Thank you everyone who left me a nice message or emailed me after my gym humiliation yesterday. I really appreciated it. I've been fairly confident about the way I look for years now but I could feel myself getting into a spin yesterday and it was horrible how quickly the I Am Crap feelings started to resurface.
But anyway. We won't talk about that any more because I am not crap and I am definitely not obese so the gym prat can shove it up his trackie bottoms (and a bit further).
MUCH better news today is that H-t-b has sorted out picking up my Christmas present. And oooh, it's a good 'un. Ages ago, I mentioned to him that I used to play the piano. I was never a Mozartette or anything, the pinnacle of my playing ability was 'My Girl' by Madness but you know, I enjoyed it and that was good enough for me. So lovely H-t-b thought he'd get me some piano lessons as a Christmas present, and phoned up a teacher.
"Well, I can give her lessons," the teacher said, "but there's not much point if she doesn't have a piano to practise on."
"Oh," said H-t-b. And as pianos cost a couple of grand, he thought, Well, that's that, then.
"However, I do know someone who's giving a piano away for free," the nice piano teacher said. "I'm going round to have a look at it later. I'll give you a ring if it's all right, shall I?"
So all I know at this point is that H-t-b keeps disappearing to take calls and make calls in this annoyingly cryptic sort of way. We'd been to see some friends the weekend before Christmas and on the way home, he drove a different way. "Just got to nip into this pub to see someone," he said, pulling up on a dark street. "It's about your present."
Obviously I was beside myself with curiosity, especially as he came out empty-handed. "What is it? Who did you meet?"
"Oh, just someone called Emma," he said mysteriously. "And that's all I'm telling you."
Then, on Christmas Eve, a van drew up outside our house. "Just popping out for a while," H-t-b said, trying to be all casual about it.
"Where are you going? What's in that van?" I asked. "You're not off to see this Emma again, are you?"
"I'm not saying," he replied. "I'll give you a ring when I'm on my way back. You and the kids will have to go into the kitchen while I bring your present in, okay? Otherwise you'll see it."
To cut a long story short, a pub across town was being refurbished and didn't want their (perfectly good) piano any more. They were actually going to dump it in a skip! So H-t-b had arranged to take it off their hands as a prezzy for me. But unfortunately the owners of the pub had gone Christmas shopping when H-t-b and the man with the van turned up so they couldn't get in. Man with the van had to go after a while ("me missus will kill me if I'm out much later on Christmas Eve") so H-t-b came back looking rather miffed. "I thought it was all going a bit too well," he said.
He drove me round to the pub later so I could see it at least. My very own piano. And he's rearranged a man and van so that they can get it on Saturday. This Saturday! I am so excited about getting my fingers on those ivories. Oh, it will be Christmas carols around the piano next December, I can tell you. In the meantime, I wonder if I can still remember the chords to My Girl?
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