We have had rain for most of January and February. Proper grey sky, damp coat, wet trainers, mood matching the weather, kind of rain. And suddenly today, sunshine and warmth like someone’s flicked a seasonal switch.

Apparently it’s hitting 18 degrees. In February. In London.

I don’t trust it, but I am absolutely embracing it.

Half term is over, the house is quiet, and for the first time in weeks I feel like I can actually concentrate. Winter survival mode is lifting.

So naturally, I started with the essentials.

My nails.

Every single one had broken. It had been that long. I tried calling the nail shop yesterday, twice, no answer. Called this morning, no answer. I even drove past and could see it was open.

So today I did something very out of character. I turned up.

They told me the phone was working. Another lady said she called yesterday and it was fine. Fine? Because I distinctly remember sitting on my sofa questioning my sanity.

So I rang it there and then.

Silence.

Turns out someone had switched the volume off.

Nothing shines brighter than being right in public.

Then, because the weather had clearly decided we are skipping straight to April, I got my car washed. It has not been washed since NOVEMBER. That is four solid months of British rain politely layering dirt without ever actually removing it. Today felt like the official winter residue removal ceremony.

Clean car. Sun shining. Windows down.

While I was in full reset mode, I got my eyebrows threaded. The second the sun appears we all suddenly remember we have faces. Fresh brows in unexpected sunshine hits differently.

It genuinely feels like that scene in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers when the snow has cleared and spring has arrived and everyone is twirling through fields like life is brand new again.

That is today’s energy.

And let’s not forget the garden. The grass has not also not been cut since November, but it’s still a complete mud bath after all the rain we’ve had. Four months of wet, soggy chaos. Less “spring meadow” and more “festival field after day three.”

Now it has stripes. Actual stripes.

Freshly cut grass is one of the nicest smells in the world, although it absolutely sends my histamine levels into orbit. So there I am, standing in my revived garden, slightly itchy, mildly congested, pretending this is part of the aesthetic.

Thursday 

And because apparently today is about embracing things, I went off to my exercise class at 9:30.

Different physio, same place,

Wow. What a difference to the Monday class.

I was the youngest there again. All women. All going through menopause. All inflamed. All exhausted. All feeling slightly betrayed by our own bodies.

It was oddly comforting.

This physio actually corrected my posture, adjusted my movements, explained why we were doing things instead of just pointing at a laminated sheet on the wall and hoping for the best.

At one point I asked him if his exercises could turn my stomach into a six pack.

We all laughed.

So I lowered expectations and said, fine, a three pack?

More laughter.

Then I said, okay, what about a one pack?

And one of the ladies said, “We all have that already.”

Honestly, the solidarity was unmatched.

After class I went to Waitrose and bought one single kiwi and a pack of brazil nuts.

Yes, really.

Last week my blood tests revealed I am not anaphylactic to nuts or to the long list of foods I have been avoiding for the best part of fifteen years. Huge relief. They might cause intolerances, hives, throat tightness, inflammation, drama, yes. But apparently they are not going to kill me.

I remember loving nuts. Especially brazil nuts. Macadamias too.

Somewhere along the line they were quietly moved into the “do not touch” category. And I obeyed that rule for years.

So today I bought a kiwi, something I was once told to avoid, and brazil nuts.

It felt rebellious. Slightly terrifying. But also freeing.

Although I will say, I feel spaced out a lot lately. Exhausted from tiny jobs. Driving to the local shops and back feels like I’ve run a marathon. The fatigue is real. The brain fog is real. Menopause plus inflammation plus histamine is quite the cocktail.

And yet, I came home and made egg and dairy free chocolate cupcakes with dairy free chocolate chips.

I have not had cake in three weeks and I was craving just a little cake. Not chaos. Not a binge. Just something small and comforting.

Tomorrow is weigh day.

I have been sticking to 1100 calories and I genuinely think the scales have not moved. I will be surprised if I have lost half a pound.

We will see.

This week felt like a strange mix of progress and patience.

Fresh nails. Clean car. Threaded brows. Garden stripes. Physio laughs. Brazil nut bravery. Dairy free cupcakes. Looming weigh in.

Honestly though, maybe this week isn’t about dramatic transformation.

Maybe it’s about showing up, one class, one nut, one cupcake, one weigh day at a time.

And if I end up with a one pack instead of a six pack, at least I’ll know I earned it.