Lounging Happily In Bendy Stretchy Ways

I’ve finally got a date for my operation, which will be 5 June. This means I shall be in hospital when we move into our new house. I’m pretending to be sad at missing this but in fact I think coming out of hospital to find it’s all over will be bliss.

So I’ve been into the History Department to warn them I’m going to miss my last exam and apply for deferred assessment (basically, I do the exam later). And I’ve been to my yoga class because today’s the day we all got our exercise balls.

Mine’s silver and it’s about 2½ feet across. Normally they’re used for aerobic exercise, and indeed there is an aerobic element to pumping the wretched thing up. But once pumped, we’ve all been lounging happily in bendy stretchy ways across them. This isn’t as easy as it looks when first demonstrated. If you get too relaxed you just roll across the floor on it, slowly tumbling off until you’re actually trapped underneath. Launch yourself at it too enthusiastically and you ricochet off into your neighbour’s ball, setting off a chain reaction of bounciness that ends with everyone landing with a ‘whump’ on their bottom.

After making a brave stab at all the suggested stretches and positions, we were told to “find your own natural position of relaxation and just breathe”. Everyone else seemed to find willowy draping to be their natural position. My natural position is hugging my ball, with my bum in the air.

I couldn’t be bothered to deflate it to take it home, and it’s only a few minutes’ walk, though it feels longer when you’re peering over the top of your ball trying to ignore the noted wit shouting, “Oi, nice ball, love!” from his car window.

D is sitting up in bed now, still feeling rotten, but his blistery rash is starting to get crusty so the worst is over and his temperature is down a bit. I offered to demonstrate my ball to him and he’s sufficiently recovered to point out that it’s not a proper demonstration if I’ve got clothes on. So I did giggly, naked bouncing and rolling for him until, inevitably, I hit my head on the corner of a chair and had to have a little lie down.

Tonight, Lynda is taking me to a sweaty cellar to listen to a ska band. She has absolutely no interest in ska but she knows a man who does – though she doesn’t know him as well as she’d like to by the end of the night. I shall be playing the role of ‘pleasant but slightly dull friend’. I’m under strict instructions to smile sweetly, keep his friends chatting and wear a skirt that covers my knees.