If this rain doesn't flood off I'll soon be taking a skid ride around Sainsbury's car park!
But I love food shopping so I'll rubberize my tiny feet in Sensible Brown Shoes and take a chance.
And so, as Brian McKnight sang, I'll be..........Back at One:)
Showing posts with label soul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soul. Show all posts
Thursday, 4 August 2011
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Dance Little Lady Dance...
Deciding that abdo torture isn't enough I jogged around the garden in shorts and sports brassiere.
Then after swooshing down some water, I jogged again, this time on the spot, in the front room by the mantelpiece in front of the mirror. My make-up didn't melt because I wasn't wearing any. No lippy to fade, no black stuff to melt and no rouge to coagulate in the creases. Fresh as a daisy I was.
I felt GREAT!
But my heart is shocked by this sudden fit of exercise overload and is therefore pounding on my chestal areas like a young man trying to escape my clutches.
Someone said that it's not how out of breath one gets but how quickly one's breath returns. Mine was back to normal after about 15 secs.
Knees? That's another story...
I do so love jumping up and down either on the grass or on the carpet, nothing beats blood roaring through one's veins in a vain attempt to stay above the grave...
My usual exercise of dancing isn't being neglected, only the other day I thrust my pelvics to The Jackson's "Blame it on the Boogie". But the best tune to get injured to is Earth, Wind and Fire's "Boogie Wonderland". Dear me, I could crouch to that baby every night.
Talking of doing a fearful injury, two weeks ago I spun out of control to INXS's "Devil Inside". It was my head which mostly spun;)
Seriously though (WHAT!) dancing has always been top of my list for the burning off of cake overload. And for reminding me that beneath the floured pinny lies the soul of a lovely 18 year old who danced with Dave the D.J. to "Rock Your Baby"and ate a Kebab on platform 2 after 11.
Must get my showman tendencies from Pop, he used to rock and roll in pubs and clubs... when he could breathe. Now he wheezes to Elvis from the confines of his comfy chair.
And that's how I see myself progressing...Dancing and cavorting around the bungalow at 54 then in the not too far away future, gently screwing myself into the polished floor of the over 60's club with aid, of course, from a rich retired gentlemen. Probably from Greater London.
Now another quick jig before gently placing two lemony chicken legs in the oven...:)
Ta ta!
Soul Babe
x
Then after swooshing down some water, I jogged again, this time on the spot, in the front room by the mantelpiece in front of the mirror. My make-up didn't melt because I wasn't wearing any. No lippy to fade, no black stuff to melt and no rouge to coagulate in the creases. Fresh as a daisy I was.
I felt GREAT!
But my heart is shocked by this sudden fit of exercise overload and is therefore pounding on my chestal areas like a young man trying to escape my clutches.
Someone said that it's not how out of breath one gets but how quickly one's breath returns. Mine was back to normal after about 15 secs.
Knees? That's another story...
I do so love jumping up and down either on the grass or on the carpet, nothing beats blood roaring through one's veins in a vain attempt to stay above the grave...
My usual exercise of dancing isn't being neglected, only the other day I thrust my pelvics to The Jackson's "Blame it on the Boogie". But the best tune to get injured to is Earth, Wind and Fire's "Boogie Wonderland". Dear me, I could crouch to that baby every night.
Talking of doing a fearful injury, two weeks ago I spun out of control to INXS's "Devil Inside". It was my head which mostly spun;)
Seriously though (WHAT!) dancing has always been top of my list for the burning off of cake overload. And for reminding me that beneath the floured pinny lies the soul of a lovely 18 year old who danced with Dave the D.J. to "Rock Your Baby"and ate a Kebab on platform 2 after 11.
Must get my showman tendencies from Pop, he used to rock and roll in pubs and clubs... when he could breathe. Now he wheezes to Elvis from the confines of his comfy chair.
And that's how I see myself progressing...Dancing and cavorting around the bungalow at 54 then in the not too far away future, gently screwing myself into the polished floor of the over 60's club with aid, of course, from a rich retired gentlemen. Probably from Greater London.
Now another quick jig before gently placing two lemony chicken legs in the oven...:)
Ta ta!
Soul Babe
x
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
