Winter’s crawling to a close, and not a moment too soon, judging by how all my mates feel.
The girls and I celebrated International Women’s Day yesterday in an fun way – a smoothies party.
It was M’s idea (there are three M’s in this coterie). She’s been put on a diet by her doctor to reduce her cholesterol levels and she’s now starting the day with juicing, chopping her way through mounds of fruit on a daily basis. She started us off last night too with pure orange juice – about 20 oranges for the seven of us.
Next up was apple juice, then I began to make use of my home-made yoghurt and frozen bananas to create thicker smoothies. Out came the raspberries, the grapes and the kiwis, the passionfruits and the pineapple. It wasn’t long before N got the ice-cream out of the freezer, then the poire appeared and things got more interesting – and bawdier, if such a thing were possible.
Our Girls Nights In are a replacement for the Girls Nights Out we used to have about 10 years ago when we all had more money and could afford to go to a restaurant. A GNI is just as much fun, though. We’ve done karaoke evenings, Mamma Mia evenings, a pink party, cocktails, soup evenings and plenty of others with no theme at all. A few times a year, we’ll do a bourse aux vetements and swap all of our clothes over.
Personally I’m feeling in a chucking out mood at the moment – something to do with the time of year, I think. I’m not alone, either. My sister has just redecorated her house and is looking forward to opening up her mobile home on the coast for the season. Change is in the air.
"I just want, I just want…" one of the Ms struggled to say last night, strapped as she is into a neck collar for a disk hernia. "I just want…"
"It to be spring?" I said.
"YES. It to be SPRING."
We are all so sick of winter, and of feeling fat and frumpy and forty. But as the daffodils and snowdrops push their way through and the first primroses are beginning to appear in the hedgerows, perhaps we can finally dare to remember what it’s like to have the sun on our skins, or to wear a dress, or not to tense when there’s a breeze.
Now all I have to do is lose the 24 (count ’em) pounds I’ve gained over winter. ‘Winterspeck’ the Germans call it – winter fat – and I put it on every year, but 24 pounds is a bit excessive even for me. Looks like M won’t be the only one getting out the juicer….