Hello Monday

Hello - to getting it totally wrong last week!
It's not going to be Hello to going back to normal hours, it's hello again to doing longer days and a few hours on my day off!  My line manager had a hip replacement the week before Christmas and they told her that as she was far younger than your average hip replacee - she'd be back to work in 6 weeks.  You do the maths.  Yes she should have been back shouldn't she?  Only despite healing well (in her opinion) and being able to come in, because she could take things easy just sitting at her desk (in her opinion) and being mobile enough to not be a health and safety issue in the workplace (in her opinion) the doctor's opinion was that he would review her again in THREE weeks time!  Eeek!  In reality, we know now she won't be back until after half term.  So as we all bravely reassure her that yes we are coping remarkably well and things are running smoothly, and no she mustn't rush back, we are kind of missing her!
And it's not hello to Leggyblonde or FutureMrsDepp, it's back to Debs14.  I had an email to say the powers that be over at FB and Instagram had made a mistake and I am who I said I was all along.  Told ya so!
Hello Sunshine turned into Hello rain.
The only bit I got right was the start of the lovely Telling Tales course and the absence of any ironing!

Shall I try again?

Hello to doing a bit more overtime again
Hello to a mixed bag of weather
Hello to making another layout for the Telling Tales course
Hello to finding more excuses not to iron     and

Hello to trying Zumba again.  If I tell you what happened last week you have to promise not to laugh.  Promise?  Honestly?  Don't let me down now.  A little background info.  The exercise class I used to go to closed last July and I haven't done any 'proper' exercise other than dog walking since. So last week I decided to have a go at Zumba.  I'd done it once before and it was fun, but exhausting.  I text my friend who I know goes to classes to ask for info.  I was thinking of going to the Thursday class but she told me how she always goes to the Wednesday one and it's good fun and the teacher is great and there's all ages and abilities etc etc.  I asked about times and where to park and what time she got there and we had a bit of banter about whether they provided doughnuts half way through and if I could reserve a space in the back row. 
So.  Picture the scene.  It's 8pm on a cold Wednesday night.  the kind of night you don't really feel like going out on.  The kind of night you'd prefer to be curled up on a sofa waiting for Greys Anatomy to come on.  But no, I head off in trainers and joggers and sports top, with my bottle of water, and drive up to the Rugby Club where the class was held.  I go in, hand over my money and head to the back of the room to put my coat and water down and wait for my friend.  Only she doesn't turn up does she?  Oh no.  There I am on my own, with about a dozen other people who all know each other and obviously go regularly, and suddenly the front door opens.  A blast of cold air enters the room - 'ah, that'll be Lynda, she's cut it fine' I thought but no, it's about 20 Boy Scouts, coming to do a sample lesson as part of some fitness programme.  I am surrounded by tall, sweaty teenagers, doing routines that I have never seen before at a speed which caused my arms and legs to resemble a windmill.  As we stood in a circle doing the Gangnam Style dance (if I find any one of you is sniggering at this point I will not be happy) I was having very bad thoughts about my (ex) friend.  When the class finally finished, and how long can 60 minutes seem when you are extremely out of condition?, I text Lynda to ask where she was.  'I didn't realise you were serious about going' she said. 
So today I had a text from her asking if I want to join her at a different Zumba class tomorrow night.  Dare I trust her?