Robyn’s Nest

I’m not sure my bum will ever be the same after spending four and a half months sitting on beanbags. I moved into a new flat at the end of September last year and two sofa deliveries later, I finally have a black leather thing of beauty and comfort to rest my cheeks on.

My first sofa delivery in early November ended in disaster because it wouldn’t fit through the damn door and my dream of owning a gorgeous corner sofa went out the window.

They say things happen for a reason and I think I’ll be much happier with my pair of two-seaters. They don’t dominate the room as much as a corner jobby would, I can move them into different places if I get bored, when my friends come round we won’t all be sat in a row and, should I decide to move house again, they’re more likely to fit a) through the front door and b) in any sized room.

So, my plans for tonight? As much as I wanted to try out korfball this evening (I am defo going next week though!) I am going to spend an evening admiring my new sofas and tackling my Monday night “to do” list in various sitting positions.

When you’ve been sitting on beanbags for as long as I have, sofas are a real luxury, and my flat will at last look lived in. Plonking a beanbag in front of the TV smacks a bit of Solitary Lifestyles Are Us, so at least the homely look I’ve tried to create will properly kick in.

Thanks go to my buddy Lisa for lending me the biggest beanbag in the world (the best substitute sofa possible I reckon), to my work colleagues for supporting me through what felt like a huge loss (when sofa number one was driven back to the store) and to Harveys for being sympathetic and helpful during such a distressing time.

A skipping rope’s a pretty danger-free toy you’d think. But no. This thing that little girls enjoy in the playground and boxers use as part of their training doesn’t come with instructions. Or a health warning. How tricky can it be to use a bit of rope with two handles?

So why is it that I find myself with a huge red welt on my arm - caused by a skipping rope?!It’s not that I spend my time playing hopscotch and kiss-catch etc, I just use a skipping rope in my bid to stay (or should I say get) fit. It’s a great fat burner apparently.

But last night I did myself an injury and it bloomin’ hurt. I didn’t let the the two burly guys I was training with see the sting-induced tears well up in my eyes but I did say a few words which weren’t very lady-like.

So watch out people. You may be abkle to take on the great outdoors, go a few rounds in a boxing ring or ski down mountains. But those skipping ropes? They’re dangerous, handle with care.