OK, so let's ignore the last few instagrammed instaposts. Here's for some out and out honesty. I've got some serious issues with this:

Someone(plural) I know just posted it (or, as is the habit nowadays quasi-commercially-re-shared-horseshit aka QCRSH pronounced 'crush') on facebook. It aggravated me for the following reasons and they came in this order:

1. What is this saying? As I recall, Marilyn Monroe had some serious mental health issues. She didn't find much pleasure in her life at its core. An addiction to sleeping pills and the rest followed. Where was the pleasure? And didn't she die of an overdose of barbiturates? Whose tagline is now 'sex symbol' rather than 'magnetic personality who forged herself a world-class celluloid career from foster care roots'. We know about this because it's on wikipedia. And her death from said overdose made the news back in the day. She didn't, as far as we know, have an eating disorder. But is that relevant?

And the other picture? What do we know about her? I'm pretty sure I don't know who she is. But look, she's just got a flat tummy. Does she ever eat more than, like, a lettuce leaf a day? Speculate on, ye womenfolk: mock-scathingly secretly-worship, over your copies of Heat magazine, your Hollyoaks omnibus and your ironically read Femail - online only, of course. Get real. This 'fuck society' post is doing anything but. It is judging women on their appearance and their body size. 'fucking well' accept yourself and move on. Mental health (Miz Monroe) I can't speak for but more than 1 in 10 sufferers from an eating disorder die from their condition, and probably a higher ratio of women were jealous of their body at some point on their way down there.

2. I still think both of these women are fat and I'd be on an instant crash diet if I woke up like either. And I know that's got to change.

I think that's what they term a wake up call.

Anyway. Here's a funny cat video.

let's prioritise.

I've just remembered that I forgot to post this photo. My dear friend Lucy went to New York, and, knowing that this grey period of 'time off work' has been made marginally sunnier by 30 Rock*, took this for me.

FYI - the person is a stranger. But I love how he's wearing his bag. And she trusted him with her iPad.

*(I ADORE 30 Rock, there is nothing not to love about 30 Rock. How many more times can I reference 30 Rock? I've never been more fanatical about a series...apart from Homeland, which is equally superb, but in a different 'damian'/direction.)

Well, almost. Last week, at the end of a short break in Cumbria's Lake District, my friend Geoff and I set outselves a proper mountain challenge, and we climbed the second highest mountain in England, Helvellyn (950m). It was tough going - about 2 hours of relentless steep uphill, followed by an exhilarating hour-long scramble over the skeletal rock ridge of Striding Edge. Here's Striding Edge, from the far end:

It was pretty hairy, and got the adrenalin flowing - as you can see, a very narrow rock precipice with a sheer drop either side...and yes, some ice and snow! And a full body workout, proper mountaineering, like. But if we thought that was tough, the difficult bit was just before the summit. A near sheer climb of the final 50 metres or so, up cascading rock and tumbling stones. But we made it. And here's me looking silly at the top:

The top of Helvellyn is actually a fairly broad plateau. Thankfully our route back was much easier than the ascent - a gentle descent, albeit a long one, over rolling hills, past daredevil sheep and - gasp - I didn't fall on my bottom once. The descent afforded stunning views of what we'd achieved, and a 360 panorama of some of the most dramatic scenery in the country.

Once at the bottom, we were duly rewarded with a cold pint at the old Traveller's Rest Inn. A thoroughly recommended day's walking and I can't wait to go back. Amazing what standing on the top of a mountain will do for you.

Four weeks into every-other-day contact with the Home Treatment Team, I am yet to be convinced that any of this can be helpful. Hence my epithet 'the crackpot nurses' for them. Every time I see a different nurse, and every time I get some crackpot advice. Every time they ask me how my appetite is and every time they ask this question I have to ask them in turn a tougher question, if they have seen my notes, and admit something that shouldn't be - but is - very tough, that I'm being treated separately by the eating disorders team.*

Today, the response from the HTT nurse to this last was different: 'No offence, but you don't look like you have an eating disorder; you look, well, normal, to me...just a bit anxious.'

She then suggested I do some arts and crafts. To help with the anxiety.

Oh, and to get lot of exercise. To help with sleeping.

1. this came from a medical professional.

2. a classic case of 'no offence but' in action. which is the worse offence - having (albeit invisibly) an eating disorder, or not looking visibly skinny enough?

3. and finally, Home Treatment Team, thanks for your help and advice. yes, I do still believe I'm fat, and yes, I now feel like a fraud.

*Crazy as it may seem, a big part of me getting this far with the current treatment is trying to come to terms with the fundamental fact that I even have an 'eating disorder'. Presumptuous inverted commas aside, denial is a daily battle. Every forkful a stupid question.

Look at the beast! It's got 'I'm going to get you' written all over its smug face.

It's true. Touching the metal drum and the overhead stainless steel sink / draining board / tap and I used to get a sharp electric shock. Not a bad one. Now, touching washing inside maching and metal sink above shocks me too. Now, the washing machine leaks water and I just made the mistake of standing (unawares, and annoyed!) in said leaked water and attempting to turn on the tap. I won't be doing that again. Besides, I think electric shock therapy has been questionable for a while now.

It starts with small steps. This one is breakfast. Every day. Here goes nothing!

(FYI the milk flatly refused to be photograhed.)

Ah, when everything was as it was in Thailand. When everything was simple yet also complicated, rather than complicated yet also simple. As obtruse as it may be, it goes to show that the unexpected is always expected, by default of the un. That aside, I remember bare-foot days, sun-down margharitas, mornings where I'd walk out the hut and pad down to the shore, and then, then, be immersed in warm salt water, the sea.