'It's not you ...'

To make up for their Big Bloomer boo-boo FaceBook is now targeting me with ads telling me, 'It's not you; it's your hormones.'

Apparently it's not eating too much or not getting enough exercise that has resulted in my blobby belly: it's an imbalance of hormones. No doubt if I paid the man a lot of money he would tell him how to correct that but maybe I should stop the sneaky chocolate and ice creams first.

And get more exercise. If you can count walking George as exercise.

A lone Welsh poppy

As Husband was painting this morning I walked George alone. I had intended to do the beach walk but as we set off the sun came out and the river seemed a better option as it could have been too hot for George. It's a path we haven't taken for a long time because Husband doesn't like muddy paths, but I figured it had been dry enough recently for it to be okay. Even for someone inappropriately shod: I was wearing sandals.

It was fine. There was only one bit I couldn't easily avoid but had to scramble through using my hands for balance. And it was a lovely walk. So peaceful. Just the stream burbling, the birds tweeting, George panting, and me singing the national anthem.

I have a confession: I've never learned the Welsh national anthem properly. I know most of it but get some mixed up and other bits I have to just open my mouth and mime. So when my friend, Gareth, put up a mini 'Learn the Welsh anthem' course I decided the time was right.

I struggled. I said to Gareth, 'It might help if you had the translation up there as well.'

He said, 'It is. You just click on the words.'

'Oh.'

Turns out that didn't help.

The only thing that works is if I picture the written words on the screen. I can just about manage then. If I don't pause, or hesitate, or, worst of all, think.