I had some authentic Hungarian strudel at work today. When I say authentic, I mean it was made in Brighton with ingredients from Asda, but it was produced by my Slovakian colleague, who had the recipe handed down to him from his grandmother. The woman clearly knows a thing or two about cooking, because it was actually very nice. Admittedly, Eastern European pastries aren't really at the heart of the South Beach Diet, but I've lost half a stone in the last nine days eating food with the flavour taken out, so I felt fully justified in tucking in.
Fortunately I have a lot less time to eat at work now, because as of today I'm no longer doing overtime. The pharmacy manager has cottoned on to the fact that my new colleague is actually very good at the job, and I don't really need to be there until six to get all the work done. To be honest, if we didn't eat so many cakes, I could probably leave at three.
So in theory I should now have a lot more spare time. In reality I've never been so busy. By this stage of her Mum's pregnancy, Lisa had already been born, and if her sister is anything to go by, we should be expecting our first child next week. So I think it's about time I tackled all the baby books I thought I had plenty of time to read, and worked out how to fold down a buggy.
But in the name of readiness, Lisa and I are now enrolled in a bit of relaxation at the Victoria Hospital in Lewes. I supply their drugs every Friday, but as of 6:45 tomorrow evening, I'll be lying on the floor in the Health Education Room, learning how to breathe through the contractions and float above the pain. It's a twelve-hour course spread over four weeks. So by this time tomorrow I should be asleep.