Day 24: From Bagel Bliss to Bathroom Olympics

I slept like a log last night - if a log had a small, furry, whiskered overlord perched on top of it, occasionally swivelling round so that I woke up with a warm, furry cat butt in my face.

I’ve decided it’s either a sign of deep feline trust or a very passive -aggressive way of saying,

“You’re my human toilet servant and don’t you forget it.”

Weekends are my happy place with my Mr - especially after a week at work that could best be described as “emotionally equivalent to hosting a toddler’s birthday party in a war zone.”

Morning ritual: coffee with my favourite human.

He treated himself to an epic fry-up that he cooked himself (and yes, the man can cook), while I… well… just sat there like an underfed Victorian orphan, sipping my coffee with absolutely zero appetite.

Not a sausage (literally).

Not a bean.

It was 11am before I finally got peckish - a virtuous-seeming seeded protein bagel with some lovely ham.

A bagel so innocent, so wholesome… and yet so treacherous.

Let’s just say my ongoing constipation has apparently taken a gap year, and I am now the most frequent flyer at the porcelain airport.

Send loo roll.

Send reinforcements.

Send a priest.

Boyfriend decided today was the perfect day to watch every sport known to humankind - football, rugby, cricket, something with men chasing each other around in Lycra - so I retreated to bed for a solo TV marathon.

Started with a beautiful film called My Oxford Year.

It was lovely… until it sucker-punched me with a tragic ending.

Cancer is a bitch.

I cried into my cat (who was unmoved, possibly thinking about lunch).

Moved on to Loch Ness, which was apparently so gripping I fell asleep halfway through. To be fair, my bladder and bowel probably just needed a break.

Productivity levels soared later: three whole loads of washing, folded and put away (domestic goddess level: mildly smug).

Took advantage of the sunshine by sitting in the garden with my cats, pretending I was a glamorous 1950s film star, while boyfriend remained surgically attached to the TV for the cricket.

Dinner was glamorous in a different way - leftover BOL protein soup jazzed up with stolen sausages from my live-in chef/boyfriend.

Oh I forgot to mention that last night he made me the best salmon stir-fry (no noodles, half a fillet with veg - I suspect my stomach has now shrunk to the size of a teacup).

Obviously he had his version with all the trimmings and extra soy sauce.

Evening entertainment:

First Dates (because watching strangers make awkward small talk is my Roman Coliseum), followed by The Assassin with Keeley Hawes (queen) and Freddie Highmore (forever “The Good Doctor” in my heart).

So far, 10/10 viewing choices.

Tomorrow: shopping trip, cinema date, and the highly anticipated Jurassic World: Rebirth. Because nothing says “romantic day out” like dinosaurs chasing screaming humans through a gift shop.

Night, my Mounjaro friends.

May your injections be painless, your appetite controlled, and your bathroom trips… moderate.

With Love,

JABatha Christie