Mission 031: Where Susan tries to lose some weight

Ok, tough mission this. I have been travelling in India now for just on a month, and several unknown bacterial visitors have left my body slightly slimmer than it is normally. But several scarves, sarees and bags have made my bag decidedly plump.
It's not too much of a problem for getting around. But now that I'm due to fly out of India, things are coming to a head. I have a 15kg limit on my checked-in baggage (that's the trouble with these low-cost airlines). And my bag is weighing in at around 17 (not including hand luggage. So, somehow, I must slice a couple of kilos off my bag before the 28th August.
Shall I fling a couple of pairs of undies in the bin? Ditch a book onto the nearest shelf? Weed out the top that lurks closest to the bottom of the bag, fold it neatly and leave it lying on the bed, to be claimed by the cleaner?
Perhaps all three.
It is a tough mission this, and afterwards, I may be short on clothes and reading material, but at least I will be well accessorised.

Mission 030: Where Susan decides to become a neo-Italian mama

I am in Siena, Italy at the moment, and due to a freak weather pattern (stormy and very rainy - typically more English than the Italian weather the Buckwell and I know and love), we are spending a lot of time eating, or browsing food stores while wiping dribble from our chins.
A quick sample from yesterday's menu:
- Pici(Big fat strands of a spaghetti-like pasta) with parmesan and pepper for the Buckwell
- Ravioli alla maremmani (not sure what maremmani is, sorry) with rustic chunky pesto oozing all over it for me
- Some zucchini trifolate to share ( which seems to be sauteed zucchini in olive oil)
And a half litre of wine plus a bottle of sparkling mineral water to wash it down
Then we moved on to wander the local supermarket, where we observed no less than 55 types of pasta on the shelves or in the fridge.
There were:
tortellini
ravioli
gnocchi
cannoli
pici (also seems to be known as bagoli)
tagliatelle
lasagne
spaghetti
fedelini
linguine
tortiglioni
cavatappi
penne rgate
fusilli
pipe rigate
rotelle
pennoni rigate
casarecce
farfalle
sopraffini
digitale rigati
dischi
gallanini
anelli
stellette
digitale piccoli rigate
avena
filini
gigli
amorosi
mini penne rigate
capellini
spahettini
vermecellini
bavettine
corallini
pintine
tempestine
sedani rigati
mezze penne rigate
gnochetti
orechiette
reginette
penne lisce
nastrini
pipette
dischi volanti
bucatini
mezze maniche rigate
trenette
spahettoni
lasagnette ricce
fettucine
taglerini
cavatelli

So. Are you impressed that I stood there and wrote it all down? I got a few funny looks, I can tell you. However, the outcome of all this is that I have decided to perfect my pasta-making skills. Luckily, the Buckwell and I own a pasta machine, which I have used (and he has eaten the results from). It may have been used twice. However, as soon as we re-settle after this trip, I am going to become the homemade pasta queen - a neo, or rather pseudo (because as far as I know I have no Italian ancestry), Italian mama in the kitchen. But first I shall need a few essential ingredients:
- a louder voice
- a bigger bosom
- stout shoes (this should be easy as I have big feet anyway)
- a poster of the madonna holding baby jesus
- some fake flowers to arrange around the poster
Once I have assembled all that, you're all invited round for Sunday lunch...

Mission 029: Where Susan tries to avoid everything piscine

First, a little background. I am no longer in London, but travelling around Portugal, one week into a mammoth trip with the Buckwell. You an read more about the trip here .
So far, there are plenty of interesting sights and surprises, one of which is that there is a peacock 2 metres from my foot. Actually, she is a peahen, to be precise.
Over the last week, the Buckwell and I have been sampling a range of Portuguese dishes, many of which have been of the piscine variety. I have had sardines, prawns, golden bream, sole, tuna, monkfish and skate. And I am heartily fed up with all of it. Don't get me wrong - it's been tasty, and unlike the Buckwell, at least I like fish. But one meal finished me off. The biggest fish stew known to man as served up at a beachside restuarant to myself, the Buckwell, along with his brother and brother's girlfriend (latter two pictured here looking in disbelief at the pot'o fish. Eight people would have struggled to get through it. We four didn't stand a chance.And now my new mission is to avoid all fish for at least 3 days.

Mission 028: Where Susan takes some exercise

In just over a week, the Buckwell and I are going snowboarding in Verbier. It will be my first time on a snowboard, and the first 'active' holiday I've had in a very long time. And I have not prepared my body for the shock.
So today's mission is to try and minimise the inevitable pain and suffering by reminding my hamstrings, calves, gluteus maximus and other muscles that they exist for a purpose other than walking to Clapham Junction train station. I am going to use the gym 2 floors down in our apartment block for the first time. (Sauna and swimming pool use don't count.) I'll be coaxing the best out of my body by putting some really nasty techno/dance type music on my ipod. Afterwards I'll wind down with 200 or so revolutions of the hula hoop (upstairs in the privacy of the lounge).
So just in case you know me and will be seeing me over the next few days, be prepared for me to whinge about being aching and stiff.

Mission 027: Where Susan finds a decent waterproof jacket by the weekend

Is there a clothing item that you need and should really go shopping for? Do you, like me, know that whenever such a need arises, the chances of you finding said item are slim at best - unless of course, you have no money to buy it, when your chances of finding it increase exponentially. Wouldn't you rather just open a bottle of good wine while someone reads your mind, finds the item and delivers it to your door with a smile and a guarantee?
I have a need for a good quality (read 'quite expensive') Gore-tex jacket, in a common size and colour, suitable for walking in the Lake District, snowboarding in Verbier and many other outdoorsy type pursuits. I also have the money to buy it. And I need it for this Easter weekend. Oh dear, I feel despondent already. The chances are next to nothing of me finding it by tomorrow lunchtime. And that's if I even make it to the shops.

If you know somebody who can source such an item (in black, women's size 10-12 please), please send them over this evening to slip it under my pillow while I'm asleep. A bit like the tooth fairy did for me many years ago, only with money, not jackets.

Or damn it, I will have to embark upon my shopping mission tomorrow. Without any confidence whatsoever. Oh dear, I feel another failure coming on.

By the way, I haven't got my photos done yet, either.

Hopeless, I am.

Mission 026: Where Susan gets her picture taken

I slept very heavily last night. So heavily in fact, that I didn't even stir when the Buckwell got up.
Instead, the alarm aurally bashed me awake at 7:10.

I was having a dream where the Buckwell and I were on a train to Iran. I was trying to speak Arabic to some Iranians on the train, and one of them kindly reminded me that they spoke Persian. Yet they were shaking my hand and saying 'Ahlan, Ahlan', which is 'Welcome' in Arabic. That's when they weren't speaking English to me – with a heavy Eastern European accent (hey, I don't know what Iranian accented English sounds like yet).

I don't know what it all means, but it has reminded me that I need to get a photo taken for my Iranian visa application for our intended visit in April, otherwise I'm not going to get it back in time. So that's my mission for today - file under boring but essential things to do.

Get to the back of the line

... to congratulate me. I successfully managed to avoid queues until the end of the week, and EVEN AT THE AIRPORT. Freakily, there were no queues at check-in, or at the luggage scanning bit.
I salute me. Or rather, my luck.

Mission 026 - Where Susan takes her chances

This morning I had a strange thing happen.

I went to register with a new doctor and get the obligatory health check. Nothing strange about that. The next bit is where it gets weird.

They couldn't go through with confirming my registration at the doctors because I was already on there. Or rather, there was somebody with my name living at my current address 4 years ago. Susan Wills, middle initial M, White Other, hazel eyes. But born 2 years after me, fatter, taller, a smoker and heavy drinker. (I probably shouldn't have looked at her records in the interests of patient confidentiality, but the nurse brought them up on the screen.)

This has spooked me just a little.

Given our birth years, I figured there's an even chance that the other Susan Wills would be on Facebook. So I looked. There are 11 Susan Willses on there. Only 2, including me, in London. Did the only other London Susan Wills live at the SAME address? If so, it disturbs me even more now that I have seen her face. Although I'm certainly not about to embark on a Dave Gormanesque experiment.

However, given the chances of this extremely bizarre event, I think it's only fair that my next mission is to buy a lottery ticket...