I awoke on a Monday morning to drizzle and fog – another do nothing day, or so I thought. I had an early morning physiotherapy appointment so lounging about wasn’t an option. I showered, ate a light breakfast and headed out the door. Once on the road I got a burst of energy and decided to make good use of this otherwise dreary day, so when I reached my appointment I sent a text to my very good friend Jo to see if she was up to meet for coffee. This is the same friend I continuously start my diet with – too date neither of us has lost a pound, but we sure plan a lot!

After my physio appointment, I check my messages and see she’s agreed to meet in half an hour for coffee. I make my way over to the coffee house and note I’m a little early, so I shop on route – no sense wasting time! By the time we meet I’ve already got a new pair of shoes and two sweaters – Jo reprimands me for my lack of self-control.  (ok, she’s not that good a friend, really)

We buy our coffee and settle for a good chat and the conversation invariably returns to our dieting woes. We decide that a new year deserves a new plan. I suggest that we change up our routine, maybe take a yoga course to motivate us, and she’s on board! Jo also suggests that we meet a couple of times a week to walk for the exercise. I remind her that we walk fairly frequently already but she’s quick to point out that wandering the shops for sales is not technically exercise so I grudgingly agree to a twice weekly walk outdoors. (killjoy – She’s really more like the friend of a friend)

New plan in hand we decide we need to get new workout wear and head to the local shops. After two hours of trying on every form of spandex available, we head to a nice Greek restaurant for lunch – this planning an exercise regimen really works up the appetite.

While inhaling our food the conversation moves to other activities we can enjoy to fill our days (and keep us away from the fridge) Jo admits to a love of music and suggests we join a choir. I agree that it’s a great idea, but most of the singing groups I know of are church choirs or seniors. Jo and I are retired but only newly so, and we’re on the younger side of retirement so I don’t see the appeal in joining a group of eighty year olds that warble like old hens, and I tell her as much. “We’ll start our own singing group” she announces, then reprimands me for my less than flattering description of ‘elderly singers’. She’s always harping on me about being too direct, but honestly, have you listened to a choir of seniors trying to croak out a tune? It’s not like the gentle sound of a songbirds trill or the melodious tones of a childrens choir. This is the ghastly sounds emitted from aged throats and a rusty voice box  – hardly the stuff current radio stations are tuning in. (I barely know her actually, she’s just an acquaintance really)

I suggest we start a book club – that would be fun. I can think of a few people we could invite, meet once every couple of weeks to discuss the book. My only stipulation is that I get to pick the books cause if I don’t like it, I won’t read it. No history, no politics, no drama, no sci-fi, no mysteries. I just like happy stories, comedy, romance, biography (only happy ones)   “Ok, this could be a problem” Jo says, “you need to be a little more flexible”. (Bitch, I never really liked her)

Jo suddenly lights up and excitedly suggests we join a bowling league! Her elderly mother bowls twice a week and loves it, she gushes, and we’d get to wear those cute little bowling shirts! (sure thing Wilma, and maybe we can get Fred and Barney to lend us their bowling bags) I think I’d rather warble with the hens. (What was I thinking befriending this loon?)

We explore various potential new hobbies throughout lunch and after a good round of laughter we determine it’s best to take small steps. We’ll meet to walk twice a week (no stores, no shopping, no lunch – this seems to be cruel and unusual punishment, but ok) and we’ll scout out a good yoga studio to enroll in some beginners classes. After lunch we continue our shopping cause if we’re going to act fit we’d better look it! Finally with matching spandex outfits sure to impress, we stumble across a lovely leopard print dress that we laughingly label our ‘choir uniform’, then stop off for a bottle of wine to warm up the old vocal cords.

Heaven only knows where this new routine will take us but if you should pass two women walking down the street in spandex (or leopard print) warbling like two old hens, you’ll know it’s us, and if we don’t lose a pound or read a book or bowl the perfect game, at least we can take comfort in knowing we made good use of an otherwise dreary day!