On Top O' The World Ma

I've had such a 'butters' week. I felt ug-lee. Every day I got up and looked in the mirror, I frowned at the reflection staring back at me. Everything I was feeling showed in my face, and I looked and felt every one of my thirty-five years. And it felt tiring.
What's happened to the summer glow, the bright eyes, and dewy skin? The wind, and the motherfucking rain, that's what. My skin's dry and patchy, and the Neal's Yard Rose Facial Oil cyaan work no more. Now, I'm putting cocoa butter on my cheeks. The tan's fading, and the winter deathly pale pallor is threatening to take over. No more quick top-ups in the garden in my bikini and shorts. Just running out there to pick up the clothes getting soaked on the line (I fucking hate when that happens).
Was really looking forward to going to The Observer this week, but the butters vibe had me in full grip by Sunday, and by Monday morning I had to admit defeat. Didn't bother with make-up, or a cute outfit, because I knew neither would help. The vodka didn't help either later that evening, but boy I had to try.
When you're feeling butters, taking dressed takes twice as long as you pause to catalogue the perceived imperfections, and nothing looks right. It didn't help that I was cycling to work, as my cold weather cycling attire was butters too, and the ride sweated out my locks. That dragged through a hedge backway and frontway look is not cool.
Planned my running schedule for the week, and dragged my ass out Monday and Tuesday, but blew out Wednesday. Couldn't face it. By Wednesday night I decided enough was enough. I needed to shake the butters monkey off my back and fix up, look sharp. So I dug out a suitably sparkly outfit (I love me some sequins), some cute shoes, and dumped the bike. A bit of slap, and Bob's your mother's brother (lol). Finally, the cloud started to lift. Good thing too as I bumped into a couple of people and sod's law dictates that you always see people you know when you look busted.
Friday came, and almost back to normal. I packed my running gear to run back from Farringdon. Not having done such a long run for a while I wasn't sure I could make it, but I know I can walk it, so just planned to do what I could. I put on the running tights, t-shirt, and tracksuit top. As I walked out of the office I caught sight of my bum in the reflection of the glass, the butters vibe was still there as I thought: "My bum looks MASSIVE!". But I just tried to forget about it. Put on my running playlist, and got going. It's a nice run from Farringdon, past Smithfield Market, along Victoria Embankment, and across Waterloo Bridge. On the bridge I stop to take in the view. It's breathtaking. I run past the South Bank, some good al-fresco dining spots there now. Must visit. Then zipped through the crowds at the London Eye.
Other runners breeze past me, but I keep going. Jamiroquai's perfect summer song, 7 Days in Sunny June is playing, I keep bobbing along, trying to speed up, and nodding my head to the beat as I run. As I approach Vauxhall, The Roots 'Everybody Is A Star' strikes up, I get a spring in my step which brings me home. And I've made it, in just 30 minutes. Butters vibe well and truly dispersed. Look out now, on top of the world ma!