Well, we may have finished the sporting-month but the party is certainly not over. Having said that I haven’t done any activity as such but I have felt more guilty about the lack of it and I have been more mindful of my 5-a-day. Fruit and veg have become the foundation and corner stone of my new temple of sobriety and clean living.

During the competitive element of last month the need to hit 5-a-day was worth team points. I didn’t have a mini-portable set of scales so never weighed out my 80 grams of vegetative matter, instead, I was stacking them in as and where and how. Handfuls of dried apricots and prunes, tins of pulses, steamed greens and fresh fruit. It was like I was ramming a Harvest Festival down inside me, ploughing a field and scattering, I was less able to produce a Captain’s Log, more like a loose passage of  random pieces (I am obviously referring to my blogging during this period – and not my ability to deal with roughage but take whatever meaning you want from this). I think I must have been hitting seven or eight a day and sometimes more.

Watching the Queen all bloody weekend though was enough to put anyone of their stride. I have been reduced to eating two-year old (my son and his peers) birthday food (cast-offs, actually) which included strawberries in aspic (yuk!), odds and ends of pork pie and sausages and cheese on sticks (no pineapple, mind), watered down fruit juices crying out for an ‘E’ number to be thrown in there – if only to add colour, and warm milk that had been sat out too long to consider re-offering it to my son’s tender-aged digestive abilities. I could feel my body revolting against this obvious nutritional abuse, I felt (emotionally) for the dear old Duke of E and his sceptic bladder.  He has to live through this type pomp and ceremony endlessly, buffet nibbles, the Queen’s crumb offerings or corgi-rejected matter (probably road-kill)– his bladder is probably shouting out for a good Cox’s Pippin. As it is I feel sluggish, lethargic, and 86, I feel 86! So tonight, it is back to the broccoli, the spring greens with all their slug detritus, and excited slime associated with the odd low-life form lothario that wandered into my organic box. I might also lay off the prunes.