'Take That' or take them...

Given the choice of spending the afternoon in the presence of one of the UK’s biggest and best boy bands or in the presence of a bunch of boys on bicycles, what would you do? You can see my dilemma here...

Last year, when my daily dilemma was whether or not I could muster up enough energy to dry my hair after my shower, Kevin sought out little things that I could look forward to each month. Little things that would challenge me to not only dry my hair, but to straighten it and slap on some make up too.

So when tickets for Take That came up for sale, he snapped them up and waved them under my nose until I was powerless to resist their allure. But now with just a couple of weeks until the big gig, their force is fading.

This is despite the fact that me and Take That have a ‘history’ as they say. Anyone who has read my book knows that Hobbs and Mark Owen have shared hugs and kisses; and I’m quite sure there are very few girls who can lay claim to that honour, never mind small dogs. Secretly, I was hoping that Mark and Hobbs could rekindle their friendship through me and I could just pick up the hugs and kisses at the concert, then pass them on to my furry offspring.

The old me - the Before Shopping Ban me - would have spent the last few months tracking down the perfect outfit for the event. No expense would have been spared. On the day, I’d have grappled my way to the front in my Gucci, screamed my lungs out (okay, maybe that’s no longer appropriate under the circumstances) and considered whether to throw my three figure sum be-ribboned Damaris knickers onto the stage.

But the new me - the one that values people over purchases - has been asked by a friend if Kevin would like to join him and his cycling club for a round Arran trip, with me acting as refreshment and first aid supremo.

This is a friend who supported me through my year of not shopping, and who supported both Kevin and I during the last few months by just quietly being in the background and stepping up to help without ever needing to be asked.

So, where’s the dilemma? There isn’t one really. The tickets have been passed on to someone else who can’t wait to stand at the front of the stage and scream. And, as for me...

Well, whatever choice I made, I was going to be spending a few hours in the company of lycra clad men...