It’s the tail end of summer, the cusp of back to school season. Every time one lawyer meets another they must ask the obligatory question: ‘Have you managed to have a break yet?’ Some say ‘Yes’, before going on to make the questioner sick with jealousy, but more often than is entirely healthy the answer is mixture of excuses, guilty regret and frustration that ‘No’, they haven’t, or ‘y’Yes’ they sort of have but their holiday has been interrupted (again) by work. Or their ‘holiday’ has been the sort that requires air quotes, and not really a break at all. At my advocates’ meeting today 3 of the 5 lawyers present were ‘on leave’, and two of us had spent considerable time this week dealing with emails about the case, notwithstanding that ‘leave’, just to ensure fairness for our clients, and that the trial fixture stand sup when it rolls around in Sept.

And so it is with me. My diary has saidI’ve been on holiday for the whole summer holidays (unusual for me to book the whole holiday off, but I thought I was going to be moving house and needed flexibility – I’m not, but that’s another moan for another day). And yet, I have ended up with no real holiday at all. Admittedly, I did agree to take on one 3 week case right in the middle of it, on the basis that it was in my local court and involved blissfully little travel (which is worth something in these days of hopeless trains and endless heatwaves), but as for the rest of the (air quotes) holiday, it has been gobbled up with dealing with issues arising in other cases, prep for cases in the autumn, cons which had to be held in order to meet an autumn deadline, and the odd urgent hearing moved into the middle of my remaining leave and which nobody else can cover (that’s tomorrow. Last week I scrubbed out the words ‘on holiday’ from my calendar in an act of final resignation to the reality that I have not and will not have a ‘proper’ summer break. My consolation prize is that I have booked out December, though I shan’t be going anywhere as the kids will be back in school, and have a peculiar and annoying sort of conscientious objection to going away over Christmas itself. It will inevitably be grey and bleak, and I imagine spending the few hours of daylight entirety of it on the sofa under a blanket eating chocolate digestives. This will of course represent a month when I am not earning any money. But I’ve booked this nonetheless because it is a necessary component of keeping going, and thus of earning any money. By December I will be desperate for a breather. I hope that I will not also be desperate for a payment from the legal aid agency (I am currently owed about 150% of my mortgage in fees by the legal aid agency, and so I am feeling the pinch – again. Perhaps as a Christmas present they will pay me some of it)…

It’s not all doom and Decembery gloom, however. I have been quietly progressing other aspects of my wellbeing alongside the relentless daily grind: my health. I haven’t been able to run since 2021: a combination of covid related weight gain (cheese and biscuits as comfort food, since you ask) and a nasty tumble down the stairs (whilst yelling for help to zip up a too-tight dress that was a casualty of said weight gain) meant that I had to stop running. The weight gain didn’t start with lockdown, and it didn’t end there either. But it continued until I no longer recognised myself in the mirror and did a double take every time I saw a photo of me. And then I’d eat another biscuit to distract myself from the stranger in the mirror, and talk about losing weight, but the pressures of work, my allergy to gyms and swimming pool changing rooms, and my increasingly creaky, painful knees meant that wasn’t realistic. Turns out carrying an extra 3 stone around is not very good for middle aged knees. And that it gives you heartburn which wakes you up at night and makes you miserable and grumpy the next day. And the only solution to that is biscuits.

So yeah, I’ve been on the jabs. And over the last 12 months I’ve lost that 3 stone. And oh my GOD do I feel better! My knees are still mildly knackered, but they work. My heartburn is gone. And the person I wake up to in the mirror every morning is me again. She has more crows feet, because the wrinkles aren’t plumped out by lard, but that’s okay. She’s me at 52, not me with an anaphylactic face.

I can touch my toes again (shockingly, I hadn’t even realised I could no longer do this until I started doing the exercises the physio gave me to strengthen my knees in the spring). And being largely local to home through the long days of summer has meant that I’ve been able to make a tentative start back at proper exercise. The cooler evenings have brought opportunities to run along the prom (for ‘run’ read run-walk-run-walk), and the early mornings have been perfect for a swim in the marine lake (a bbbrrrrracing 19 degrees at the moment, since you ask). All things which I couldn’t or wouldn’t have done without some help to lose the weight in the first place. So, to all those disapproving faces, talk to the hand – I’m firmly of the view that the jabs aren’t cheating, they are a stepping stone back to a healthier lifestyle – and at worst, even if I do put the weight back on they will have extended the life of my knees by a couple of years, and reduced the risk of the Baret’s syndrome my mum suffered with, and generally will have improved my physical resilience by increasing my ability to use my body and not just my brain. I’m not sure how long or how far my knees will permit me to run, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts. Another diagnosis means that I have realised I really do need to maximise my mobility while I can, as an investment in my body and overall health.

Meanwhile, I’ve finally been brave enough to get rid of many of the clothes that now swamp me and replace them with clothes that actually fit – and have been surprised to rediscover the joy in finding and wearing nice clothes (I now have a terrible Vinted habit).

So although I’ve not had a ‘proper’ holiday, I am feeling much better in myself, much better about myself and much more in touch with myself and my life. I count that as a wellbeing win. And I hope that this in turn will pay dividends for my productivity and vim in the courtroom.

If only there was a jab that helped a person say no to just one wafter thin hearing, as well as one which helped her say no to another wafter thin biscuit…