Renovation update: The windows are finished! Paul came alone today and pootled around doing the last bit of trim round the french doors then departed. I'd been to the gym for the second day in a row, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and I flung the new doors wide to a gust of fresh-but-not-freezing air. Lovely. Then I had lunch sitting on the doorstep -- pork and apple sausages followed by perfect strawberries and a perfect banana, washed down with espresso and cranberry&lime.

Of course the sunlight sparkling in through clean windows did rather highlight the fact that every surface in the house is covered with a thick film of dust. The boys ran the hoover over the floors before they left, but they neglected to dust. Hey ho. Maybe I'll leave it until after the floors are done ...

A small confession: I don't actually LIKE the new french doors. The frames on the old doors may have been corroding, but they had pleasant proportions. The new aluminium doors are clunky, the frames are about three inches wide. They don't let in as much light as the old ones. When they're open they're ok, it's just when they're closed they look pants. But then if I'd had the big sliding patio doors they would have let in too much sun in the summer -- it blazes down, truly. So I guess it's just a matter of getting used to them. I'm not going to put the brown velvet curtains back up, I'm going to get some kind of filmy drapery with flowers. Blue flowers. I have an image of it in my head, which means I'll drive myself slowly insane trekking around every single fabric shop in the city looking for it, before impulsively buying something in lime green and pink checks.

The other windows I do like, they're a major improvement on the old broken shabby ones. They have neat little trickle vents to let a tiny bit of fresh air in if you want, or you can lock the window slightly open. New curtains all round!

There were a few people at the gym today, mainly young women with Drambuie sports bags, who I guess were on their lunch break from the factory. There was also an older bloke who looked as though he hadn't been in a gym since 1971 and had been sent by his doctor after a dodgy cardiogram. He was severely uncomfortable -- he warmed up with a few brisk knee bends, then had a go on the stair machine. Failed to work out how to use it, so hopped off in a casual "just messing about" manner and did his stretches -- waved his arms in the air, put his hands on his hips and wobbled his bottom around, had a go at touching his toes. Finally he discovered the rowing machine, foolproof AND manly! He was still rowing for dear life when I left. I empathised deeply -- it was like that when I started at the bigger gym in town, everyone was lean and muscular and dauntingly fit, it was horrible plodding along on the treadmill at 4.2 miles per hour while on either side a Greek god or goddess sprinted without puffing or raising a sweat. Not that I'm lean, muscular and dauntingly fit, nooooo ... but I'm very limber and I was doing my stretches when he came in.

In fact I'm gruesomely out of condition, and fatter than I've been in years. I'm determined to start out slowly and stick to it. In the past I've thrown myself into exercise like I had something to prove, and it soon became a chore. I love being fit though. Only a couple of years ago I could walk briskly up a steep hill without having to stop to "look at the view", and it was exhilarating. The most fit I've ever been was back in the 70s (when the guy in the gym was probably on his local football team!) and I was doing karate with Ali. Near where we lived there was a very steep street and she and I had a race to the top on our way to the pub one night. I wasn't even out of breath. Now, I'd be purple and gasping just walking halfway up.