I go for a run and have a think

The French call jogging  “le footing” and that is more of an exact terminology.  One foot in front of the other in a bouncing motion.  Anyway I don’t even get to start my “footing” until I arrive at the flat bit at the top of the hill in the woods.  For the moment I am power walking down the hill towards the river when  I pass the couple-without-children-with-the-four-cars going off to work.  I say “bonjour” politely although without the heart chakra engaged  because I harbour a fury towards their his and her minis, the four wheel drive and the porsche.  A few years back they were burgled and ALL her expensive underwear was stolen.  In fact the claim for expensive underwear outbid the other items taken during the robbery.  I know all this because we have the same architect and Georges is our friend.  Along with the fury at the conspicuous consumption is the curiosity as to how couples-without-children live.  A life where sensible, flesh coloured underwear for easy washing is banished, I presume.  I know they spend most evenings in their jacuzzi because I can see the steam.  (This is the second jacuzzi, the first had to be torn down because they failed to ask the Commune for planning permission as it was more than the size of a garden shed – of course it was this is a couple with four cars!).  After downing a jamboree of champagne – I swear I can hear the cork popping all the way up the hill to  my house – they have wild, rampant, loud sex in every room in the house, every night.

I am now at the river.  I soldier on up the snowy path listening to JB Glazinger.  This guy makes me laugh out loud.  He is a self-development guru and has to be the biggest bragger in the world.  He is a martial arts expert, has an MBA and PHD and is taking his pilot’s license which he somehow manages to remind us about in every podcast.  I giggle inbetween pants making my way up the wiggly footpath crunching in the snow as he tells me that I am a magnificient spiritual being living in a material world.  That’s me!  I finally reach the flat bit on the running trail and start my footing but my mind, which is inclined to always take the easy way out, says “Stop!  You’ll fall and break something!” This morning it sounds uncannily like Madre.  “It’s icy and then you’ll not be able to go to London this weekend.”  I take small steps gingerly avoiding the shiny patches then remember what I learned in Martin Brofman’s seminar about perception and reflection knowing full well that if I tell myself I am going to fall then I will.  I pick up the pace and sure enough the ground is firm and compact.  

Friday I leave for London. It is my nephew Myles’ sixteenth birthday celebration weekend so we have tickets for X Factor Live!  I know it’s lame but that’s the kind of family we are.  Aunty Sally, Godmother to Lexi, is even printing off Masks from the X factor website.  Madre has opted out as she is more of a Strictly woman and Mr. Jules is skiing with his Norwegian buddy. First, before the fun starts, Lexi has an interview and exam to get through.  We have been doing mock interviews over dinner and trying hard not to snigger when she articulates carefully and puts her posh accent on.  Mr. Jules told her to write “examining nine year olds is ridiculous” next to any questions she cannot answer.

I am squeezing in an afternoon of flat hunting with Casper, Edward and Jeremy who have some bijoux broom cupboards in fabulous locations to show me.  Heehee.  I am still amazed that people speak this way, I thought the Labour government had eradicated Hurray Henrys and any self-respecting ambitious London men spoke like Sir Alan Sugar.  Perhaps it is just property-speak.  My favourite is Stephen Lovelady, who speaks normally and whom I have been unwittingly calling Ladyfinger.  I think I have some sort of disease where I garble words or mishear them at times.  The girl on reception told me that they have a poll for the best alternative surname for Stephen and mine was topping the bill so far. I am a little ashamed to show my face at the uber-trendy Foxton’s on the King’s Road Friday at 4pm.