Whimsy on a Wednesday Bringing You A Whimsical Ramble Through Life’s Latest Fiascos!

Where Have I Been? Swimming in Chaos with Good Intentions

You know when you decide to “just sort out one room,” and somehow it descends into an entire-home apocalypse? Yes, that’s where I’ve been. My house has been like a removal site where nobody is actually removing anything, just endlessly shifting piles from one side to the other like some sort of domestic punishment challenge.

What started as a small job ballooned into full-scale living disruption. I’ve spent the last few weeks battling an endless ballache of moving things and “finishing” jobs. Between me and my neighbour there’s scaffolding, dust, and an unrelenting stream of workmen. The other neighbours must think we’re either building an extension or digging a tunnel to France. I think they hate us. I hate us! I don’t blame them. I just want to sit in peace without having to sweep something, wipe it, trip over it, or listen to its relentless screeching wail. Summer is about Pimm’s and lemonade in stillness with only the bouquet of an abundance of flora and the sweet song of the wren.

Honestly, the housekeeping of life is exhausting. There’s a lot to be said for packing it all in and sodding off in a camper van or setting sail. I see the appeal.

The Gym: A Place Where Time Goes to Die

Of course, in the middle of all this chaos, I re-joined the gym because they had a special offer and I got talked into it, like a true British bargain-hunter, I can’t resist a deal I won’t use properly.

The problem with the gym is that it takes forever. I don’t just mean the workout. I mean the getting there, the pretending to warm up, the actual suffering, the pretending to stretch at the end, and then the ceremony of sitting in the steam room trying not to suffocate.

Steam Rooms: The Emperor’s New Sauna

On one such gym day, a minute ago, my mum and I made our way into the steam room like obedient sheep following some mystical advice that this is “good for us.”

“How long do we have to sit in here?” I asked her, already doubting my life choices.

“Five minutes,” she said.

“Five minutes? I might be perfectly tender by then…But seriously, mother, steam rooms are basically just hot fog. Imagine stepping out on a misty British morning and it’s BOILING. You’d flee indoors and write angry social media posts about climate collapse and coastal danger. And yet here, we PAY to sit in hot fog. Do I want to steam like a carrot? No, I do not.”

Mum agreed. We escaped after three minutes, slightly snappy and certainly no more mentally well than when we went in. I’m starting to think exercise doesn’t help mental health as much as they say. At least not when you’re trapped in boiling soup air with your mother.

Swimming: The Great Body Confidence Con

Here’s another thing. Why is it that when you’re in the swimming pool you feel as though you could join Swan Lake? You feel light, elegant, practically a water nymph. Then you get out and suddenly you’re a disorientated sumo wrestler with wet hair and a questionable gait.

What is this sorcery? I asked my mother, but she was too busy storming off to the changing rooms to answer. I think I’m getting on her nerves.

A Quick Detour: Art Projects and Creepy Clowns

In more uplifting news I’ve joined a sketchbook challenge. You fill a tiny sketchbook and send it off to Hamburg. The book pages get digitised and your book is displayed in a sketchbook library. Sometimes it even goes on tour, which is more than I’ve managed lately. I love the idea of these community art projects—little pockets of global whimsy.

Speaking of whimsy, did you know that in Switzerland you can hire a creepy clown to stalk your friends? Imagine! They follow them, play pranks, torment them, send texts in the middle of the night and it all ends with a cake in the face. This is for a birthday gift! Oh, happy birthday friend that is now violently traumatised and never wants to speak to you again. 

I don’t know why I find this funny, but I do. It’s probably illegal here. Tempted anyway.

Well, I’m still here, surviving the heat, dodging workmen, playing tennis, losing pub quizzes, doing pilates in a field like some confused sheep, and generally moving along. I’m just a bit hot a bit tired and wishing I had air conditioning.

What I really need is a holiday. And maybe a clown.