A New Grit

I am a Changed Grit.

I have read this morning, while lolling about in bed with a bottle of brandy and a box of chocolate biscuits, the Independent guide to being A New Grit.

I realise now that the Old Grit has got into some very bad habits. Lolling about in bed with a delicious selection of broken biscuits from the milk man is one of them. They are bad, Grit, bad. They are a collection of trans fatty things and they are going to do immense harm to your British Museum.

Right. From this moment on I am A New Grit. I am breaking bad habits. I will not eat standing up nor loll about in bed with trans fatties. No. I will not put on the old black jeans every morning either. Nor speak to the children in that off-hand way like 'Be quiet and stop arguing'. I will take time to listen to them and to ask them the important things like 'Now Tiger, tell me. Why did you get Shark on the floor and give her a good thrashing?' Thanks to the Independent and breaking these bad bad habits I will not only be two stone lighter and fit into a size 10 I will be a better mother.

Thus I am resolved. I am so resolved in fact I am going to get out the vacuum cleaner. And here is a picture of Grit's new breakfast in a proper bowl. And here is the skirt and boot combination I am now wearing.


Look! Soya milk and brazil nuts! And banana! This is very good going.

Can you believe it? See what the Independent has done for me. This is the first time I have not worn a pair of old stained jeans since that night I went down to London with Dig and upset that woman who turned out to be the guest of honour and the giver of the prizes. Well I had never heard of her.

It does not matter that these boots are hurting my toes. I am not giving up. I realise, that for the New Grit, comfort and beauty do not always go together. And in a minute I'll be getting down the 'What Not to Wear' book as well.

If this heady mixture were not enough I have found renewed purpose to blog. Golly. I think I might put Tiger onto this.