The weekend's plays were fabulous. The Henry V turned out to be a more than slightly pretentious riff on the text by an Italian company - written, produced, directed and led by the same actor - a monumental ego trip really, which I thought I hated until we came out and were discussing it and I realised that there actually were some good ideas in there. The most striking tableau of the evening was the company forming a pile of partially naked bodies, as the battles wore on. Of course, after Iraq and the prisons and all the photo taking, that image has contemporary resonance... as does the whole horror and futility and sheer bloody waste of war, and that came across powerfully. Saturday's Merry Wives, The Musical, was just delightful and left me in tears with hysterical joy; Richard III was a perfect end to the Wars of the Roses grouping.
Didn't do so well with my food though, or rather with balancing food intake and hunger and the inevitable booze.
I'd *planned* well - I'd packed a salad (spinach and mushrooms and seeds and egg whites and tomato and zucchini and flax and lemon) to eat in my car while I waited for P in Stratford. I'd also packed blueberries, measured amounts of almonds and pumpkin seeds, and some cherries which practically bankrupted me (I misread the price when I picked them up; they might as well have been pitted with platinum for the price). But all good plans... P arrived early in Stratford, and I never got the chance to eat much of my salad; he had already eaten, but by the time we established this it was time for the show and no time for me to find something for me, or to shovel down the rest of my leaves and 'shrooms. After the show, I was starving an meant to finish what I'd started then, but as it turned out I ended up eating goat's cheese on toast instead, back at the hotel. With some wine. (At least I didn't partake of P's bowl of chips, with fried onions, all covered in melted cheese - nor, of course, was I tempted to).
So Saturday morning saw me locked in the bathroom after my bath shovelling down leftover spinach and mushrooms while P slept in. I do at least realise that this was totally mad. But get those nutrients in where you can, right?! :-) And I was kind of hungry. After that, and a couple of pieces of toast at breakfast proper, I wasn't hungry at lunchtime - ate some almonds and pumpkin seeds and a few cherrries and headed into The Merry Wives. Big mistake. Major hunger by the interval which could only be assuaged by a swift glass of red wine. We headed off to find food immediately after the show, but everyone was descending on the town and the choices were limited. In the end I managed to get another spinach and mushroom salad with some buffalo mozzarella... but failed to avoid the breadsticks that came with it (and also P threatened to beat me senseless if I didn't eat at least 2 of them). More red wine. Nothing then until midnight, which saw me in the hotel room guzzling the rest of the cherries I'd brought along, downing peppermint tea, and then more or less passing out with exhaustion.
Today has been a picky day - blueberries, almonds, pumpkin seeds, cherries, toast. Lunch was in a pub on the way home - goat's cheese, one green fig, salad leaves, and a vegetable selection which seemed to be pureed carrot, green beans, and zucchini with tomatoes. I've just finished off a plate of broccoli and spinach and mushrooms for dinner, with yoghurt and sunflower seeds for dessert and CoM doesn't look too bad, but I haven't entered the bread. There has been wine again, of course, and I haven't entered that either...
Oh the bread. I *know* there's no reason to eat it, but it's there, and it's crunchy-chewy-good... But it does me no good, I know that. It seems to make me emptier. I'm pretty sure the bread at breakfast on Saturday was to blame for the afternoon hunger, which never seemed to be appeased for more than an hour or so. for the rest of the day. I just wish I didn't get so *hungry*, because my temper becomes almost impossible for me to manage; I just want to lie on the floor and howl and kick and scream like a spoilt five year old in the throes of the worst tantrum in the world. It's so tiresome. This is nothing new though. I got like this before eating CRON. I just need to learn how to work it out.
Never mind. Monday tomorrow, and a few proper days of more balanced eating. And back on the wagon.