So, Friday morning I was up bright and breezy, and actually very excited; I was excited because I was going to yoga! (No, that's not sad bit)
I was merrily glugging my way through gallons of water in preparation for all that sweating and hotness; I'd squeezed my self into my favourite yoga outfit, which doesn't suddenly give me the body of a carrot-juicing-lithe-18-year-old-yoga-bunny, but makes me feel the part, as well as being practical.
(A quick aside - you know they say you are what you eat? Well I'd much rather be a chocolate eclair than a brown lentil, mind you a nice crisp juicy apple wouldn't be so bad....)
Back to the story (riveted aren't you?)
So there I am in all my yogary (like finery but yoga instead of fine); PD is on his way to look after Isobel.
is pulling all the books off the bookshelf.
I bent down to remove her from the area of temptation... (tension mounts)
Yes, you guessed it. My back went again.
See, it is a tragic, tragic tale. Well, I cried.