I'm really on my own...

I’ve mentioned a few times here about my newish gym habit. I’ve been going down to the gym in our apartment block since about April but what I haven’t confessed to here is that I’ve been doing it with the help of a personal trainer. I’m sorry but when it comes to the gym I am the idlest woman ever; I would so much rather lie on my sofa reading a good book than go to any gym. God, even a bad book would be better than exercise!

Most apartment blocks here have gyms but when we drew up a shopping list for our new home, it was still one of the things I emphasised to Husband. The new apartment needs a decent gym, I said. Gawd knows it’s tough enough to take the lift 19 floors to get to the 6^th floor gym… If you’re asking me to leave the building… well, I couldn’t be sure I could achieve that!

So, the new apartment has a gym downstairs. Not a room with some equipment in but a branch of a membership/paying gym and we get membership with our rental. And I was a happy bunny because I knew this gym is the one that my trainer uses for her own personal sessions so it would be convenient for her too.

However, at our session on Friday morning it transpired that we were not on the same wavelength at all. She broke the news to me that the gym doesn’t allow anyone but their own staff to take personal training sessions. That’s when I went ‘arrrrghhhh.’ She thought I was worried about our training relationship coming to an end and tried to let me know that it was okay. Of course I felt bad that I hadn’t realized we couldn’t still work together but actually, selfishly, I was worried about being on my own…

I spent all weekend panicking and worrying. It still astonishes me that I wouldn’t dream of messing my trainer about by cancelling sessions – barring illness or disaster – but I will let myself down. Eventually I thought back to why I started all this; that I’d realized that I am on my own. No-one else can do this for me. I’ll just have to stand on my own two feet (while wearing trainers and attractive, stretchy gym clothes) earlier than I expected.

A Room of One's Own

We gave our landlords notice on our apartment several months ago because we could have been moving to the UK.

When we finally knew we were staying in Bangkok we could have changed our minds and stayed but we decided we wanted to move. This is a gorgeous apartment but it’s expensive and we don’t use all the facilities. (Here is a picture of our present  apartment's garden. It's from my office; I’m sorry I couldn’t be bothered to go downstairs. The tennis courts are part of our garden – I’ve never so much set food on them – and the garden itself: with a playground, a seating area and a grassy bit that's out of sight. All the facilities for which people with small kids and dogs pay a premium. I probably haven’t been down there for two years. Why? Because it’s hot people. Remember, our three seasons are ‘hot,’ ‘really hot’ and ‘hot and wet.’)

But back to the present… I was in the UK; I couldn’t look for accommodation. So I told Husband he had total power to choose an apartment. Gulp. Husband’s quite good at house/condo hunting. I reckoned I could trust him to find us a nice place to live – a nice enough place anyway.

He kept in touch, telling me what he’d seen and where they were. In the end he chose one from the short list and stumped up some money so that they took it off the market…so…you know, there wasn’t any going back. Eeek.

I went to see it this week. Gulp. Our agent was nervous because he thought I might march in and say ‘I hate it. This won’t do.’ I’d never do that. I might think it but I gave all the power to Husband so if I loathed it…well, I was going to have to keep buttoned, wasn’t I? 

I already knew the area pretty well. It’s on the green route (back roads) we use to access our current home. I even knew which building it was… I knew that there was plenty of space inside for me to have my own office (OMG *trembling with excitement*) but I had also clocked that there was going to be a disagreement with our children about who’d have the better of the two bedrooms… This was already being played out in our home and they hadn’t even seen the rooms yet!

It was very nice: older but just as much area and quite light. We have more rooms in the new place but they are all a little smaller than the present place. The minute I saw the two rooms for the kids I knew it was a no brainer. Sure, the nicer room shares the balcony with the living room but the other bedroom – OMG - had a walk in closet. Daughter has always wanted one of those…

Friday Photo

Giant trainers for sale in Emporium.

How I Met Your Mother

I read this lovely story on Green Ink a few days ago about how Phil and her fiancé met.

It’s such a great story: a sort of Sliding Doors meets Richard Curtis movie. Romance isn’t my favourite genre but I do love it. There is something perennially hopeful about love stories – I guess that explains the success of romance books and films.

Anyway, it made me think of how Husband and I met. And I thought to myself ‘gosh, is that a story I’ve never told my blog?’ I think it is.

The polite, unrevealing account is that Husband and I met at university.

You might need to brace yourself for the more accurate version. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Here it is:

When I went to university I moved into a hall of residence. I was on the top floor of a three story block. My immediate neighbour was another first year girl, L. Opposite L and I were three final year students: two chemists and a mathematician. Not Yet Husband (Not Bloody Ever Husband had I known this story!) lived in the block next door.

During the first week NYH approached his friends, the three third year students on my corridor and said ‘I hear you’ve got two fit girlies on your corridor. Which one do you recommend I try first?’ (I am resisting the urge to punch that twenty year old version of him.)

‘Ah,’ the three third years said, ‘L’s got a boyfriend at home. You’d best try Jenny first…’

Ouch.

It’s not quite the romance of Green Ink Girl’s anecdote is it? But it is my story. And to give him his credit he’s stopped calling women ‘girlies’ and as a direct result we have been married 19 years…

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark

I’ve been away from my desk for a long time. It’s seven weeks that I've been physically away from it but longer if I count the emotional distance brought about by the difficulties of not knowing about our contract, GCSEs and political activities back in May/June time.

I couldn’t wait to get back to my desk. I can work anywhere but I love my mad space. In my imagination getting back here would be dreamy. I could get my head down and get my novel to the next stage.

But something's rotten in the state of my desk and office. The piles of papers, letters, print outs of reference material, magazine clippings that I keep because they may become useful have all been breeding while I’ve been away. It no longer feels a haven. I may be engulfed.

It’s essential therefore to clear up.

And my office deserves it. My family bought me the most amazing present for (Thai) mother’s day. Something I had been internalizing and rejecting for months as being too decadent. I never breathed a word so embarrassed was I that I wanted one. But Son thought of it.

Look.

My very own mini-fridge. My bottom may weld to the chair now I never need to move again.

I could've kicked sand in my own face...

Just before we leave Koh Samui behind, I've got one last post for you.

When he was planning the trip, Husband asked me if I'd heard any recommendations for resorts in Samui. Stupid as I am I didn't give it much thought and told him no... which was a real shame; if only I'd done a bit of homework my memory would have been jogged by the name of a hotel that HAD been recommended to me in the dim and distant past.

After a short walk on Chaweng Beach we came across it (and trespassed over it, while taking photos.) Honestly, I could've kicked sand in my own face.

Please look at these photos of the resort, The Library on Koh Samui and tell me - could I have found a more apt place?

The page numbers on the grass relate to the room numbers, index or content I think was the reception area and I can't recall what the bookmark one was.

Friday Photo

How happy am I to be going back to Bangkok?