Doing weights at the gym. Turns out all the intimidating men don’t go to the gym on a Saturday lunchtime. Also sweated out all the beer from last night.
Enjoying the sun. In the garden. In the park. In the sky.
This cool face on the toilet door.
Archives for posts with tag: weight lifting
The squirrel with the great big mouthful of leaves.
Evening exercises to Beyoncé and M.I.A.
Work laughs. With the builders. With Rochelle. With Janet and Lloyd.
I went to the gym. FINALLY.
A parcel from my aunt containing a book about women and the environment. That’s two of my favourite things.
A kiss.
My ‘Fuck You World’ cream tea breakfast.
Having everyone walk out of my way as I raged across Hungerford Bridge, admiring the disappearing building tops.
Going up a weight number at the gym.
Three little things 