Cheating

If I see another advert on Facebook for 'WEIGHT LOSS WITHOUT CHEATING' I'll scream. Silently. Or maybe just moan about it, I guess.

'Pauline lost 7 stone without cheating - no empty diets or expensive surgery'.... 'Linda loses without cheating'... 'Dawn lost without cheating'...  'Lose 3 stone of belly fat in 10 days without cheating but just following these few simple rules'... Well that last one is frankly hilarious.

As both Pauline and Linda were on the LighterLife liquid diet (since when is LighterLife not a diet?), reducing calorie intake to around 800 a day, they lost a lot of weight over a fairly short period.  Trouble is, once you start eating normally again, the weight returns.  Jon lost over 3 stone on DietChef, then over November to January ate everything he wanted and - surprise, surprise - put over a stone in weight back on.  Now he's going for another round and hopes to maintain eventually by moderating what he eats - but it will be a battle. There is no easy solution to wanting to consume more than you need...

So what is cheating?  Certainly not being on a diet; if you lost weight without taking any action on your part it would be a cause for medical concern and probably the indication of some underlying serious health problem.  It is possible for men to lose weight through exercise alone as they generally have a high muscle mass, but for women it's hardly ever the case.  So is exercise or dieting cheating?  How can it be, it's bloody difficult.

Of course I know what these articles are referring to - Bariatric surgery. Having surgery in order to lose weight permanently is seen by many as 'cheating'.  WHY?  Cheating what?  Cheating who?  Is it contravening some rule or regulation for life?  Not in any religion or creed I've ever heard of.  Is it achieving something without cost?  No, certainly not if you do it privately and regardless of financial cost it's costly on time, effort and commitment.  Is it easy and painless?  No, it's a major operation and the process of recovery, and recovering normal eating, is a long one. You are advised you can never again drink alcohol or fizzy drinks.  Is it a quick fix?  No, it's a lifetime commitment to seeing food differently, keeping adequate and appropriate nutrition and taking supplements - and it takes 4-6 weeks just to recover from the surgery; some aspects take a lot longer. So if bariatric surgery is cheating, then I have cheated.  Here I am in my recent staff photo - taken 4-5 months after surgery - feeling and looking like a normal person again.  I can trot happily around the campus after previously struggling with joint pain, fatigue and breathlessness. If I cheated to obtain that, I can live with it.

It's not only explicit suggestions that you're 'cheating' if you opt for surgery - there are the subtle criticisms: 'Isn't it a bit extreme?'  'Couldn't you just diet like everyone else?'  Extreme.  Well I consider dieting for 30 years, constantly worrying about what you're eating, or not eating, or shouldn't eat, or mustn't eat, or crave eating, pretty extreme actually. For me it was more like nearly 40 years of fighting my body and brain's investment in storing energy from my food consumption for a rainy day. I was a lively skinny kid, but when I hit puberty my body said "WOMAN!" and went all out for voluptuous storage.

Here's an interesting excerpt from Blogger Stephan Guyenet in 2011 regarding a possible mechanism for why a gastric bypass can mean a long term change in weight, over and above the effect of nutrient absorption:


"When it comes in contact with nutrients, the small intestine sends messages to the brain via hormones and nerve signals that communicate the calorie content and macronutrient composition of the food (4), so the brain can respond appropriately. The brain then causes you to feel full, and coordinates activities in various tissues to make sure the nutrients get handled appropriately."  

He speculates that after a gastric bypass:

"the body fat "setpoint" has been reduced, meaning that the body "wants" to be leaner rather than obese.  Another strange thing about gastric bypass surgery is that it doesn't work on everyone.  A case report of a person who lacks a functional melanocortin-4 receptor, a protein critically involved in body fat regulation in the brain, shows that he scarcely lost any weight after gastric bypass surgery (7).  This suggests that the system in the brain that regulates body fatness has to be intact for gastric bypass to be effective.  

One of the important things the small intestine does is communicate information to the brain that is used to determine the reward value of food (8).  The small intestine, especially the duodenum and jejunum, is critical for assigning food reward (8).  One might guess that bypassing the upper small intestine would have a major impact on this process.  Well, apparently a few clever folks have already thought of this, because it has been studied and published.  Roux-en-Y bypass changes food reward in obese rats, making them relate to food more like lean rats, and several studies in humans are consistent with that idea as well (9, 10, 11, 12).

Although there are probably other contributing factors, the effectiveness of gastric bypass surgery is likely to be related to its ability to dampen food reward, and thus lower the "defended" level of fat mass, by interfering with the intestinal signals that the brain uses to assign reward to foods.  The two most effective fat loss strategies I've encountered, gastric bypass surgery and drinking bland liquid food through a straw (13, 14), both seem to rely on reducing food reward."

Interesting stuff!  It's certainly true that I'm eating less - I have to - and I'm not starving and desperate for food, which is what has always brought a halt to dieting before (the grehlin effect).  But maybe in addition the body's desperate attempt to restore fat stores is circumvented.  Otherwise although you eat less further weight loss becomes impossible and an intense fatigue settles in as energy levels plummet.  I've been there. In the end you have to give up.  One route is through exercise of course; high energy exercise combined with a return to more acceptable levels of food intake can make the difference but I have a sedentary occupation and I'm post menopausal, so the odds are against me.

Here are a couple of selfies from my work web-cam.  I can tell you which one I see as me - it's the one on the right, taken last week.

See, I said I'd be back :-)

I know I'm lucky.  Lucky to have been able to save up for this before I qualified through the NHS because of ill health. Lucky to have had a wonderful and inspiring role-model in my daughter who had been there before me and could advise me of what (and what not) to do. Lucky to have not had any real issues other than constipation with the iron supplements (oops, too much information).  Lucky to be able to tolerate nearly everything I've eaten with time - even the occasional chocolate - except milk products.  Lucky to not have lost the weight so fast that I've been left with yards of loose skin or my hair falling out or turning to straw. Lucky not to have thrown up once since the op... although I got close a couple of times.  But I'm careful.  Now after 7 months  I eat good food with a few treats and my metabolic age on my Tanita scales is 32, my BMI normal and my cholesterol has reduced from 7.8 to 3.5. I've been given a whole new lease of life. It's up to me to make it work for the long term.

Another week of Protein shakes... and a taste of dumping syndrome

So now I'm into the third week; two weeks since the op.  I had thought to be going back to work this week but I realise now this is not sensible - it's still difficult to get through the endless regime of dispersible medication, and the very thought of the skimmed milk protein shake for breakfast (so important for some protein) is beginning to make my tummy churn...  Oh for some solid food!

Now this is the choice I REALLY want for breakfast... but I have a while to wait yet.

The nutritionist phoned near the end of the week and we made an appointment for a check-up at the end of June at the clinic.  I asked her about the exhausted hungry feeling in the morning and she quizzed me on how much protein I was getting.  Like how much protein is in the protein shake?  Well 19 grams - which is pretty good, but not good enough.

Apparently the target is 45 grams a day.  Interesting, as everything else (including the soups) has MINIMAL protein content; you just don't get it in fruit juice and sugar-free drinks...  She suggested a Slimfast drink would be a good supplement, so I tried one mid afternoon.  Disaster.  Well, not disaster, that would be putting it much too strongly, but a mild taste of dumpling syndrome - sweating, feeling faint, heart pounding - generally unwell.  What is dumping syndrome, you may ask?  It's specific to having a bypass operation and relates to the body going in to a sort of shock at having too much sugar or fat 'dumped' into the lower intestine.  Because the operation bypasses the ileum and duodenum, where fats and sugars are absorbed by the body, these enter the system lower down and the intestine is not able to process these 'nutrients'.  So I guess I have been rerouted, in case I was in any doubt!  I used to get a sugar-rush from drinking Slimfast shakes before the op (they have quite a bit of readily available sugar, and as it's liquid it just runs straight through) - more so that I would get from eating a chocolate or two - so my two packs of 6 bottles are now redundant...


Sat on the OCADO app looking at the protein content of soups.  Hopeless.  Even chicken soup which should be made from, er, chicken, has a woefully low amount of protein.  This is one of the problems with the diet Lilly warned me about - getting enough protein for healing and muscle retention.  However, I am working at the protein and hunger aspect from another direction, by adding more bulk to my soups (thicker too, my stomach seems happy with thicker) in the form of DIRECT PROTEIN.  I remembered a had frozen the last few little slices of chicken breast from my pre-op diet - defrosted them and added to mushroom soup - all blended with the whizzer, some seasoning and a little milk.  What a difference. It was heavenly - tasted like canned chicken in white sauce.  With a nice bowl of soup with added protein twice a day the starving feelings are waning.  Returned yesterday as an almost tender stomach after going for a long walk (for me) and obviously needed nutrition. A small glass of vegetable juice and the discomfort went away.  So there is a need to learn new signals from my body whilst everything is healing up.

On Saturday Jon took me to Sainsburys and we bought lots of fruits and vegetables to add to his diet and more cans of soup for me, along with steamed salmon, chicken breast, fresh ham (no water added) and corned beef - all to add to the soups.  So far I've had pea and salmon (hmm, bit windy there though) and parsnip and ham - today will be chicken and chicken for lunch and oxtail with corned beef for dinner.  Preparing the salmon yesterday there was a huge urge just to pop it in my mouth - so soft and tender; had to make do with licking my fingers instead. I reckon I've got a bit nearer my protein quota today.

So what has been taking my attention during the long days lounging around thinking about what I should be drinking, or sticking in myself (the clexane) or drinking?  The cats of course.  There is a whole world out there, largely outside of our awareness, the tumultuous and complex world of cat relationships.  When we first started letting our girlies outside a few weeks ago we thought the worst we would have to deal with was Lara's intermittent antics prompted by irrepressible curiosity and naivety.  Then came Mr Socks.  We have a local stray that we've been feeding (a tuxedo male we guess) coined Mr Socks because of his long white socks on his back legs.  The outdoor excursions of our three are now daily peppered with altercations with this boy, who is putting on weight slowly due to our feeding and now wants to come inside - camping out on our exterior mat when he's not off bullying other local cats.  Our two little girls he actively attacks - and would do Sophie as well if he wasn't scared of her.  Every time the back door is open to allow them out I'm up and down after one noise or another, making sure the marauder isn't at the gates.  Just hoping he's an intact male as we aim to trap him and take him to the vet for investigation.  If he's not been done he's at the mercy of his hormones - and will be an altogether better boy if fixed.  If he has been done we have an anti-social bully on our hands who we can't allow to starve.  Sigh.

Okay, nearly finished a bowl of chicken soup with added chicken.  Lara has licked out the tin for me (so helpful). Amazing gurgling of digestion going on so I think I'll take a leaf out of the feline book and have a little snooze - me and Jessie on the sofa, Lara and Sophie on the window ledge and Mr Socks on his mat outside the patio doors.  Peace.

Black Tongue - things they don't tell you...

Well here I am starting into the second week since surgery.  Actually that started on Saturday, but Saturday was far too nice a day to be blogging - sunny and warm and I spent a good while sipping fruit juice in the garden admiring the bees buzzing round our flowers and watching Jon pottering in his kingdom.

Today it is cold, damp, I have the heating on and I'm drinking hot stock... Ah the coquettish nature of the British summer.

Coming back from hospital was a milestone and felt good until the next morning when the affects of the last 'happy pill' (a so called opiate cocktail designed to give you that bright, positive world's-a-better-place feeling) had worn off.  Horrible dry mouth, painfully bloated with gas, tenderness and general debility if you try to do anything.  I was a bit of a wreck for visitors.

So the first week - not the best, and must advise anyone approaching a similar procedure that you will feel generally exhausted, swollen, sore and traumatised by having to drink so many supplements when everything is accompanied by belching, gurgling and sometimes hiccupping.  However, it passes.

There are dispersible tablets for everything. Actually that's something to be grateful for as Lilly had to open up capsules and EAT the foul contents; now they've made a soluable version which is pleasantly fruity.  So here we go: First, an anti-acid, on the tongue, 30-60 minutes before food.  Next, make up a protein shake with liquidiser.  This takes about 30 minutes to drink, slowly.  Then, dissolve vitamin tablet in water.  Dissolve Zinc tablet in water (tip - both together in squash kills two birds with one stone).  Then, clexane injection around navel (not as bad as it sounds) and iron syrup (disgusting to others I actually LIKE this, it's made with maltitol, yum).

Keep drinking.  Then, small bowl of sieved soup for lunch, thin and runny.  Then another dissolved zinc (tip - it will dissolve in a very small glass but don't overfill or it will go everywhere).  Mid afternoon it's the calcium.  Keep drinking.  Dinner = second half of the can of soup.  Another dissolved zinc.  More iron syrup. Keep drinking, keep some water beside the bed to see you through the night.

The other thing to remember is that you only have 7 small holes on the outside, which are generally healing well, but inside a lot has changed.  As the nurse has put it, someone has taken a knife to your insides and it will take the body time to readjust and repair, so expect to feel tired.  No-one tells you about the alarming evacuations from the other end though, in all the post-operative literature.  Lots of information about feeding and drinking, but nothing about the ultimate result...  Not attractive, we shall leave it there.  Then there's the tongue.  Stuck my tongue out yesterday - as you do - in front of the mirror and got a shock.  It is black.  As you can see (I could have gone closer but have spared you this delight) there is a black coating on my once pink tongue.

Twenty minutes of scrubbing later and we have a more acceptable offering. Apparently you can pay a lot of money to get a special device to do this but a soft toothbrush and some Colgate seem to do the trick :-)

There's also a rather unpleasant film taste inside my mouth.  Normally a sign of poor dental hygiene this appears to be caused by the vitamins and iron liquid.  It is not a pretty sight but should sort out once I start taking pills instead of liquid, which will be a while yet.  But if anyone else gets black tongue, don't worry, it's not a problem.

Drinking is getting quicker though.  As it's all clear liquids it runs down quite fast and I can now get through a cup of tea before it gets stone cold.  Had to give up on the skimmed milk there, and now using coffee-mate light instead - the thin milk made me feel queasy.  Okay in the protein shake though, as it's cold and I put some extra Splenda in for added sweetness.  Okay, okay I've got a sweet tooth.

So the good stuff - fancy the look of food I like, but don't have any 'need' to eat it.  Part of it is mental = you know you can't eat it because your stomach wouldn't cope with it; part of it is physical in that you just don't feel you need to eat.  I can tell when I need something substantial (like a soup) when I start feeling tired.  Put some of my favourite sugar snap peas in the fridge for Jon and boy did they look nice, but there's no temptation to actually eat them - not when you've had all the painful distended belly and the incredible gurgling just with soup.  I look at food on adverts (there was a warm grilled courgette, asparagus and feta salad and a quorn sausage the other day) that I could eat later down the line and make a mental note that it would be jolly nice, but you seem to have an awareness that all is not quite as it should be and these things are the stuff of the future at the moment.  It will all happen one step at a time.

Now I think I'll make a nice cup of tea and have a read - what a luxury!

On the way

Well, here I am on the next step to my new existence.  If 50 is the new 40 I'm catching up a bit late but it doesn't matter at all -getting to the point where you say that enough is enough and having the WHEREWITHALL to take a drastic decision isn't within everyone's remit, so for that and the support of my family I will be forever grateful - hopefully for the next 30 years, if I can follow in my parent's footsteps.

Freshly washed and wearing a new fetching accessory - these little tubes (all with blue plugs on the end - are actually descending through the carotid artery and at least one of them going directly into the heart.  Amazing - you don't feel a thing.  The most uncomfortable one is one the left forearm, which catches on things, and then the one in the inside elbow.  There's another high on the chest on the left (discretely hidden).

I'm in the Chelsfield Park hospital on Day 3 after a Gastric Bypass operation.  Basically I've had 7 small incisions in the stomach, been blow full of gas, had my stomach dissected into two with a little pouch remaining and the edges sealed with titanium staples.  Then the bottom of the new pouch has bypassed the ileum and duodenum and enters the intestine lower down.  This means that not only do you have a greatly restricted capacity, but some of the constituent parts of your food can no longer be absorbed - in particular a large part of the fats and sugar, which are normally absorbed in the upper intestine.  This operation can practically cure type 2 diabetes over night.  Whilst not diabetic, I recognise that the sugar rush I've had in recent years from pure orange juice, for an example, is a precursor.  Now if I eat too much fat or sugar at once I will experience something very unpleasantly called 'dumping syndrome'.  Today I'm having the first soup of my new life - one spoon at a time - tomato and chorizo thin and slightly spicy into my tiny stomach.  Thing is, I've eaten whatever I liked (and most of it good, admittedly) for certainly 40 years of conscious memory - it's no real hardship to do it differently now, if it will give me better health.  I've seen it, done it and got the t-shirt, you could say.  I can move on.

This really is delicious.  One sip at a time, let it trickle down.  No need to hurry; the first few weeks will all be like this, then I can start trying tiny helpings of pureed food.  I will work my way back up to savouring low-fat houmous (chick peas are on the good-for-you list from our surgeon).  I have a role model too, my gorgeous daughter who can tutor me through the whole process, having been through it all before.

So it took me an hour to eat the soup.  At home I can warm it when it cools of course - but for this first week I'm not rushing anything.  Managed to swallow my pills though - impressed there - and the gurgling in my stomach is a wonder to behold.  This will continue, I'm told - a result of the interesting plumbing.

Yesterday lunchtime I had my catheter out.  I'd been wanting it out for a day, but they won't do it until you actually start drinking.  Paul, the EXCELLENT day nurse (couldn't be smarter or nicer) told me he'd give me 12 hours to pass water or it would have to go back in.  People are scared to go when they've had an op.  I've had a knife cone biopsy (cutting away half your cervix) and gone within a few hours.  A stomach realignment is no problem.  Proving I could sip water (they have to watch the first sips) he brought me a pot of tea.  30 minutes later I have the first specimen for him.  On an empty stomach I'm like a sieve with water - in and out in no time.  Oh the bliss of the first little bit of milk in tea for two weeks.  I got through 4 small pots of tea and 2 pots of peppermint tea throughout the day.  Wonderful.

Interestingly when you've had your surgery, before you go to recovery, they put you under an X-ray and send some dye down through the whole system to make sure the new valve and stoma aren't too tight to pass fluid.  Now that's impressive.

Last night Paul gave me a happy pill.  A mixture of opiate derivatives I had wonderful morphing imagines on the back of my eyelids whilst I tried to sleep, galloping horses, wild creatures, mysterious forests and trees - I could watch them fascinated. Such a nice happy feeling too and no pain (glorious) from the trapped air, but I hardly slept more than a couple of hours.  But it was not only the pill I think - it's the realisation that I'm on the way.  I will, come some way down the line, be able to wear the clothes I like, get rid of my old big things (really for good this time) and embrace being me.  Yes, I'm on the way.

Jessie's Choice

Jon was putting in a cat flap last week - a major job as it had to go through a solid outer wall, but he's  finished it, and now they just have to learn to use it - Jessie, Lara and Sophie.

Jessie was a calico feral kitten we took in at the beginning of July 2012. Jessie was born to a feral mum in the roof space of a garage behind our house, and when her mum deserted her we caught her and took her in. Afraid and skittish, yet gentle and sweet natured, the vet recommended not to let her outside again for a long time - if ever, or we might lose her.  Well since Jessie we acquired two other gorgeous girls who have been together now for 7 months.  Jessie has come a long way since those early days and last weekend we finally let her back out into the world, after 10 months as a house cat.  

Jessie is now over a year old and recently she's got a lot less skittish, and very affectionate, so we took the plunge and left the back patio door open... At first she was curious but scared and barely got past the patio onto the lawn for the first two days. On the third she explored every inch of the garden. On the fourth day out she went to the back of the garden, hopped up the tree and went straight into the roofspace of the garage behind like an old pro - this is where she was born. 

She stayed up there all day - sometimes sunning herself on the roof of the adjoining garage outside. As it got later the other girls came in, but Jessie stayed in her old home. We shook treats, banged the dinner bowl, but although she'd poke her head out she stayed in there. 

As it was getting dark and not so warm we shut the patio door and Jon had his dinner in a chair opposite the door to see if she came back. At dusk she came down, played a little with the moths in the shadows (as she'd done as a tiny kitten) - then as darkness fell she came to the back door. I let her in. 

She was a bit skitty as she came into the light then rushed upstairs - I think to check out her new nest, under our bed, with all her soft toys and stolen socks. Then she came down as if nothing had happened and gave us loving headbutts. 

She's been in the garden every day since (apart from Friday when it poured all day) and not been back up to the old nest again. 

Now I know people say cats don't have great memories and don't do a lot of thinking, but I reckon there was a residual emotional attachment memory to her birthplace and old home. Most rescue cats never have a chance to go back to their old homes, so we have no idea how they would react. I think she was enjoying being there and just taking her time. Then she came and checked out her new home, and made her own decision. 

Jessie is our girl now, and this is her home, and it's her choice.

Decisions

Well I've done it.  After a lot of soul searching and family discussions, backed up by the inability to keep up with other people walking because of puffing and pain, I am going to undergo elective surgery.

Thursday evening was the first appointment with the Bariatric surgeon who will do the operation.  Jon took me and daughter met us there.  Newly tanned from her recent running in the sunshine she did indeed look 'whippet' fit.  She had a picture to show the surgeon - that of her pre gastric surgery two and a half years ago.  "You look fantastic" he said, his eyes shining.  He meant it.  Not only does he change people's lives but he can even give them back their lives - at 30 she felt doomed to sloth, crippling doses of anti-depressant, anti-psychotic and mood-stabilising medication and inactivity for the rest of her life.  Now she is entering cross country races and loving every step.  That's more than successful surgery.  How wonderful to be able to do that for people.  The ultimate kick.

To my surprise the surgeon did not recommend a gastric band at all but said he would be willing to do a sleeve or bypass procedure.  I thought the later was not an option because of my age, but he had no problem with that at all.  Only problem he perceived with the bypass would be remembering to take medication every day for the rest of my life.  Funny.  I've been talking medicine every day (until recently only herbal) for about 20 years now - no problem there.  The problem with sleeve would be that it restricts capacity, but nothing more.  I would need a strict dietary and exercise regime.  Exercise and academia don't mix well for me.  My bottom gets the most exercise some days, with tutorials and up to two hours of driving back and forth.  And it's not easy to exercise from a computer (I see husband smiling knowingly at this point).

I felt anxious overnight and really doubtful and apprehensive driving to work the next day.  As an aside, this was in my old car, no sat nav or phone, just my little green car and me. Pause for digression and explanation.

Precious car went in for MOT on Tuesday- the first, overdue (first MOT, thought it wasn't due until May earliest) - but had picked up a stone-chip on the A1 on Saturday driving to the Open Day... car consequently failed MOT due to said stone-chip. Calling the insurance company I am told that Autoglass can't replace for A WEEK unless I go outside insurance??? Through insurance = £75 excess; outside insurance = £750. Bastards. Consequence = car illegal so can't drive = car has to stay with dealer = car-less... however I still have my previous green Micra, back from my son as he's gone abroad for the year. RAC replaced dead battery Monday morning after the Sunday call-out because Jon's car was going in for service and MOT and mine was illegal to drive, etc. etc. etc...Hence the old girl is back in the saddle...

ANYWAY, driving round I'm thinking that this is just like old times - for 13 years I was driving this little car to work and back.  Tank hasn't been filled since it was used in January; pretty economic. Every now and then the waves of anxiety and dread break through as I consider the decision I have to make this morning - do I go ahead and book a totally voluntary surgery?  Will it really change my life?  Do I really need it?  Then I realise this is exactly the same feeling I had about changing the car three years ago... Of course I'm anxious - anxiety is my middle name. 

 

Said good morning to colleagues. Saw my students into their exam then went back to my office, transferred some money into my current account and phoned the weight loss centre.  I’ve got a date for the operation now – it’s going to be the 1st June.  I will need to eat a very restricted diet for 2 weeks before to shrink the liver, then nothing for 24 hours before.  Actually feel better now it's booked.   

That evening we took Chris to a carvery for a late birthday meal and I was appalled at the amount of food people were eating. I really didn’t have the stomach for it, and didn’t want a dessert. There was a really fat family (mum, dad, grandma and grandad) with a toddler in a high chair for whom they’d got the most ridiculously huge plate of food topped with a ginormous Yorkshire pudding. She was crying and they were spoon feeding her. Crazy. Jon had a nice fruit sundae and Chris chocolate brownies but the amount they ate was very moderate compared to what other people were giving themselves – all because it was ‘eat all you can’. Scary.

B-Asics

Easter is here again - and a little bit of sun has peeped through, offering the hope of spring.  In a few days time we will be off to California to visit our good friends Art and Michael in Desert Hot Springs.  Rest, relaxation, views to die for and a lovely pool I'm forbidden to use by the opthalmology assistant.  Mustn't get water in my eyes.  However I've discovered a really BASIC but effective solution to getting water into your eyes - shut them, and keep a dry flannel at the ready.  Not screwed up, just naturally shut.  I might even give it a try in the pool during the second half of the visit.  I don't think I can go through staying there without feeling that cool, slightly salt water that sparkles so beguilingly in the permanent sunshine.  The second challenge will be to resist just dipping my head in that glorious cooling heaven...

So on Friday we headed off to Cambridge early to get a parking spot for the day - Jon singing at the Kings College Chapel a piece of music I might resist naming for fear of offending the venerable composer as it was distinctive in its mediocrity and lack of any memorable moments.

My usual fears hit me when seeing where we'd parked - I would have to walk.  Walking and my feet don't get on much these days.  I'd worn my classic lace-up Sketchers and immediately on starting out felt something lumpy beneath the left foot. Damn, I would be hobbling before we ever got to head home...  However, by the time I we got to the main area the awkwardness had settled and as our day was going to be well out of kilter fitting in with rehearsals and concert we decided on an early light brunch at 11.30am.  Jon had a vegetarian 'full English breakfast' (a peculiar concept dominated by a dish of baked beans in the centre - yuk) and I opted for a wholemeal chicken and mayonnaise salad baguette.  This was distinctive also in it's mediocrity and lack of contents - a single slice of tomato, single slice of lettuce, single slice of cucumber along with a white mush that purported to be chicken and mayonnaise.  A single slice of tomato!  I ask you!  I know there is a recession on, but surely for £4.50 you could give a customer at least HALF a tomato... Don't go to the Copper Kettle in Cambridge if you value your salad. Okay, rant over.

Usually I go and sit in the Chapel while Jon rehearses but this time, energised by my new visual capacity and painless feet, I said I'd walk around for the next few hours.  What a wonderful time I had! Wandering along at my own pace, in circles much of the time, moderately lost at others (daughter will sympathise here) just LOOKING at things.  Looking, and seeing things in focus.  Distance details, good.  Turn head suddenly, good.  Walk into shops with changing light conditions, good.  Walk out of shops into a new focal depth, good.  Need to read fine print - pop the glasses on, not a problem.  Bitterly cold (-4 windchill apparently) but a slow plod and intermittent entry to shops (well what woman could resist) whiled away a very pleasant three hours.  I had forgotten how nice it is to walk around.  Usually I'm struggling to keep up with Jon.  His longer legs mean I have to walk 1.5 times as fast as him to keep up with his policeman's plod (I've timed it). Being a small fat person this inevitably leaves me trailing dismally behind, of late staring at the pavement because every time I looked up at the world I would be scarily seeing double.  Today I have two happy advantages - I can take my time and I can see!!

Managed to spend over £100 in Holland & Barrett getting holiday pills (even with the buy-one-get-one-half-price - they won't be going under any time soon...) and to resist buying cameras with 'Pet Setting' having interrogated the hell out of shopkeepers before going outside to check Amazon prices on the iPad...  Played with the iPad mini in the Apple store, enquired about shoes with arch supports in several shops (nothing doing), circumnavigated the market several times before buying another handbag (ideal for the holiday I think) and used M&S as a toilet - pardon me, used the toilet in M&S  ;-)

Arrived back to Kings Parade and sat outside the Copper Kettle hoping for a coffee,  but it seems Easter is too early to expect outside cafe service.  Jon's rehearsal complete he was free until the concert.  We perambulated a little and came across a running shop with a treadmill in plain view... should I?  We went in.  "I'm looking for some supportive running shoes for a fat lady over-pronator to walk in..."  The young lady was efficient and methodical.  First watch me walk and then use the treadmill to monitor my gait.  Never used a treadmill before and the experience was nothing short of hilarious.  Leaning forward to stop from toppling it's very difficult to 'walk normally' and what the sweet young lady thought might be my 'normal walking pace' would have been more like jogging with my weight, but I was duly videoed walking in a pair of standard running shoes.  I joined her for the playback.  SHOCK.  No over-pronation AT ALL, in fact an amazing straight, steady gait, demonstrating strong ankles despite the excess weight.  Personal theory?  Sketchers shape-ups - being wearing them almost constantly for about 2 years until discovering Fitflops in the last few months.  All that wobbly instability has strengthened my ankles and basically my walking gait is fine.  So why all the pain if I don't use support shoes?  She watches my feet as I stand barefoot. My arches are dropping when I stand without arch supports.  TOO MUCH WEIGHT. There it goes again...

I am now the proud owner of a pair of ASICS (not your basics but the best asics on display) Nimbus Gel with arch and gel support and special elastic quick release laces for the plane :-)  You never know, they might be used for something more than walking if I don't wear them out in the next few months.  This is they.

On to Tatties for our traditional post-rehearsal, pre-concert meal.  Fish and Chips for Jon, homemade Lasagne and Salad for me.  Now we're talking.  Thin, light pasta with a rich but not fatty tomato sauce and very light béchamel - tender minced beef and a proper salad with more ingredients than I can recall, lightly chopped in a light vinaigrette.  With a nice cold diet coke of course.

We stroll back to the college.  The sun is low now, buildings lit warmly with a golden glow belying the bitter wind.   We meet fellow singers, Cambridge students, musicians, all gravitating to the lounge area.  Time to drink some of the huge flask of luke-warm tea Jon has been carting around in his rucksack all day long. Then it's time to make our way into the chapel itself - I to take up my seat in the audience, Jon to wait in silence with the choir in the freezing pews behind the organ for the third (and choral) piece of the evening.

All the hours of rehearsal, the tantrums of the chorus master, the endless journeys back and forth around London to rehearsals, the frustrations with learning difficult music, the tiredness rehearsing after a day at work; this is the result.  The choir were good, there was no doubt.  The sound was as precise as the voluminous echo of the chapel would permit and as is often the case with complex choral music I would have little idea what they were singing about had I not read it in the programme beforehand.

So that's basically it.  It is done, and we hurry home to hungry cats.  See you next year, Cambridge.