Yesterday evening, Mr B and I were invited to the President's Dinner.
Not the President as in Obama, I hasten to add (just in case you might be thinking that Mr
B and I are starting to move in circles well above our humble station.) No, our Dinner was being hosted by the Bowls Club's President. As in Malcolm.
My greatest excitement was over the
menu. As is always the case with the President's Dinner, we had been asked to indicate our menu choices several weeks ago. So long ago, in fact, that there was no chance at all of me remembering what I'd chosen. Which meant I didn't have the faintest
idea what I would be eating till I arrived and found my selections helpfully printed on the back of the place card which also bore the Bowls Club logo and my name.
The question is, what frame
of mind was I in when I made my selection, all those weeks ago? Was I in the middle of one of my "Worthy Weightwatching Weeks", when I am faultlessly faithful about calculating how many points I have consumed in food and how many points I have accumulated
through exercise, using my very own mathematical magic so that the equation always, but always, works in my favour? (Weightwatchers On-line, by the way, likes to ask me about the intensity of my exercise sessions - low, moderate or high.
I always put high, partly on principle but mostly because you all know how intensely I enter into my aqua-aerobics sessions. And it's worth an extra exercise point.) On such a day, my menu choices will have been melon, poached
salmon and fruit salad. Worthy but boring.
On the other hand, perhaps I chose my dinner on one of my "What The Hell" days. These are the days when Mr B says he really, really fancies meat
pie, or apple crumble, or lamb stew with herby dumplings - and I can't say "not for me" because my mouth is already watering and I can't get the words out. The days when we wander round Marks and Spencer's Food and a packet of apple and cinnamon hot cross
buns somehow jumps, unbidden, off the shelf and into our shopping basket. Sometimes, when there's a two for one offer, we discover not one, but two of the pesky packets in the basket when we arrive at the check-out. Too late
to put them back on the shelf by then, you know.
And what good fortune! It was obviously a "What The Hell" day when I signed up for the President's Dinner. So
last night I feasted on chicken goujons for starters, sirloin steak for my main (with roast potatoes and lots of healthy vegetables - though I couldn't find room on my plate for too much of anything green-coloured, as it happens) plus cheesecake
for pudding. Scrumptious!
We had to stop eating every so often when someone proposed a toast. "The Queen, God bless her!" "The Bowls Club!" "The Committee!" I never knew
just when we might be required to leap to our feet, raise our glasses and do a bit of jolly toasting.
So I kept my wine glass well topped up - just in case...