Lose like a boss

Guys, I am very clearly on a losing streak.

Yes, you might use my choice of a life partner as evidence of this, but it's not something I'm ready to talk about.

Just as I was about to type out this post, I knocked an entire cup of tea over my desk. Now, in all my clumsy years, never have I been able to empty out the whole cup. Furthermore, never have I so expertly targeted my phone, keyboard and mouse, so that when tilting these items slightly, rivers of tea fell down to my socks.

I am not surprised by this.

Why?

Because this week (and hopefully this week only) I am losing.

Luckily, this is not unfamiliar territory to me. You don't get drive by ketchuped in your youth and emerge from the experience thinking that luck is on your side. No, you ready yourself for the next saucing. You make a mental note to purchase a range of waterproof jackets and start to wash your hair less frequently, because, well, you just never know when it's coming. Only that it is coming.

I started trying to get fit this week, started with an early morning lane swim. When they're cleaning the swim changing rooms, you can only use the dry sports changing. Which is fine, until you return from the pool, and realise there's no privacy, just one wide open room. I'm not good with nudity.

Despite my foul mouth, and love of all things dark and inappropriate, I want everyone's bits (including my own) wrapped up and out of sight. It's the chink in my otherwise shameless armour. My close family could not be more different - and used to swan about, bathroom door wide open, tanning in the garden stark naked. Whilst I would run quickly away from the slightest sight of buttock.

Thus began the mammoth challenge of me trying to cover myself with my small towel, whilst simultaneously trying to dry and dress. Luckily everyone else was in front of me, so I just had to focus on covering my front (which is where most of the offensive articles are). So I was quite happy to bend over in order to dry my toes etc. When I was fully dressed, I turned around to find that a full length mirror was directly behind me.

I've not yet made any friends at the pool.

ALSO

Last night I tried a Hula Hoop exercise class. I assumed (and I think it was a fair assumption, judging by my masterful ability over the skipping rope as a child and the level of dance moves I have thrown out in clubs across the UK) that I would be simply marvellous.

I was not marvellous.

I was humiliated.

When I wasn't simulating aggressive sex with the invisible man, I was picking my hoop off the floor. Picking it up, over and over, after it had smacked into my shins, for an hour, whilst everyone else, fat or thin, fit or not, and even my own 65 year old mother, performed effortless spin magic.

Keep smiling the instructor said.

Keep smiling? It was effort enough not to burst into tears folks. But I didn't feel like uttering the truth, which would've been something like

 'I'm sorry that I'm almost thirty and yet somehow crying like a hysterical child in your class, but I'm losing a lot recently, including, since you asked, being rejected from the Jerwood Writing Mentorship Scheme, which I was foolishly holding up as some kind of last ditch attempt to retain my sense of self as a writer. And I have mistakenly assumed that if I came here tonight and smashed this hoola hoop lark out the fucking park, then everything would be okay, but I was wrong. Because I am very clearly shit. And very clearly red. And life is not what Disney sold me. Not at all.'

So I didn't cry.

I HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A REALLY GREAT TIME.