Not even trashy TV can make up for the loss of a precious, chill-out-inducing yoga class

I have to admit: when my husband sent a text saying he was sorry but wouldn’t be home from work in time for my Wednesday night yoga class, I wasn’t too devastated. It had been a hard week after all and I was suffering with a streaming cold. Hurriedly exchanging my yoga pants for some baggy PJs, I poured myself a huge glass of chilled Chablis, and settled down with my feet up, ready to watch some trashy TV.

Ten minutes into an extremely addictive and highly thought-provoking documentary about celebrity kitchens, I found myself wondering which poses I had the luxury of missing out on this evening. Smirking to myself as I dipped into a box of Maltesers, I hazarded a guess that those upside down movements would not have been good for my cold at all. No, I was much better here, wrapped up in my blanket, in front of the telly.

I figured that one night off the yoga wouldn’t be too much of a setback. I also thought that it probably wouldn’t tip the scales too much when the dreaded ‘weigh in time’ came around on Sunday morning. After all, Maltesers have to be one of the ‘healthier’ options if you are going to throw the boat out and dive into a box of chocs.

The trouble is, I kept going back to the programme after getting distracted, pondering the moves I couldn’t properly do yet, and the people I was missing at class, now becoming good friends. I really tried hard to concentrate on important things like Victoria Beckham’s dish drainer but it just wasn’t happening for me.

Eventually I decided to head off to bed, and do a spot of reading before hubby arrived. Thing is: once I turned off the programme, and stumbled upstairs, I realized that I felt nowhere near as calm and relaxed as usual on a Wednesday night. I was missing my post-yoga bliss feeling. Next week, I can’t wait to miss the rubbish TV.