The minute the sun shines and the central heating goes off I’m bang up for a bit of reinvention. So much so that I think I’m going to ditch the annual January detox, binge drink and over-eat my way through the first quarter of the year and come up smiling in a beatific zen-buddhist kind of way for the Spring.
Oh I’m loving the emerald-green-ness of our lawn, the early morning birdsong (best heard whilst meditating, cross-legged at dawn) and the wonderfulness of my new Nutribullet. Yes I was behind the curve with the Nutribullet (a ‘superfood nutrition extractor’ don’t you know) but now I’m whizzing kale and dates and coconut water with the best of them and regarding my husband’s uber old fashioned tea with two sugars in scarcely veiled disdain. Sugar in tea? Really? How Seventies.
Is it just me or is everyone on a massive health kick (make that everyone but my other half). You go out for dinner and refuse a glass of wine and instead of being shown the door it’s ‘me too, three months now.’ Not drinking, once a social stigma, has become the exact opposite.
Middle aged men in lycra, well, we won’t go there but let’s just say I can hardly get down my lane for getting knocked flat by red-faced cyclists on a mission to kill. Round here there’s even an early morning pilates class for men, yes you heard right. They wear shorts apparently, I did ask the question.
At my book club, once a surefire mix of gin and tonics and a family sized tin of Quality Street, it’s all coconut balls and quinoa patties and deliciously bloody Ella. I mean she’s twenty three and she’s an ex model, of course she looks good, sweet potato brownies or not (gross by the way, don’t do it).
And being a major obsessive myself, I sort of love it, this fixation with all things health. But I also think what goes up must come down and someone needs to throw the mother of all tequila slamming parties very soon.