Last night I had a dream. G and I were in a pub. It had the feel of working mens club about it. You know the thing… big lounge for the ‘pub singer’ furnished with lots of square wooden tables and slightly sticky faux velvet covered banquet chairs. We were settled at a table when friends we were expecting, walked into the club and up to the table. We greeted them warmly and then – as the bar was upstairs – made our way to get drinks for the table. Dinner was also being served and I could see people making their way back to their tables with plates piled with succulent ribs and highly decorated and delicious looking cake. I was suddenly ravenous and salavating at the thought of the food.
As we made our way upstairs – a bit like the circle at the theatre – there was a queue of folks at each end leading up to set of ladders. We made enquiries and it transpired that the food was located in the loft accessed by climbing up the ladder and through the trapdoor. When my time came, I viewed the hole with wary eyes, each rung of the ladder ascended seemed to make the loft hole smaller. By the time I reached it, it was tiny and desperate to get at the ribs and cake I forced myself through and got fully wedged in the hole. As people ran to help, I had visions of Oompaloompas rushing to Augustus Gloop in Willy Wonkas tube. A verse of ‘When Santa got stuck up the chimney’ wouldn’t have gone amiss either. Eventually with a good shove from below I was freed from my prison with a much diminished appetite.
My brain is a bitch.
I can only assume the dream was to punish us for a lack of wine at dinner the night before. We have just started Whole 30 – it was clear what the inference was.
I’m sure there will be more of Whole 30 in the coming weeks…
In the meantime I wanted to return to the ‘investment’ hinted at in the previous post – well not quite hinted at, more written in the title and then ignored. Ooops
Early in 2018 I was looking for work and considering options. After almost 20 years out of the game, it was a daunting prospect. I was reminded that although I spent roughly 10 years as a shop keeper and event organiser and roughly 10 years as a police officer, the underlying thread of all my enployment was training and development. Once upon a time I was passionate about it. I believed in it whole heartedly and I realised that actually I missed it. Eventually I sought employment in another field and all thoughts of training evaporated.
Recently, I started to think about it again. Not in an employment kind of way, more in an investment in myself kind of way. To be honest, I’m ashamed to say that it had never really occured to me that I could. It felt so decadant.
And so, this year my ‘resolution’ is to invest in ‘things’ in order to enrich my physical and mental health. I’ve started gently, signing up to an intermediate crochet course next month with the aim of improving my skills sufficiently to be able to sell my produce.