Gold

This post will concern gold in four forms: firstly, my wedding and engagement rings; secondly, as a prize for physical exertion; thirdly, as a colour for sandals and fourthly, with reference to the Spandau Ballet classic.

Firstly: my gold wedding and engagement rings. I'm not wearing them. They are in a little box in my safe and I'm not going to put them back on. It has taken me a good few months to finally take them off permanently and oddly, there is no mark on my finger where they used to be. I also don't miss them. I think it is fair to say, dear reader, I'm over my marriage break-up.

Secondly, I deserve a gold medal for waking up at 9:30am this morning and still making it to the gym for a 10am legs, bums and tums class. I haven't done a class for eight years and I did OK with grapevines and lunges but indulged myself in a lot of lying comfortably on my mat during the sit ups, and not sitting up. But I have negotiated about 10 babysitting sessions from my ex so I can keep going. Buns of steel, here I come.

Thirdly, gold sandals. All women look forward with anticipation to the day the black lumpy sensible winter shoes come off and the glittery strappy sandals go on. However, some odd coding in our DNA means we forget just how painful sandals are. We are lulled into a false sense of security by the shop. In the beautifully air-conditioned carpeted shop we slip our feet into accommodating and cute sandals and marvel at their comfort. We then make the big mistake of wearing them outside on a hot day. Our feet puff up in the unaccustomed warmth. The straps of our sandals gouge into the puffiness. The straps flay all the skin from your heels. The toe straps gouge into your toes until they are practically severed. I reckon that the true secret of the Catholic Church is that all nuns who are suggested for sainthood because they have stigmata on their feet have actually simply been wearing their summer sandals for a few hours. You know it makes sense. Anyway, today I chose not to wear my ugly comfy beige Scholl sandals to town but wore my gorgeous kitten heeled, gold gladiator sandals instead. I hobbled, but in an enormously sexy manner. As a married women I always chose comfort over sexiness. No more.

Finally, and phew, ain't this a long post? Gold, by Spandau Ballet. Last night I went on a birthday do with lots of lovely ladies. I lost my karaoke virginity in a little booth. Diffidently I hummed along with the others until enough cocktail had been imbibed to make me believe (wrongly) that I can sing. The last ten minutes were spent howling marvellously and the words of Gold by Spandau Ballet sum up just how I feel at the moment:

There's nothing left to make me feel small

Luck has left me standing so tall

Gold

Always believe in your soul

You've got the power to know

You're indestructible