Day 62: Office Shock, Food Noise Resurrects & The Great Village Rant

Well my darlings, today was supposed to be uneventful.

A chill, nothing-to-see-here Monday.

Spoiler alert: it was not.

First off, I bravely returned to the office after weeks of being bedridden with that ridiculous Covid.

I half expected to faint dramatically at the printer, or worse, redecorate the boardroom carpet with last night’s pasta.

But no!

No nausea!

No retching!

My body, ladies and gentlemen, may finally have adjusted to the 7.5 dose of Mounjaro.

Cue slow clap.

Next jab is on Thursday, so let’s see if my stomach stays civilised or stages a protest.

Of course, the day started with my beloved Notes coffee – the nectar of the gods, the reason my colleagues tolerate me, and quite possibly the only thing holding Western civilisation together. I’ve missed it more than I missed my sense of smell during Covid (and trust me, THAT was tragic).

Breakfast was my famous protein bowl – though I only managed half of it. Half a protein bowl still counts as fitness influencer behaviour, right? I should probably start tagging #fitspo and #shreddedqueen on Insta.

Now here’s the weird part: apparently, I drink more water at the office than at home. At home, my water bottle glares at me from the counter like an abandoned Tamagotchi, untouched for days.

At work?

I’m suddenly a hydration goddess, knocking back litres like I’m auditioning for an Evian commercial.

What is this sorcery?

Lunchtime: the team dragged me outside (they know if they don’t, I’ll happily fuse myself to my office chair forever).

We strolled, we breathed air that wasn’t recycled through the office vents, and I even ate outside of my desk dungeon.

Revolutionary.

And get this - I devoured an Itsu poke bowl.

Nearly ALL of it.

Without nausea.

Who am I becoming?

Breaking news though:

FOOD NOISE IS BACK.

Yes, you read that right.

That little demon has returned from the grave, whispering: “what’s for dinner, JABatha?” every five minutes.

I don’t want to think about food.

I want to be the serene, food-indifferent queen Mounjaro promised me.

But no.

Suddenly I’m staring at my colleague’s sandwich like it’s Michelangelo’s David.

Then came the dreaded 2pm slump.

Oh, the drama.

One second I’m typing away, the next I feel like someone’s hit the “low battery” warning in my soul.

Clearly, the virus is still lurking like a shady ex in the shadows.

Meh.

Go away, Covid, you’re not welcome here.

I left early (hallelujah!) and thank the train gods I did, because the roads were an absolute choker. It still took me until 6pm to get home – if I’d stayed later, it would have been 8pm.

Honestly, commuting with Southeastern trains is like being in a never-ending Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favour (spoiler: they are not).

Dinner was another plot twist.

Yes, I actually had dinner!

Who am I???

A couple of arancinis with some tabbouleh salad.

And I enjoyed it.

Definitely food noise talking.

Evening ritual included:

The Rookie (love a bit of cop drama).

Bake Off (Paul Hollywood handshake still the peak of British achievement).

Love It or List It with Kirstie & Phil. I ADORE those two. The tension between them is pure TV gold. I pretend they’re secretly married and just bickering their way through life.

Now, here’s where my subconscious decided to stir the pot: am I… thinking about moving? My beautiful village, once straight out of The Holiday with its quaint vibes and snow-dusted cottage fantasy, is slowly morphing into Construction Apocalypse 3000.

Plans for new developments, concrete boxes, cars breeding like rabbits.

People have FOUR cars per household.

FOUR.

If you need that many, maybe just… build a car park in your garden? Instead, they all park on corners, blind spots, and occasionally, I swear, in the middle of the road just for the sport of it.

It’s chaos.

It’s carnage.

It’s Mario Kart in real life, except instead of banana skins, people throw passive-aggressive glares.

And yes, there have been real accidents – multiple car pileups. Because apparently, the highway code in my village has been replaced with “drive directly into oncoming traffic and hope for the best.”

But hey – rant over.

So yes, not much happened today really. Just:

Beat Covid at its own game.

Rediscovered my love for poke bowls.

Resurrected food noise.

Nearly collapsed at 2pm.

Waged war against village traffic.

The usual.

Night night, my loves.

May your Notes coffee always be hot, your poke bowls nausea-free, and your neighbours never own more than two cars.

With Love,

JABatha Christie