Last night makes three people who have now accused me of being Bridget Jones, and it's not just because I'm a Brit. So I guess I'd better start writing like her...
Weight: 1lb lighter than last week, will be back in a bikini in no time
Cigarettes: None, am wonderful, virtuous, clean living example of womanhood.
Units of Alcohol: Six. Rome wasn't built in a day you know...
Have begun to think that employers are completely incompetent when it comes to anything other than wandering about and arranging lunches, leaving it up to poor defenseless me to tackle the hideous task of fixing the computer problems of said employers. Possibly they assume that because I am under 40 (thank God) I must know everything about the superannuated calculators we have dotted about the place.
On a brighter note, my much dreaded fitness assessment went rather well. Apparently I have "Great abs" though this clearly refers to their strength and stamina, not their outward appearance. Personally I still feel they resemble a roughly stomach-shaped lump of tofu, definitely not for public consumption. The personal trainer lady was ridiculously slim and athletic, and is the same age as my dear old Mum, not entirely sure yet whether this makes me feel better, or stunningly inadequate.
Have discovered that red wine is almost as comforting as chocolate at times, and is considerably less fattening.
Thus ends the Bridget Jones section of my Blog, I'm not even going to try to put my love-life analysis into Jones-isms, that would just be way too scary.