I used to think the scary part of leaving the ground was falling. I don't think that anymore. Watch someone approach a handstand, a backward roll on the rings, or a machine that asks them to let their torso hang in mid air — and you'll see it too. They're not holding back because they think they'll hit the floor. They're holding back because they don't know what happens if they don't. This is also the newsletter about blackberries, my Mum, and why getting scratched is sometimes exactly the point.

Someone told me recently that they had never been able to hang from a bar. Not once. Not ever. I set up a resistance band on the J hooks and let it take most of her weight. An emotional support band, if you will. She hung. For the first time in her life. And walked out of that room differently than she walked in. This is also the newsletter about my sister, a kitchen floor, and a stream of recklessly discarded Cheerios. And why I never want anyone to feel helpless. Ever.

It was Sunday evening. I went to fetch the bin in and someone called over the fence: "Have you seen the big flood?" Assuming it was a Netflix movie I had missed, I replied that I hadn't and went about my jobs. It was 7:45pm. When I rounded the corner at the top of the road at 8:15pm, the road had almost disappeared. I mean. It was a lake. This is the newsletter about what happened next — and what being upside down on a Monday morning had to do with any of it.

Left to its own devices my brain agonises about chilli versus stir fry. So I started asking myself better questions on my walks. The first answer is for strangers. The second one is for you. This letter is about Bashira, a Jillian Michaels DVD, a cat who wouldn't move, and how self-knowledge works exactly like physical skill.

I was sitting on the hotel terrace watching the boats bob just offshore. When my breakfast arrived it was, as it had been every morning that week, exactly what I'd ordered. A fluffy toasted muffin. Smoked salmon. Hollandaise. And on top, soft and perfectly runny, a poached egg. Just the way I like it. For most of my life I wouldn't have known how I liked my eggs. Not really.

I decided it would be a great idea to take my training outside on Friday. Yes, the day that felt like wading through soup. The ground was slightly sloped. Not flat like a gym floor. And Nora turned up. She does not usually bother me during handstands. She knows I've got it. Except I was on grass. In a heatwave. And suddenly I did not have it.

Five playlists. Absolutely zero pep. One increasingly confused birthday gym-goer running slower than a tortoise, staring at Spotify like she had forgotten what music was for. Then I remembered a song I had heard coming from a houseboat on a dog walk. I put it on. Immediately. Back in the zone.

"Can you do that on two skateboards?" It doesn't take much for me to get on board with a wild plan. Dearest Reader, the ridiculousness began. It turns out you cannot perform a Caterpillar Pushup on two skateboards when you are laughing so hard that you are essentially crawling along the gym floor in a direction that could generously be described as forward.