Out

OK, it's Sunday, it's confession time.
Last night, while mindlessly watching television, I shared with a.n.other the whole of that enormous walnut whip I blipped last month;and I mean the whole thing, including the mini whips hidden inside. How disgusting is that? A complete fall from grace for me when I was doing so well on the weight loss front.
I deserve to be fat. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa.

Hail Marys are not for me but an extra 10 minutes on the stepping machine was my punishment, even though I know that the floors climbed will in no way compensate for the damage done by those mouthfuls of velvety chocolate elixir.

With His Lordship sufficiently recovered from the surgeon's knife, we ventured forth to the land of flowers, he to eat cake without any chocolate guilt and I to nibble a water biscuit and forego any cake corners that might land my way from his plate.

Then it was on to collect our winnings on the result of yesterday's Grand National. Cappa Bleue's second position netted us £20, hardly the sort of amount that would persuade either of us to become addicted to gambling, I would say.

PS There seems to be another altercation between Blipfoto and BT and I have had to resort to the trusty bookshop to email Blip-central. I may get another book read tonight if I can't comment.