When the week falls apart

Every plan works on the week you write it. The test is the week the boiler breaks, or the flight is at six, or two of the children are ill and you have slept in four one-hour pieces.

Most programmes have nothing to say about that week, so the week breaks the programme. Our answer is that there is a minimum version of everything we do, and the minimum version counts.

Cannot train for forty minutes? Ten press-ups and a hang from the door frame counts. Hotel room, no daylight, kettle not worth using? Two minutes at the window with the curtains open counts. Money tight and the shop is what it is? Eggs, oats, frozen veg and a bag of whatever the cheapest meat is counts, and it is better food than most of what the money would otherwise buy.

The plan bends before it breaks, and the bend is built in on purpose. The only version of the week that fails is the one where you decide the whole thing is off because you could not do all of it.