It’s Saturday in the middle of one of those never ending hamster wheel weeks during which the days all seem to meld into one. I’ve taken on some extra shifts so every day feels like Monday. Usually I like Mondays but not at the moment. I’ve worked shifts Monday, Wednesday and yesterday and I’ve got a 7am shift tomorrow, and it all starts again on Monday. I’m now 6 months into this job and I feel I’m getting worse at it! The fast pace of the world of retail definitely isn’t for me forever, but how else am I going to earn a living? I was offered 5 evening sessions of orchestral work this week for a paltry amount of money and the sad fact is that, financially, I’m better off doing the shop work. I’m also ecstatic not to have to sit twiddling my thumbs on a motorway.

Unfortunately the skills and qualities I possess seem to hold very little value in the world of retail. The faster you go, the more money you make? I disagree. I feel it’s important to gear my level of service to each customer. I have an awareness of those in a rush, who have no time for, or interest in, a bit of lighthearted banter. And then there are other, often older, customers who clearly fancy a bit of a chinwag and there’s nothing I’d love more but I know I’m being observed. Time is money but people are people.

I dashed out of the shop yesterday. There was a tangibly tense atmosphere during my shift in any case. There’d been a power outage in town on Thursday and I gathered the shop had been shut for some time. The residual atmosphere of mayhem and chaos was oppressive. I tried to help my colleagues when there were no customers waiting to be served, but as it isn’t my usual shift, I ended up causing a bit more mayhem and chaos. Four hours later and slightly more agitated than usual, I went straight to the car and cried a bit. Then I got angry so I dozed for 15 minutes before heading to J’s for lunch. Determined to put a brave face on, I got out of my car, smiled my hello and promptly burst into tears! I just can’t hide my feelings. It was a relief to feel free to express my emotions and not brush aside the fact I’m so utterly miserable about several aspects of my life at the moment. I’m not looking forward to much. When I get home I don’t have that feeling of relief. I find it very hard to just be.

J suggested I try to renegotiate my contract and stop taking on extra shifts. Learn to say no. Yes, but how am I going to pay my mortgage? Pay for promotional work? Book my next holiday? Buy that wetsuit? How about a reading chair for the attic? A lounger for the garden? I’m fucking doing this single handed and you loyal readers who follow my blog will know I often think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with my house project, rattling around it like a loose cannon. The thing is, this job offers me the freedom to explore things I probably wouldn’t have considered, like wild swimming. And spinning.

I did my first class last night and of course I thought I was dying, mainly of saddle sore rather than a heart attack actually. C and I arrived at the gym to a short queue of young women. She asked who was teaching and they said J. A knowing ripple of trepidation ran around the anteroom outside the dark chamber of horrors with its disco lighting and loud techno music. Apparently it was J last week and one of the women still had chafing on her thighs. Out popped “Never mind that, how was the class?” I can’t help myself.

Now here’s something. Get this. There were men in spin. There are very few men in pool classes, and they’re clearly gay or taken. Same goes at the shop. But yes, there were men. Hmmmmm.

Spin was hard. It was really hard! I’m booked in for next week.

I enjoy some lovely engagement with some of the male customers at the shop. An unfamiliar man came in a couple of weeks ago. It was quiet at the tills and after a bit of conversation, I asked if he’d ever been told he looked like someone famous. Yes, he had. He’s the image of a very cool American actor so we had a good laugh at that.

He came in yesterday with his gorgeous honeydew-haired bright-eyed 8/9 year old daughter. It transpires they live down the road, literally a stone’s throw away. He was in a bright yellow top and running gear and said it was time to pull himself into shape again. I told him I might see him running round the hills. Wishful thinking. I’m not the kind of woman to even consider participating in the rupture of an existing relationship, which is often how people come together, or not, as the case may be. Not, as is the case with me. Several people I know have met a significant other while they were already in relationships. What about me? Why not me? I am good enough and I have a hell of a lot to offer. Yellow t-shirt man is attractive and personable but clearly out of bounds. I wouldn’t say I’m actively looking at the moment but I’m always on the lookout, like several single women I know. What is this need, this urge for a man? It isn’t just sex. I love my close female friends but I don’t half miss the balance a male figure adds to the mix.

I desperately need a new mattress. After a quick online search, all I see now on social media are adverts of attractive couples enjoying sidesplittingly hilarious pillow fights on pristine queen beds, their hair perfectly teased and tousled, sporting crisp linen clothing hot off the ironing board. There’s not a coffee stain in sight, no crease or crumb to be found. I might shelve the mattress thing for the time being. Don’t singles deserve good beds too? The world of social media is no place for a single woman, I can tell you.

A spur of the moment decision this week was to have proper swimming lessons, so I’ve booked a block of 8 weeks starting on Wednesday. The teachers and I had a quick chat and A put me in the intermediate/advanced group. She knows how I work in aquafit and aqua bootcamp so it was reassuring not be put in the absolute beginners group. They asked what I wanted out of lessons. I want to feel confident in the water, develop my strength and technique, be able to swim with my head underwater, do breaststroke and crawl efficiently, and breathe correctly. Not much to ask then! A wanted to observe me do breaststroke for a length so off I went, steamy goggles glued on, ready for the worst. It felt amazing to have my head underwater again after all these years. It was an almost claustrophobic feeling of freedom, with all external life blocked out by the water.

I loved swimming as a kid and one of the highlights was winning my badges for swimming various distances and having my trophies hand stitched onto my bottle green costume by Mam. Like most mothers, she just wanted to make sure I’d stand a chance of survival if ever I found myself in deep water.

My technique needs work and I feel excited about improving my swimming. When I told C I’d started lessons, she said a word I’m still toying with – triathlon. I’d need to practice a lot though. I’m not that keen on cycling and I can’t fix punctures either. I have wonky hips from playing. When I swim, my right foot goes the wrong way after years of pedalling behind the harp. It means I can’t swim in a straight line yet. That could be my USP.

I’ve taken on an orchestral gig at the beginning of August. The work takes place over 2 days and it ticks a few boxes, so I’m going to have to slim down my routine and be a bit more disciplined about my practice, and refuse any extra shifts on offer. The other night I played for almost 2 hours and it really felt fantastic. There was a sense of freedom and I actually sounded quite good, even if I say so myself. I played the music I love rather than music I have to learn for money. I’ll have more of that please.

You may well question why my focus has shifted from music to exercise. I expended so much on music to the detriment of many other facets of my life. Music was my reason for getting up in the morning. Exercise is an excellent substitute and I’m optimistic it will lead me along a healthier path. The feeling after exertion in either discipline is similar and exercise just happens to be more accessible to me now. I’m still an addict, whether my chosen substance is adrenaline or endorphins. Either of those are better than alcohol. Just give me my next fix!

P.S. Sunday afternoon – today’s shift? I nailed it… Have a happy sunny Sunday, dear readers 😎