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Training session this morning.  Once a week I visit Scott’s house in the village and we train in his shed.  This isn’t as strange as it sounds. 

Scott is a personal trainer with a fully equipped gym in a sort of wooden lodge in his back garden.     And for the first time since I was a student, I can actually say I am enjoying training.  This is mainly because although he is very strict and makes me do far more press ups than I think is really necessary, I can see the benefits.  My arms actually have some shape again, and who knows – by the summer I might actually have a bikini body (not that there is  much call for bikini wearing on the farm).  Scott for his part seems to find me amusing  – sadly not in a ‘laughing with me’ way, mainly in a ‘laughing at me’ way.  He particularly enjoys signs of effort as I am exercising, today having finished one set of reps with some particularly heavy weights he said; “Good effort, and ten out of ten for the facial expressions” – I’m so glad my pain makes him smile!

Christopher came over all romantic this evening and decided to take me out for dinner.  We went to the Flushing Inn in Rye.  This oddly named restaurant is rather famous in the town – the most popular theory behind its name is that the street on which it sits was once known as ‘The Butchery’ and the old English name for a butcher was a ‘flesher’ – so it may be that originally it was the Fleshers Inn and over time this has become corrupted to the Flushing Inn.  It’s famous too for a remarkable 16th century fresco along one wall of the restaurant.  And for its seafood.  However, as with many places in Rye which are steeped in history, the ambiance is, shall we say, reserved.  So this evening it was the kind of place where you felt you ought to whisper, even though the room was full.  It was a bit like eating in a library.  Don’t get me wrong, Rye is a great town and I’m the first to support local business but sometimes I think townsfolk can be a little stuck doing things the way they do them simply because it’s the way they’ve always been done and I worry about how things will survive in the future.  I’d far rather local businesses were brave enough to adapt and modernise than risk ending up with a load of faceless chain restaurants populating the high-street.

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