Day eight

Decisions, decisions. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in less than an hour, which puts a time constraint on my writing. Do I trust myself to get back to it in the afternoon? Do I go to the gym, when it will be crowded, after my doctor’s appointment? Or do I go back to the village a second time?

I think this will have to wait. More anon.

Okay, I’m back.

Note to self: Do not accept mid-morning doctor’s (or any other type of) appointments. It throws off the routine I am trying to establish. (Okay, I know there are people out there who get up ridiculously early, who would consider 10:30am late, not mid-morning, but I am not one of those people. My morning is from 9am to noon. Get over it.)

My wonderful doctor thinks I am doing wonderfully well. Full marks to me for organising a social event on my birthday. (One mate, who very kindly paid for my dinner last night, e-mailed me this morning to say what a good time she had. Who knew it was possible to have so much fun on a Monday evening?) He also thought the Black Dog Diary was a good routine-building idea. And, he tells me, apparently exercise will become enjoyable after six to eight weeks? Six to eight weeks? What happened to six weeks?  I guess that’s just to establish the routine. It takes a further two weeks to actually enjoy it. (At this stage, I ha’e me doots, but who knows? Perhaps by the New Year I really will be thinking, “Oh, goodie. Time to go to the gym!”)

Given how well I seem to be doing, we actually spent most of my appointment talking about the US election. He said he thought Hillary would win by a landslide. I asked him what basis he had for this. He smiled a bit ruefully and said he believed sanity would prevail. I’m not entirely sure I believe this, but I sure as hell hope he’s right.

I wasn’t going to write anything about the election today. What would be the point? In the immortal words of Doris Day: que sera sera. Plenty of time tomorrow to rant. Today was going to be a day off. Then I went to the gym.

Unlike yesterday, today I remembered to take my mp3 player, so I had Charles Aznavour to help with the tedium of the treadmill. The gym has a few wall-mounted televisions tuned to news channels, muted with sub-titles. Even though I had Aznavour, my eyes did keep flickering to the screen. Why? I asked myself. What was the point? It would be hours and hours before there were any actual results. But flicker they did and as a result I saw this.

CNN captured Donald Knobhead Trump checking on his wife Melania as she casts her vote. Of course, there’s the possibility he was worried she might have remembered she was a woman – and one who claims to find cyberbullying indefensible – and decided she simply could not vote for the awful man to whom she is married. Yes, that’s one possibility. But is that what this looks like? No, it isn’t. It looks as if Knobhead thinks his trophy wife is too stupid to fill out a ballot.

Okay, US women, forget for the moment (if you can) Pussygate and all the subsequent reports of sexual harassment and abuse that followed. Just look at this photo, US women, and ask yourself this: How would you feel if your other half thought you were too stupid to fill out a ballot? Granted, some of Knobhead’s slack-jawed female followers might not mind, but for the rest of you? Would you want a man who thinks any woman is too stupid to fill out her own ballot as your President?  No? Then, whether or not you like Hillary, get the fuck out of the house and cast a vote for her.

All right, that’s it. Mini-rant over.

Back to the gym. Lessons I’ve learnt in the past two days.

• Don’t forget your mp3 player. It really helps.
• Even if you’re not planning to break a sweat while you’re easing yourself into it, cashmere jumpers are not appropriate gym wear. You will sweat. T-shirts under jumpers are required.
• Almost everyone you know seems to be a member of the gym. (Interesting fact of no particular relevance to anything.)

Oh, before I forget. When we were discussing the US election, my doctor also suggested that, if the US wants its President to be the “leader of the free world”, the rest of the free world should get a vote in the election. I smiled and nodded when he said this. Only now are the possibilities occurring to me: a second term for Jimmy Carter, perhaps no Reagan or Bush Sr presidencies at all, Al Gore the clear winner in 2000. No Dubya. No invasion of Iraq. No Daesh. And, if the rest of the “free” world had the same write-in option that most of the US electorate has, Michelle Obama would be the President-elect of the United States tomorrow morning. I am really warming to this never-gonna-happen idea.

And for today, I leave the last word to my favourite master ranter.