My White Bread Rant

I have been in hospital twice over the last few years and both times I have only been fed see-through white bread toast with butter and jam post-birth/post-op. As the NHS spend so much time (and resources) telling us what to eat, I cannot believe they feed such rubbish when we most need good nutrition.
Radio Suffolk were doing a phone-in on hospital food recently and I had the chance to ask Dr Dan Poulter why we cannot be fed wholemeal toast, if we must be fed cheap bread at all.
Apparently, we are fed white toast as it is a really easy food for us to digest, and this is important after the rigours of an anaesthetic.
OK.....
My step-mother had a knee operation (with a general anaesthetic) in a BUPA hospital recently. I asked her what she ate when she woke up.
"Smoked salmon and scrambled egg with a bagel", she replied.
So it is all about money then.......

Dealing with difficult thoughts

During the last twelve months, I have had three bombshells delivered. Each one of them has been life-changing, dramatic and terribly upsetting. I have also had two incidents that have been pretty stressful. But I have survived, and stayed (relatively) sane.
I find this amazing, particularly as I previously had no concept of my own resilience.
I am a thinker - perhaps an over-thinker - I look to understand and to plan a recovery. I put myself under immense pressure to be OK. It is not always easy, there are times when my mind is full of paranoid thoughts, or anger, sometimes I feel a victim to these events and at other times I daydream arguments with the perpetrators (where there is one).
Here are the four things that have helped me hold it together and calm my mind:
a) Addressing each bombshell with compassion, patience and tolerance. Compassion for those involved (and myself), patience and tolerance towards the situation.
b) Asking myself "if this was your last day on earth, would you want to have spent your time worrying about something you can't change?"
c) Distracting myself by thinking of something that I appreciate or that is beautiful. Not always easy when I am in the car driving along boring roads on a grey Winter's day but there is usually something I can focus on.
d) If all else fails I go for a run, do some yoga or drink a large glass of red wine.

Recommended:
The Art of Happiness - The Dalai Lama
Get Some Headspace
Eat, Pray, Love - Elizabeth Gilbert
Yogaemma

My first fast is nearly over

I am an hour away from eating.
My last meal was finished at 6pm last night and I have had nothing but water, black tea and coffee inbetween.
This is quite incredible as I have never gone without food for more than probably 8 hours before - and then I would have rewarded myself with all the meals I had missed in one sitting.
I am someone who can eat three times a day but that has taken a few years of training. I eat a healthy diet (after 25 years of being a vegetarian/vegan I changed into an obsessive carnivore), I mostly stay away from wheat and sugar and I don't eat processed foods.
But I am obsessed with hunger avoidance. I rarely feel hunger as I paper over the cracks with meals that keep me full until the next time I have assigned for consumption.

Yesterday, I skim read The Fast Diet, which is based on the BBC's Horizon programme 'Eat, Fast, Live Longer'. The premise is that Intermittent Fasting is good for you - you might lose some weight as you push your body into fat-burning (if you do it regularly) and you might also live a bit longer and be less likely to lose your marbles, or your health, along the way.
The book suggests eating 500 calories for women (600 for men) two days a week and eating whatever you like on the other five days.

So I decided to set myself an experiment to see if I could survive a whole day without food.
I know deep-down that I need to eat less and not be scared of hunger causing me to expire in a feminine kind of fainting mess.
Last night I ate my meal of mince with a swede/carrot mash along with lots of buttery kale and followed with some natural yoghurt. I downed a glass of red (well you have to, don't you) and that was it.
14 hours later I was getting ready for the school run with a little more time on my hands as I hadn't needed to feed myself. I was busy at work this morning so I barely noticed until 1pm (my normal lunchtime) when I popped home - but I was five feet away from the fridge and really didn't feel the need to inhale it.
The toughest time was around the 21 hour mark when I was a little bored at my desk and focussed in on some digestive rumbling.
Here I am (23 hours, 30 minutes) and I am not as desperate for the end of my curfew as I thought I would be. There is a bowl of homemade broth clingfilmed and ready to go in the microwave (as I was worried that I would make all kinds of daft decisions) but as it is, my night out with friends has been cancelled and I am not sure if there is much to eat in the house.
And that feels OK.

A six year study of an allotment

If I'm honest, I sort of fell into having an allotment and, had I been able to have some time to think, I would have realised that it was a bit much for me.
But I am the kind of person who likes a challenge.
I am the kind of person who likes to learn.
And I am the kind of person who won't be told.
Today I said goodbye to my allotment, so here is a look back on the highs and lows.

Year One

The week after I signed on the dotted line, I found out I was pregnant. It was August 2007 and the weeds were rampant with no produce to worry about except the odd potato. I wasn't sure if I could dig so I tried to cut the grass back and relied on family members to do the digging as and when they could fit it in. With a little bit of persuasion, my husband and his father built some 'raised' beds using panels recycled from an old shed. People were happy to chat to the men as they worked, whilst I seemed to be the object of much interest and derision.
I planted leeks, strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, apple trees and thyme plants.

Year Two

With the arrival of Scarlett came the realisation that the plot was a huge commitment but Dan's parents mucked in, some friends took over a couple of beds and we just about got away with it in time for the Field Open Day.
Our strawberries were delicious and we made jar after jar of jam.
The raised beds started to sink but I simply regarded the edges as boundaries.

Year Three

Waterproof dungarees, a Barbie watering can and some wellies were introduced to the shed when really we should have bought a strimmer. Scarlett was on the move and shaking the apple trees as if they had coconuts attached became commonplace.
I misjudged the frosts this year and lost everything - twice.
This was my first year of growing sweet peas and it was a tremendous success. The problem was I didn't visit often enough to make the most of them so they soon faded.
It was around this time that the length of the grass between the beds started to keep me awake at night. I just couldn't go up as often as everyone else.

Year Four

I was much more organised this year. All my crop rotation plans came together and I planted cucumbers, tomato plants, runner beans, beetroot, potatoes, squash, purple sprouting broccoli, sweetcorn, turnip, onions and leeks.
Only one beetroot grew, I lost all the tomatoes to blight, not a leek came up and all the runner beans and squash were eaten by the slugs and snails I refused to kill.
My helpers became too occupied with other projects, but I felt quite on top of things.

Year Five

This was the year I received 'the howler' from the Field Secretary about the state of my plot. Some might say I should have had it much sooner. I knew it was coming. The grass had grown to waist height so the crops underneath were no longer visible. He wasn't aware that I had arranged for the plot to be strimmed in time for the Open Day.
As my plot was at the top of the field, I knew that he was right to be cross, but I took a deep breath and tackled him back anyway (he had said that my life was out of control, after all). We compromised and I agreed to give up half my plot. The man who took over, literally took over - leaving me with no grass, no weeds and the most perfect plot I had ever seen (see above).
Incidentally, the Field Secretary and I became good friends.

Year Six

A tough year for me personally and I think it is fair to say that the allotment has helped to keep me sane. There is nothing like a morning digging to feel less frustrated or angry.
Nothing grew too well, although we had a glut of strawberries - as you can see.


As our home life adapted to the rigours of running a pub, so the time that we have as a three has become squeezed into mornings. With the onset of school this time has become shortened further so trips to the allotment at the weekend were very obviously becoming time away from my family.
Numerous jobs to do at the allotment were always on my lists, and I often suffered that niggling feeling that usually turned out to be Allotment Guilt.
When I recently found out I was pregnant for the second time, I realised a few commitments should go once I was on maternity leave - and the allotment was one of these.
Once I lost the baby, I had to deal with many feelings but one of the things I could do was to act on the decisions I had already made.

So today I handed over the keys to the lady who owns the other half of my original plot. She has recently lost her husband so needs to keep busy, she has chickens who will love the grass that used to keep me awake at night and she now has two sheds - one for the chicken feed and one for her tools, many of which I have left as I inherited them.
I wasn't sad as I left, I know I will be back for their Open Day and I will still be in touch with them all through AGMs and the Awards Evening.
I have one less thing to feel guilty about, and that feels good.

The Two Week Wait

When we were trying to get pregnant, the 'two week wait' ( or 2WW) was a phrase commonly used to describe the time between ovulation and finding out if you had been successful. For three years and over the course of numerous unsuccessful treatments, I seemed to constantly count from 1 to 14.
Then Scarlett came along, and I stopped counting.
But there is another two week wait in the world of women's bodies and fertility.
If there is no heartbeat at an ultrasound scan then current NHS guidelines suggest you go home to miscarry naturally. You are asked to return in two weeks for another ultrasound which will determine whether you require 'surgical intervention'.
After waiting 4 years for a second pregnancy, and not being prepared for the possibility of a lost baby, waiting two weeks has felt like some kind of torture.
This is why I have pushed for intervention after ten days. We need to save my sanity, enable my husband to move forward and protect our daughter from any further disruption.
Maybe then we can focus on the most wonderful time of the year.

Love the Lakes

We have just returned from a week in Cumbria. A long way to travel but a beautiful place.
It was the first time we had holidayed with the masses so we had to avoid some of the more obvious places.
The air was fresh, the views were spectacular and the weather was wonderfully wild.
Rain, sun, hail, clouds and snow, just in one day.

Finding the balance

Almost a month into our new life and I think I am finding a balance between work and life.
The first two weeks were a blur of logistics, juggling and worrying. Then we hit a period of extreme work and play (our babysitter earned £100 that week) - as if everything had been postponed to those seven days. This last week has seen me having more than one Dynamic Day and a few big tasks being ticked off. I have also run twice and had two yoga lessons.
But I have also had to admit defeat. Tonight I am staying home rather than dancing with my friends as I am feeling weary and a little achey.
Knowing when to listen to your body is all part of finding a balance. And it is OK.
I also have an extremely tired child who has been so emotionally fraught today that I would have consumed large quantities of wine under the heading Much Needed Reward and written off tomorrow......