Iola's Idiocy

Tonight's 3rd in the thriller season at the Grand was on a par with last weeks.  To be expected as by the same writer - Durbridge - this time called "in the small hours".  Fight scenes were pretty poor but mostly OK.  I really shouldn't have read the article in the week about the journalist who hates the theatre who went to lots of it for a week and then whinged on for 2 pages.  Foolish girl (me for reading it or her for doing it?)

Chap has yet to die of lack of inhaler - I posted it on to him yesterday but it's not arrived as yet.  He's on this course (so cool - his employers send him on courses for the job above the one he has so he can apply for promotions when they come up) residential for a week and I'm getting lots of "good salad bar, done lots of gym" texts.  I think this is good.  My boss has done my PGCert in Management reference, but we haven't negotiated all the time off/who will pay bit yet.

I've hit the bit in Fatland about obesity and diabeties - and suspect I suddenly understand the renewed weight control mission a lot better.  I'm scared.  I'm never going to put on weight again.  Type 2 diabeties too scary for words.  I am tempted to indoctrinate every child I meet to know about the clown who puts the pooh in the burgers to try and save them from themselves... However I don't think becoming a preacher will make me popular.