Productive

Had a very busy, varied and productive day today. In a sickeningly good mood for a Monday morning and faced with the reality of Slimming World starting back three weeks today, I decided to put a foot up my own backside and keep busy, keep active, and try - and I do stress the word try - to be better. Not perfect, but better, from now until then.

I have walked 10,422 steps today. I have made better choices with my food - choosing poached eggs and beans on toast this morning for breakfast (instead of a bag of mini eggs, and no, I'm not joking, mini eggs were an option and a valid one). I chose fruit for snacks instead of crisps. I have meditated. I have cleaned my fridges. I have cooked. I have done a little comping. I have read. I have even started to learn a language. I did all this by breaking everything down into timed chunks, I think it's called the Pomodoro Technique and it works for me. For someone who needs structure, and who thrives on a little competition (yes, that's competing against myself - it's not easy being me) and with a beat the clock attitude. I set my timer for fifteen minutes at a time and tackled certain tasks - because let's face it, everyone can do something for fifteen minutes, right? Some tasks, I was able to multitask, such as listening to the language audios and practising them as I walked on the treadmill or cleaned. After I had done everything on my list for fifteen minutes, I then increased the time spent on each task to twenty five minutes and then went round again. This helped to pass the time until Mr G woke up, and really helped alleviate some of the boredom I've been feeling lately.

Mr G and the boy braved the barber today, it was their choice completely and I suppose the boy was looking a bit... simple after four months of Covid Cuts. The price had gone up a good fiver for the both from pre lockdown, which I suppose is understandable, as the barber is now operating an appointment only system, and misses out on walk ins. Plus he has likely taken a serious hit in finances over the last few months.

We're all going to have to pay a little more from now on, support the little guys. It's probably going to be the death of the High Street as we know it, or rather the final nail in the coffin of a lot of High Streets. A lot of the big guns are shedding jobs, not reopening certain stores. In time, I can see a return to the ways of old, with more local, independent shops setting up. I can see councils offering reduced rates and rents to get these shops filled with something, anything, rather than their towns and cities being run down and left to rack and ruin.

Looking back at how Bangor used to be such a thriving city, it's sad to see it how it is now. There's a video on YouTube showing how it used to be, I think in the late eighties or early nineties, on a Saturday afternoon and it was heaving. How I remember it being in my teenage years. All the shops that have gone, Woolworths. I would spend a good hour in Woolworths browsing the records alone. First port of call every Saturday after work. Pick and Mix. Popping in to see my best friend Emma, may she rest in peace, at her Saturday job in Freeman Hardy Willis, under the pretence of looking for shoes and discussing plans for our night out in town later. A good half hour upstairs in Cob Records browsing the second hand vinyl section. Backcombed permed hair that held so much hairspray that I was a fire hazard, the most disgusting blancmange pink coloured lipstick that suited nobody, let alone a brunette, eyebrows that would put some of these young Groucho Marx wannabes these days to shame, winged eyeliner and you could smell me (and probably taste me) before you saw me, arriving in a haze of Tribe or Exclamation or So...? or Body Shop Dewberry Oil or Impulse Chic (to cover up the smell of the fags - thank God I've given up). The Peninsula Chinese restaurant opposite the bus stops, I had many a lush meal in there. Such happy times. Now, everywhere is empty, Deiniol Centre is half empty, Wellfield has gone and been replaced with a half empty monstrosity that is so disjointed it's ridiculous. Shops are boarded up, closing down, closed down. The only shops that seem to remain are the charity shops. 

Tea was Chinese chicken curry and egg fried rice with hash browns (needs must, just had a shock to find out that Mr G doesn't get paid this Friday as I'd thought...).

Sad news today that Championship and League One's seasons won't resume this year. Hardly a surprise but I still had a tiny shred of hope. There is some competition that is running in the Autumn for the two leagues with a cash prize pot, but it's a details are to follow job, and whether we take part in it or not remains to be seen. I really miss the rugby, I miss my friends, I miss draught Wrexham Lager, I miss the occasional fish and chips, I miss the banter, I miss the players and the staff. I even miss the wasps at Queensway. Evil, stingy little f...

New moon in Cancer today, the second one in Cancer in 2020. I decided to follow through on my Full Moon forgiveness and releasing ritual and set my intentions and wishes with this New Moon. I burned a candle, wrote a list, wrote affirmations, visualised, and then listened to the most beautiful guided meditation, the music was gorgeous. So many people do these rituals every month, world wide, and if nothing else, it might spur me into action now that I have it written down. Some things are actionable, some are wishful thinking, some... well. We'll see. What's meant for you won't pass you by, at the end of the day.

Until tomorrow... who knows what excitement that will bring. I might defrost a freezer. Gather up enough washing to finally put a wash load on (I've been frowning at a half empty washer full of little else but tea towels and underwear since yesterday).  I might finish my book, which incidentally is really, really interesting. We're complex creatures we humans, aren't we? Absolutely batshit. Speaking of, there is a new book I might treat myself to (Mr G will treat me to without his knowledge when he gets paid) that was reviewed in the Guardian Bookshop newsletter the other day, Remain in Love by Chris Frantz, spilling the tea on Talking Heads and Tom Tom Club, I'm a fan of both and it looks to be quite interesting. I'm not usually one for autobiographies, that's more Mr G's forte, but one now and then to break up the woo woo and the willies can't do any harm, can it? ;-)