12 It is, at Long Last

Twelve, 12, a dozen, an interesting number. A mainstay of the duodecimal system of numbering, and a number worth, for me, all the catching of stray toast crusts from His Lordship's plate, or the missed scones.

It is far too long since such a number was attached to any garment in my wardrobe, far less a lower limb one, but here is the evidence. Albeit it is an M&S garment which panders a bit to a woman's humiliation at having larger numbers appearing on clothes and has a generous sizing policy compared with some other manufacturers.

Of course such a shrinkage in my shape is not just a result of a boycott of scones, but is largely due to exercise and whereas the daily walks HL and I take are enjoyable, those visits to the gym are the equivalent of a hair shirt worn twice a week.
I have just taken today's off with a sigh of relief, and am looking forward to Oman daughter paying me a fleeting visit to tell me about her cycling holiday in Girona.