ve been to seven of them), is designed to bring together our newly funded scientists with Campaign’s staff, Trustees and Scientific Advisory Board members. We split the day into two halves - the scientists talk about their research in the morning and Campaign’s staff talk about what they do in the afternoon. Hopefully, by the end of the day we all know a little bit more about our ground breaking research and the scientists understand the dedication and perseverance of Campaign’s staff and supporters (and how they can help us to raise even more money).

I have the great privilege of suggesting the scientific speakers and it’s a wonderful opportunity for me to share some of my favourite new research projects with staff and scientists alike. Here’s a few of the research questions that our new researchers are answering right now:

· Can a type of physiotherapy called myofacial release help to improve the lack of mobility and pain people experience in their upper arm after breast cancer surgery and radiotherapy?

· Can we design a brand new way of treating breast cancer by putting a gene into breast cancer cells that causes them to self-destruct, leaving healthy cells intact?

· Are a group of cells called cancer stem cells responsible for people’s breast cancer returning after treatment? If so, can we develop ways to kill these stem cells and prevent the cancer from recurring?

I am inspired by what I hear at every Induction Day, not just from the scientists but also the dedication of our staff. It’s motivated me to keep on going with the walking, and I know however much I raise will be a step in the right direction (no pun intended) to helping us support event more research.

I won’t go on about the current economic climate but as Liz (our Director of Fundraising) pointed out in her talk this afternoon there are around 20,000 active charities all vying for your cash right now. Each person is motivated to raise funds for Campaign for very different reasons; mine is the unwavering belief that Campaign’s research does and will continue to make a huge difference to the 550,000 people alive in the UK who have been diagnosed with breast cancer, and those people who’ll be diagnosed in the future.

I guess a spot of exercise and a few inconvenienced weekends seems like a small price to pay in return.

P.S – On a more flippant note, I’ve calmed down 1000 per cent since last night’s Apple-directed tirade (a note to Steve Jobs, it’s probably safe for you to pop round our house now). The iTunes issue still isn’t resolved; however I have (unrealistically) high hopes for this evening.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Just spent the last three hours failing to transfer mine and Mr Swift's iTune libraries from dying laptop to shiny new computer. If Steve Jobs walked into my study right now i'd punch him very hard in the face.

*deep breaths* Let's hope tomorrows six mile walk will help calm the nerves.

Week seven round-up

My, how time flies when you’re having fun. It’s been a really productive seven days with some significant progress made. Here’s a round-up:

· Did my longest walk to date – 14 miles in 3 hours 40 minutes. I felt much happier on this walk than last Monday’s 12 miler, conclusive proof that it was evil Gipsy Hill that did me in. My pedometer reckoned I’d amassed 31,000 steps. On that basis I calculate 46,000 steps will equate to 21 miles and around six hours of walking. The end is in sight!

· Now the last frosts are well and truly over I planted everything from my greenhouse into the raised beds. My full crop list stands at: apples, blueberries, rhubarb, sweet corn, broccoli, potatoes, carrots, beetroot, kale, courgettes, radishes, tomatoes, lettuce, spinach, dwarf beans, pink chard, parsley, basil, thyme, rosemary and coriander. As Natalie pointed out yesterday when I gave her the guided tour of ‘le jardin de Lisa’, come the zombie apocalypse/swine ‘flu pandemic I will be self sufficient as long as I can get into the back garden. Hmm, need to work on securing the perimeter.

· Special mention must go to PC World who processed and dispatched the order for my new computer without sending me a single email, and to DHL who left it with my (thankfully very trustworthy) neighbours. Proof indeed that excellent customer service is a thing of the past.

This week I’ve got a couple of six mile walks and a 16 miler at the weekend. I’m also really looking forward to Maxwell's Fullmooners Moonlanding Moontacula on Friday. I went in full zombie fancy dress to the last Moontacula (hence today’s photo – by the way, that’s not my hair or my rat). Unfortunately most of the other thousand-strong audience had ignored the ‘compulsory fancy dress’ request so Joe, Natalie, Simon, Kirk, Swifty and I looked a little strange. The numerous tequila shots downed before leaving the house prevented us from dying of shame.

New hip required?

I’m slightly concerned as I’ve developed a twinge in my hip; it was a tad sore on the short walk down to London Bridge last night. I’m pretty convinced it’s psychosomatic as it only came on after Arlene quizzed me about any aches and pains I may be experiencing. I’m going to stop talking to her about exercise; she’s starting to scare me.

Just to be on the safe side I’m going to invest in a new pair of walking trainers (yes, such things do exist) as my current Asics are designed for running and have seen better days (and, if the truth be known, they’re a bit fragrant).

So, I’ll be skipping tonight’s six mile hike in favour of a shorter walk tomorrow morning, leading into the 14 mile extravaganza on Sunday. I’m hoping I’ll be able to get into work on Monday without the need for crutches.

I am a shameless geek

Last night was a training-free evening so I got to spend some quality time with my one true love – the Xbox 360 (sorry Mr S).

I’ve always been a bit of a gamer and have happy childhood memories spent huddled round the ZX Spectrum playing Manic Miner, Daley Thompson’s Decathlon and Ghostbusters.

In 1997/1998, the final year of my undergraduate degree, I was the only girl in a house full of boys - we spent vast swaths of time playing Tomb Raider and Final Fantasy VII. Without Lara Croft and Chocobo Racing I would have got a 1st. I have no regrets.

I currently own five consoles; the Xbox 360, Wii, DS, Gamecube and Playstation 2 (the latter two are much-loved old friends I’m unable to part with). The irony is my husband has no interest in gaming at all; it all got too complicated for him after Frogger. He’s happy to watch from the sidelines.

You may think it’s pretty sad that a soon-to-be 36 year old woman likes playing games, but I can assure you I am not alone. There are many more women like me and we’re not all playing those patronising nurturing games aimed at us– take note developers, I’m primarily interested in puzzle solving and shooting zombies in the head.

However, exercise of the non-virtual kind does have its advantages. I doubt very much I’d have lost 10 pounds whilst sat on my backside playing Left 4 Dead.

So, six miles planned for this evening, after Monday’s adventure it’ll be a breeze. I may even get home in time for some online zombie culling – happy days!

Hills suck

I survived last night’s 12 mile walk home – hip hip hooray! Took me 3hrs 12 mins.

For the benefit of my fellow Londoners the route was as follows: Shoreditch- London Bridge – Elephant and Castle – Camberwell – Denmark Hill – Herne Hill – West Dulwich – Gipsy Hill – Crystal Palace – West Norwood – Croydon.

I wouldn’t recommend anyone walks this kind of distance on a regular basis as it was excruciatingly hard going after a days work. I had a slight wobbly moment upon reaching the top of Crystal Palace – 380 feet above the Thames– and stumbled the remaining three and a half miles home with legs that felt like they no longer belonged to me.

Got home just in time for dinner, watched Ashes to Ashes then fell asleep on the sofa.

Looking forward to a couple of six mile midweek walks and Sunday’s 14 mile stroll. As they say, no rest for the wicked.

Week six round-up

Not much to report, training has had to take a bit of back seat for the last few days. However, I’m standing on the precipice of a 40 mile training week - gulp.

Highlights from the week:

1. Whilst running the bar at Mum and Terry’s 25th Wedding Anniversary party Swifty and I invented a cocktail, ‘the Wendy’ - three parts champagne, one part pomegranate juice. Consume until you feel the need to dance to the Bay City Rollers ‘Bye Bye Baby’ while simultaneously eating squirty cream directly from the can.

2. I broke my self-imposed rules and succumbed to the tiniest glass of champagne and a huge piece of chocolate cake at the party. Both tasted all the better for a six week absence.

3. I’m being stalked by birds. I’ve had two baby birds in my living room over the last week (thanks Max and Eli) and two jackdaws flew down the chimney at my Mum’s house -I thought we were in Hodnet not Bodega Bay?

So, tonight is the big twelve mile hike from Shoreditch to Croydon. I have my Auntie Maria’s Jackie CD burned to my iPod, so lots of David Cassidy, Slade, The Osmonds and David Essex to keep me company all the way home. Marvellous!

Drag Me To Hell

No, that’s not a direct order. It’s just the title of a film I went to see last night. If you like silly horror then you’ll enjoy this.

The only thing that spoilt my enjoyment was my inability to be surprised by surprise endings. For example, the twist in The Sixth Sense was glaringly obvious to me within the first 15 minutes (as it should have been for everyone....). It’s a curse!

On the walking front I’ve had a rethink about the 12 mile walk of death planned for the weekend and on Arlene's advice I’m going to delay it until Monday when I’m back in London-town. This does mean I’ll be walking all the way from work to Croydon. Psychologically that seems like an awfully long way.

Week five round-up

Apologies for the lack of recent posts. I’ve been visited by both sets of parents over the last two weekends, so my opportunities to write have been very limited. Had a very lovely time with Dad, Marg and Scott this weekend. I felt terribly guilty for using them as slave labour to shift the three ton of topsoil that was delivered on Friday. Still, there’s no such thing as a free lunch (or board and lodgings) in our house.

Sunday saw me completed a ten mile walk in 159 minutes – a very respectable time given the temperature. Thankfully I have my camelbak (a combined rucksack/water carrier) otherwise I would have collapsed of exhaustion on Shirley golf course, never to be seen again…..

Anyway, things we have learned from week five of training:

1. Walking ten miles can be extremely enjoyable. No, honestly it can!

2. Cats are the axis of evil. They may pretend to love you, but at some point they’ll bring a live bird into your living room and you’ll spend over an hour trying to get the thing out alive

3. If you think you need three tons of topsoil to fill your raised beds, you’ll actually only require two tons. You’ll then have to endure your family reminding you of exactly why you had to re-sit your GSCE maths exam

4. A note to motorists – just because you’re in a steel box doesn’t give you the right to assume your journey is in any way superior to mine. It’s a good job I don’t own a handgun otherwise there would have been a few fatalities in the Addiscombe/West Wickham/Shirley area this weekend.

Another strange week looms. It’s Mum and Terry’s silver wedding anniversary party on Saturday so I’ll be heading back to sunny Shropshire to meet up with the rest of the family. I’m also going to have to do a twelve mile walk in a village that has next to no paths and lots of crazy country roads. Highly likely I’ll be run over by a Landrover.

Nice knowing you all.

In defence of the ‘concrete hell’

I’ve lived in London now for the past seven year and have always been based in the South East, moving progressively further South as time goes on (Dulwich – Crystal Palace – Croydon)

Now, many of you may think that each move represents a downgrade in neighbourhood, but I beg to differ.

Through my walking training I’ve had a unique opportunity to see lots of Croydon and can report back that there are plenty of positives, despite what people may tell you.

1. Greenery - David Bowie once described Croydon as a ‘complete concrete hell’. Personally, I think anyone who creates something as abhorrent as two Tin Machine albums looses the right to be critical – but that’s just my opinion. Despite what the thin white duke thinks, Croydon has lots of green space including 120 lovely parks. Croydon also does very well in the Britain in Bloom competition – see here if you don’t believe me. Given the content of my previous posts you’ll realise by now that trees, plants and the like are kinda high on my agenda.

2. Safety - I have never once felt threatened on the way home from work to my little palace in Addiscombe. This is in marked contrast to being attacked by teenagers in Gipsy Hil and witnessing two nasty muggings in West Dulwich.

3. Rejuvenation - there is lots of work going on in the city centre, so much so that The Guardian declared that ‘Croydon is the new Barcelona’ back in 2007 (even I raised an eyebrow at that).

4. Culture – it’s not all hoodies stabbing each other on street corners you know, there’s also the odd spot of theatre and art and what-not. The Croydon Clocktower and Warehouse Theatre are particularly good. If it wasn’t for Fairfields Hall I wouldn’t have seen the spectacular Brian Blessed in Peter Pan last Christmas.

If you need any further convincing I present my trump card – Croydon is getting its very own Waitrose. How bad can it be if the last bastion of Middle Class shopping is prepared to move here?

So, you can keep your Dulwich Villages - long live Croydon! Up yours, David Bowie.

P.S - training is going well, five miles in 75 minutes last night. Walked back from Forest Hill station to home, which gave me an opportunity to see lots of places i don't normally visit. I'm also becoming terribly well acquainted with the bus routes of London. Perhaps a second career with TFL beckons?

Week four round-up

For the last five days I’ve had the Ground Force theme tune running through my head on a continuous loop. Mum, Terry, Jon and I have transformed my garden by digging for Britain and building my longed for raised beds. I’ve even had time to slip in a spot of training. Here’s a round up of week four:

· There’s probably a special place in Hell for daughters who sit with their feet up whilst their parents dig the garden (Sorry M&T)
· You can walk eight miles in two hours five minutes in the scorching heat and still have the energy to spend the rest of the day painting raised beds. However, you’ll be in bed by 9.30pm.
· If you’re going to Chelsea Flower Show, buy day tickets and get there as soon as it opens at 8am. You’ll breeze round the show gardens and pavilion whilst most people are still having their breakfast.
· Close up, Alan Titchmarsh wears a lot of foundation
· Joe Swift is lovely, so is Jekka McVicar
· Probably best not to wind your Husband up by publishing his childhood secrets on the Internet. Particularly when he holds a dossier of equally embarrassing stories on you.

This week sees another parental visit - Dad, Step mum Marg and not so little brother Scott arrive on Friday. I’ve also got to squeeze in two five-mile mid-week walks and a 10-mile walk on Sunday. Busy, busy…..

Goblins

Pleased to report that there were no orienteering mishaps on today’s 5 mile walk. It did occur to me that I do the reccomended 10,000 daily steps before most people get out of bed. This is really uncharacteristic; I’ve always been an owl rather than a lark. Perhaps this is changing now I’m middle-aged?

As expected, Swifty hasn’t mentioned the unlocked door incident proving he’s not reading any of this. I’m going to start including some embarrassing anecdotes about him until he comes to his senses.

First up, Swifty sleeps with his head covered because as a child he believed that Goblins would steal his ears in the night.

Best be off, got to see a man about some raised beds.

Where am i?

If my training weeks are going to have themes (clearly last week’s theme was ‘brush with death’) then ‘criminal activity’ could be this week’s topic of choice. More on that in a second.

I got spectacularly lost on yesterday’s walk. My standard five mile route takes me through Beckenham cemetery (not as creepy as it sounds). It didn’t occur to me that it wouldn’t be open at 6.30am. So, rather than retrace my steps I decided to go on a detour believing heading roughly in the same direction would lead me to Norwood Junction – wrong! I wandered around for what seemed like an eternity, not a soul in sight to ask for directions. I eventually stumbled across Arena tram stop. I didn’t have my travel card so I had to fare dodge two stops to get near to home. Oh, the shame!

On the plus side, I walked an extra mile.

The Good life?

This week I’m extremely excited about taking Mum and Terry to their first Chelsea Flower Show. Like me, they are fanatical about growing fruit and veg. Swifty has just about forgiven me for making him rip up the lawn so I could devote the whole garden to growing food. I’d like to take the self sustainability a step further but Swifty has banned me from keeping chickens, goats or bees. I had to settle for a wormery.

I guess this was always on the cards as gardening runs in our family. The RHS should ditch their advice phone line and just get people to ring my Mum instead; her encyclopaedic knowledge gleamed from my Grandad. I vividly remember one of my birthday parties at Grandad's house; within half an hour he’d got all my friends (like an army of child slaves) tying up the sweet peas. ‘Pass the parcel’ had to be abandoned.

I’ll have to stick to a strict budget at Chelsea as it’s easy to get carried away. Last year I brought a ridiculously overpriced pink watering can and truckle. Even in the garden I’m always on-message.

Anyway, just off to do ‘any other activity for 30 minutes’. Thinking of giving Davina another try, but this time cutting down on the number of squats and lunges. After all, don’t want to be pushed round Chelsea in a wheelchair.

Eurovision fever

Week four got off to a slightly stiff note. I was due to do my long walk on Saturday. However, when I required assistance to get off the sofa on Friday night I decided to give myself another days rest.

On Saturday afternoon i heard the news that Pamela had completed her Step on it Challenge – you can read all about her exploits here. Her top tips for getting round were plenty of black coffee and toast. As I avoid both bread and caffeine I could be in deep trouble.

Saturday is always BBQ day in our house and this week’s lucky recipient was Natalie. We ended up watching Eurovision (me, sober, for the first time ever). I voted for the Maldovans – their ‘riverdance on amphetamines’ routine alone was worth the cost of the phone call.

Sunday saw me walking through deepest darkest Penge in a downpour. Six miles in less than 87 minutes. I think that’s what you’d describe as progress. I discovered on my return that I’d completely forgot to lock up properly and left the back door open. I’ve only added that last line in to check if my husband is reading this like he claims he is. If so, he’ll go ballistic this evening.

This week will be a bit hectic as I’ll be fitting in training alongside a visit from my Mum and Stepdad Terry and a trip to Chelsea Flower Show. More about that later.

Week three round-up

Another day, another brush with death. At the end of last nights walk (4 miles in 57 mins) my elderly neighbour ran into me with his mobility scooter. It would have been hilarious if it had happened to someone else.

This morning I’m really feeling the effects of three consecutive days of exercise. I’m so relieved this is a rest day. Just need to psych myself up for a six mile hike tomorrow.

On a much happier note I’ve just had the most generous donation and message of support from Pamela, Campaign’s Chief Executive. Seeing my fundraising total go up and reading everyone’s kind words really helps with the motivation. I’ve been bowled over by all my friends and colleagues efforts to support me, especially the Research and Policy team here at Campaign who have pledged to help me out on walk day with some much needed company /moral support/water and snacks.

Ok – I’m getting a bit mushy for my liking - let’s drag this back to sarcastic. On reflection, what have we learned from week three of training?
1. The likelihood of being run over on the pavements of Croydon is pretty high
2. The best part of a decade without regular exercise is taking its toll
3. Davina McCall is supremely irritating
4. Star Trek is amazing

Hope you all have a good weekend.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you

Got home yesterday to discover the bin men had scattered our recycling crates to the four corners of the street. Had they read my entry on Monday and tracked me down?

Paranoia aside, training is staring to border on intrusive. This evening I’m forgoing at 20 per cent off opportunity at my favourite clothes shop to go for a walk. I’d like you to take a second to absorb that information and admire my dedication to the cause.

Yesterday I resisted the temptation to punch the TV every time Davina announced on her fitness DVD “ohh, this is one of my favourite tunes!” Sky rocketing stress levels aside, the workout did what it said on the tin. I’ve been shuffling round the office doing my best impression of ‘women beaten around the legs with large stick' . No pain, no gain......

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder

Doing exercise at silly early o’clock is not the only lifestyle change I’ve made recently. I’ve adopted a healthy diet that would put Gwyneth Paltrow’s macrobiotic existence to shame and – wait for it – given up alcohol. Just to clarify, I’m hardly what you’d call a heavy drinker – but I do love a few Hendricks and Slimline tonics of a weekend.

These few dry weeks haven’t turned me into a recluse. I have stood outside The Shaston Arms with Lynn and Swifty, ‘fake wine’ (apple juice and sparkling water) in hand, putting the world to rights. The only downside I can see is loosing a convenient excuse for appalling behaviour. A few Saturdays ago I subjected some of you to a heinous rendition of Fleetwood Mac's ‘You can go your own way'. For that, I am truly sorry.

So, my good friend Hendricks – I do miss you, but not as much as I thought I would. See you in August.

Beggars can’t be choosers

The training schedule has ‘any other activity for a minimum of 30 minutes’ earmarked for me today. I’ve been informed that playing Left 4 Dead on my Xbox won’t count. Bugger.

So, my only option is to dust down the Davina McCall exercise DVDs I brought in a fit of madness several Januarys ago. Davina really gets on my wick but the routines get the thumbs-up from people who use them. Thankfully the DVD gives you the option to mute out Davina’s perky brand of over enthusiasm with a ‘mostly music’ option. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.