Christmas In The Country

I have found that it can be a bit of an effort at this time of year, ie, winter, to visit the gym. During the summer it's a piece of proverbial piss - broadly speaking. During spring, summer and even autumn, the evenings are long and light and the mornings are bright and early. I can easily get myself out of bed and go for a run before work. At the end of a day, it's easy to get in 30 minutes at the gym or go for a swim. In this weather though, it's a loathsome task to do either, but there's a guilt at the heart of it which forces you to go. knowing that if you don't, then you may be mistaken for someone who has eaten Vanessa Feltz.

This is why Christmas was a relief. Come my birthday, (part 2 of which will follow shortly) I decided that my plan was to have a period of complete relaxation and indulgence over the Christmas period. I would consciously resign myself to the process of consuming endless food and drink that is part and parcel of the time of year. And this is what I did, as I visited family in the country for a few days, eating like an American who hadn't seen a burger in two years and drinking as if in a contest with Olly Reed (circa The Word).

I love the countryside. The reason I love it so is probably because I live in London and so enjoy it more when I'm there. The Hertfordshire villages tend to be effected much more by the snowy weather than we ever are in London - well, unless you happen to be in charge of London's public transport system, in which case it all goes up the swanny at the first mention of the word, frost.

The Hertfordshire countryside looks quite beautiful after a snowfall. Even more so when seen from the vantage point of walking the dogs across the snowy fields to one of the locals pubs for lunch and a pint (me, not the dogs). Lots of conversations, putting the world to various right, dinners, lazy watching of DVDs in front of the fire and walks ensured that project, have a very relaxing and indulgent Christmas, went entirely according to plan. The only sad point however, came the day before I left. A fox, a nasty malicious (please don't tell me they're cute or i'll vomit) piece of beagle fodder had killed the chickens in the yard. It didn't eat them. It just killed them - all of them, or so I thought. One sprang into life as I tried to pick it up, making me and a relative jump. Just then we looked around to see one of the dogs walking with a dead chicken in it's mouth - we had to laugh at the dog, if nothing else.

So Christmas has now come and gone again for another year. And now for the aftermath - getting ones arse back into the gym.