Get. In.

Hello, hello, hello and welcome everybody to my formerly thrice-weekly blog which now appears to be my once-in-a-blue-moon-but-more-commonly-on-a-Friday blog.

So anyway, this week has been rather non-eventful.  I mean there's really not been much to report of anything, it's all work and very little play.  I've also gone back on the wagon and sobriety really isn't the most cheerful of mindsets for anyone, especially when you can't even substitute it for doughnuts or chocolate cake.

I hadn't really given a great deal of thought to the diet, particularly, and in fact, as my weight loss has been so hit and miss over the last ten weeks or so, I was quite convinced that if anything I'd've put weight on this week.  Especially when I realised that I've not been eating nearly so much veg as I should be eating.  "Oh well," I thought to myself, "There's always next week, I'll try harder then!  I've still got another six weeks to lose a dress size, no big deal."

Imagine, then, my surprise when the scales declared that I'd lost 3 1/2 lbs!!

The llamas were chuffed.  They're all ready to go with this week's fiesta, so without any further ado - hit it, lads!!

 

***AAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIBAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!***

 

¯ La cucaracha, la cucaracha, dah dee dah de dah de dahh...!  ¯

Whew!  That was great, boys!!  Just the job!

I was delighted with that result.  I honestly didn't expect it.  I thought my weeks of losing big numbers of lbs were long gone, and that it'd be a slow and boring, pleasure-free road to box off my last three stone, half a pound here, a pound there... I thought it'd take me The Rest Of My Rotten Stinkin' Life to do it.  But now - now there is hope!  Now there is a little bright, cheery spark in my heart that says, "Come on, Spevvo, you can do this!!  You're probably not really too far now and you'll be legitimately skinny rather than just relatively skinny in comparison to your former spherical physique!"

I mean I have to do it and I have to do it soon.  The time left is reduced.  I've done all right so far, like, and aside from just not stressing about things and following the plan as best as I can, I'm not 100% sure what else I can do.  More fruit, more veg, I don't know if I've ever recommended green tea and a slice of lemon, but trust me, it works.  It's an acquired taste but it's a taste well worth acquiring.  It'll all come off eventually.  I'll soon be svelte.  I'll achieve voluptuous rather than rotund.  I'll wiggle in all the right places.  This will happen.  Because if it doesn't, I think I'll cry.  Which won't be a remotely helpful reaction and it won't even make me feel better about it but it's the one thing slightly more positive than jumping off a tall building.

The thing that cheered me up the most was that finally, Andrea the Consultant told me that I was really doing well.  She said "You're disappearing before my very eyes!  You must feel great!!" I genuinely didn't think she'd noticed.  A couple of the ladies in group have come up to me and been like "Good grief, you can really tell you've lost weight, you're looking good!" which is really nice, but it was great to finally get a bit of a high five from the lady in charge.  She's never been discouraging or dismissive, I'd like to make that clear, but I just genuinely didn't think she'd noticed, and that because she hadn't said anything I mustn't actually look like I've lost any weight.  Which obviously is a stupidly warped thought process, I mean for chuff's sake I've lost 60lbs now, I must literally be the only person on earth who hasn't really noticed the difference in me!!  In fairness, I avoid reflective surfaces like the plague and whenever I look down at myself all I can see are my bosoms and my hair so I suppose the fact they're still very much there isn't too much of an indicator about how well I've actually done. 

So, I went home and had a yummy Slimming World tea of sirloin steak, new potatoes, and fried mushrooms and tomatoes.  It was fabulous.  My sister is officially the best cook in the world.

This weekend I'm going to a party on Saturday, which will be great.  I'm still on the wagon and I'm the designated driver so I'm going to have to do the Being Sober While Meeting New People thing, which is a little worrying, but the people I do know who are going are fabulous so I'm sure it'll all be great.  The only problem is that nowadays I only have clothes for work and clothes for the Kingdom Hall.  I have no other items of clothing, and as I'm an anti-social sod, I definitely have no party clothes.  I'll probably end up going and looking really overdressed.  But at least I won't be scruffy!!

Join me sometime next week.  Definitely on Friday, when hopefully I'll be even closer to my 4 1/2 stone shiny sticker!!

Sleeves Firmly Rolled Up

Normally, as you know, I get pretty narked when I put weight on after a week of being good.

However, this week, I've put half a pound on, and although the llamas haven't come out for a celebratory fiesta (although to be fair they had two fiestas last week so they could do with a break), I'm really not too worried about it.

This is good because I've taken into account that for the first couple of days since my last weigh in I was still a bit wobbly on the diet before getting back on it properly on Monday so I haven't really had a week of being good, I've had about four days of being good.  I've also taken into account the fact that I've drunk a lot more water this week, mostly due to the fact I've walked everywhere.  I've walked about four miles a day over the last week, which doesn't seem like much but it's more than twice as far as I usually walk, so for me, it's loads, and I've probably developed a teensy tiny bit of muscle.  Not to mention the fact I've worked full-time which always screws up my diet plans, and I more often than not end up skipping breakfast altogether, which isn't ideal, I know.  But still, I know why I've put on, and that's less frustrating than being really good and still putting half a pound on.  AND it means that I'm finally starting to get a bit of perspective on weight loss, realising that it can't always be a constant thing and just because I put a bit on, it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person or a failure.  Which is quite a revelation.

However, at the same time, it's also a bit scary because not being too worried about a weight gain can make you complacent.  And I'm not skinny enough to get complacent!

Andrea The Consultant gave us all the New Members' talk again.  It's not just been me that's been a bit screw-uppy, everyone's gone a bit off the boil.  It's apparently only 16 weigh-ins till Christmas, which doesn't worry me too much because obviously I don't celebrate Christmas and I've no plans around that time anyway other than to eat my own body weight in chocolate and to drink enough alcohol to make Georgie Best, Oliver Reed, Keith Moon and Robert Newton all applaud my stalwart efforts. 

But it's only seven weigh-ins until the Michael Nesmith gig, and that does worry me.  Even though it shouldn't, really.  I know if anyone said to me this time last year I'd be able to wear a size 18 dress to go and see Michael Nesmith in concert, I'd have laughed at the implausibility of both suggestions.  So, really, in that sort of context, even if I don't lose another dress size between now and then, I'm still ridiculously thinner than I was this time last year - AND I'll get to fulfill a lifelong ambition and actually be in the same room at the same time as my favourite Monkee.  I mean, it's all good.  Even if I put four stone on between now and then, the fact I'll be there is incredible enough in itself.  Not that I will, of course.  I've come much too far now to go back to how I used to be.
 
But now I'm here, two or three dress sizes to go until I get to target (I probably won't reach that decision until I've lost the next two dress sizes!), and it somehow still doesn't feel like I've done nearly enough.  I know it isn't a race.  I'm not trying to be thin for an event or because someone else is losing X amount of stones and I want to beat them to it.  I'm losing weight because I don't want to spend the rest of my life not doing things because I'm too fat to do them.  And if it takes me a year to do it or it takes me 18 months to do it - fine, so long as I do it eventually.

But I still want to get it over and done with as quickly as I can so I can make a start on maintaining it!!

It isn't an impossible ask to drop a dress size in 7 weeks.  In fact, it's quite reasonable.  I know I can do it.  So I'd best get on with it, really, hadn't I?!  I've not got time to mope - I've got lbs to shed!

Join me again at some juncture next week when I may have some sort of an update for you.  But if not I shall update again on Friday when hopefully, fingers crossed, after a whole week of being good I'll finally have a result worthy of a fiesta from the llamas!!

Le Gasp!! Il Gaspo!! Die Gazpen!!

Yeah that's right, so shocking I had to say it in French and then translate it into Spanish and German.

The shocks are manifold in this blog entry, so if you're of a nervous disposition I'd recommend changing your knickers now and bringing a spare pair back to the computer with you, just in case.

Firstly... I'm writing a blog entry!

I know, it's been ages.  Well, I had my mojo working - but it just didn't work on slimming.  I ate.  And I drank.  And I was merry.  Well - I may say I was merry, but actually it was just one long stretch of beating myself up for being weak-willed.

Also, it turns out that I am still very addicted to chocolate.  I thought after giving it up for eight months I'd be absolutely fine.  No.  Not at all.  In fact all I want to do with my life is to eat chocolate for breakfast, dinner and tea, give up work and eat my body weight in cocoa-infused products.  It's a dangerous substance. 

Anyway.  I think I'm back on the straight and narrow now.  I said I'd give myself twelve months and it's only been eight so, y'know, I won't give up.

The second shocking revelation in today's blog entry is this... the llamas will be having TWO fiestas today!!!

I know, after weeks and weeks of training, they're finally ready for two fiestas.  The first one is because, two weeks ago - I finally got my 4stone award.  Take it away, chaps...!!

AAARRRRIIIIIIBBBAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Ole!!!

*dances round like a mad eejit* Phewf!!

Yeah, that's right, four stone - that's 56lbs to my American pals and 25.4kg to my... metric pals.  It's a small child.  Or at least a substantial percentage of the average adult.  I only got my certificate on the night, they'd run out of shiny stickers, but fear not, I've got my shiny sticker now and it's there, shining proudly on the back of my Slimming World book. 

The second fiesta will come later.

The third shock is this - after nearly two weeks of eating and drinking like an attendee at a Roman banquet, I hopped on the scales last night at Fat Club, and lo and behold, I'd lost a pound!!

I was convinced I'd put at least 10lbs on.  At least 10.  I'd really given it a good go, y'know.  I had chocolate, and doughnuts, and... a lot of booze... and takeaways, and crisps, and basically everything I haven't had in the last eight months!!

In fact, I was so convinced that I'd ruined things for myself that I seriously considered just quitting and carrying on the diet from home.  I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of getting back on the scales.  I knew exactly how much I'd gone off the rails.  Although, to be fair - I've really got Jo to thank that I've got this far anyway, she's an amazing cook and has really kept me on the straight and narrow far more than I realised. 

Thankfully, I had a stern talking-to from various friends and family members, and so last night I trudged down the hill to the Church Hall to hop on the scales.  I dunno if I've mentioned, but the song that always plays in my head when I get on the scales and get a good result is 'You're the Best' by Joe Esposito (the theme tune to The Karate Kid - the real one, not the silly remake).  It was like it was playing in some sort of quadrophonic stereo type capacity when I saw the scales say I'd actually lost weight!!

And now - the FOURTH shock of this blog!!!

The song faded out as the Weighing Lady (I think her name's Natalie but I'm not sure.  I really should find out, shouldn't I, I've been going for eight months!)  started interrogating me about whether I'd been to group last week, or the week before.  I felt a bit guilty but I told her I skipped Fat Club last week and didn't stay to group the week before.  She started mumbling to herself and then asked the Check-In Lady (Dawn) if it was definitely me, and Dawn said that it was, and then after a few moments' conflab between them, the Weighing Lady and I had the following conversation:

WL:  Because, erm, well - you've been named Woman of the Year!
ME:  Oh yeah, right!!  Hahahahaha!!!!!
[awkward pause]
ME:  What, really?!
WL:  Really.
ME:  Me?!
WL:  You.
ME:  [points to self]  ME?!?
WL:  Yes, that's right.
ME:  You mean.... me?!?!!???
WL:  [rolls eyes] Yes, you!!
ME:  Are you sure????  There must be some sort of mistake!!
WL:  No, no, it's you. 
[SPEV gazes off distractedly as the record player in her head starts up again - "You're the best... AROOOOUUND!!  NOTHIN'S GONNA EVER KEEP YOU DOOOWWNNN!!!!"]

Unfortunately, Andrea the Consultant was on holiday, and so I won't know more about it until next week.  I have no idea what it means, but the reports all seem to suggest that I will be getting a certificate, hopefully a shiny sticker and, most excitingly of all - A SASH!!!

That's right, all I'll need is a peaked hat and I could join International Rescue.

So, when I told the llamas, naturally they were all delighted and started leaping about (gambolling, even, I think you could say), doing back flips and Miguel even moonwalked down the street with happiness.  Our Joanna cried.  It was all very exciting.  The latest member of my dancing llama troupe, Pedro, called up one of his 'contacts' and actually arranged a float for the second fiesta!!!  I mean it's only a milk-float but you've got to take what you can get, right?

Without further ado - let's all shake our maracas, shimmy like we've no backbone and roll our Rs in a celebratory Latino fashion!!!!

Waahhooooo!!!!!  *shimmy*  *shake*  *wiggle*  *etc*

I'm amazed and shocked and... well...  Amazed.  I can't believe people actually voted for me.  I didn't think anyone noticed - I mean not even I've noticed!  I hope I don't have to say anything next week.

So, if you've not died of boredom yet, that's basically what's happened over the last couple of weeks, slimming-wise.  It didn't feel as though a lot went on - but clearly, it did!!  Fabulous.

I've got eight weigh-ins left before the Michael Nesmith concert.  I would love to have got my 5 stone award by then, and I'll certainly be working towards it.  I've done it four times before so I don't think it's exactly impossible.  But it'd still be nice to have done it by the time October 29th comes round.

Join me again - next time... whenever that might be.... maybe next week... when I might have something else to say.  Possibly....!!!

Dressin' Fine, Makin' Time

I would like to apologise for my complete failure on the blogging front recently.  Work's been mental and I haven't had time to write.  Sorry.

Thursday went well.  I lost 2 1/2 lbs.  I now have 2 1/2 lbs to lose before I get my 4 stone award.  I'd LOVE it if it was this week.  I'm giving it my best shot this week.  I've been determined, I'm still on the wagon (Day 16.  Blood is now coursing through my alcohol stream.  I'm starting to see things as they really are.  'Floor!'  'Curtains!' 'Gobshite!'  Erm.  Sorry.  Just went all Father Ted there for a minute!), I've kept to well under 10 Syns a day, except for Saturday when I went half a Syn over, but I'm not worried about that really.  I've walked a lot.  I haven't  been quite as stressed out this week as I have been during the last two weeks about losing weight.  I don't feel any different or any thinner.  I know I couldn't possibly have put weight on with the things I've been eating, but hey - who knows how the human body works?  Certainly not me.  It'th a mythtery, as Toyah Wilcox might say.  For the benefit of my readers under the age of 35 and who therefore don't know who Toyah Wilcox is - ask your mum.  She'll always be Monkey to me.  Toyah, that is.  Not your mum.  I feel as though I'm unwittingly starting to stray into unintentional 'your mum' jokes territory.  I'm going to end this aside right now before I get into trouble!

I'm really sorry you missed the fiesta.  It was a special fiesta as well, in honour of the synchronised swimming.  Ricardo has become obsessed with it.  He designed a load of inflatable leg warmers for the llamas and they did a fabulous routine.  If I get my 4 stone shiny sticker this week I'll get them to re-create the whole thing for you.

I should point out at this juncture that I will probably be off-grid for the next ten days or so.  I'll update as much as I can, obviously, but on Friday, Saturday and Sunday I shall be at the annual District Convention of Jehovah's Witnesses in Liverpool.  In the North West for the last 14 years or so it's been held at the Manchester Arena and it's a big, scary place, so my family and I have escaped to somewhere far more exotic for the Convention over the last few years.  Stoke-on-Trent.  Anyway, this year it's in Liverpool, and as my entire family are from the glorious city, we're very excited about the prospect. 

I have new dresses.  I had a disastrous afternoon's shopping on Saturday.  Not that the company was disastrous, you understand - it was fabulous. After all, I was with my pal, Heather.  I know.  Two Heathers, no messing.  She's awesome and I love her to distraction.  So, I had a grand old time as always with her, it was just the dresses were the problem.  They were either too short or too low (and although I'm skinny now, I still have massive knockers to deal with) - and often both at the same time.  Although at least they all fitted me.  It's nice to know that I can walk into a shop, pick up a dress in a particular size and know that it will fit me.  I don't think I've ever done that before.  It's all progress.  I found a new dress yesterday, which is very pretty and fits me, so I'm nearly replete with dresses in my wardrobe, which is all very exciting.  Eventually, I will post my 'before' and 'half way through' photos.  I just need to retrieve the 'before' photo that my Auntie Heather took of me in January!

After the Convention, I'm moving out of home for a week or so.  Long story.  I'm sleeping at my pal's house for a few nights and then staying with another pal for a few nights.  I should still be able to update the blog while I'm away because I'll still be working, but if not, you'll know why.  My life should hopefully return to normal - well, as normal as my life ever gets, anyway - on or around 23 August, which coincides with the Global Public Holiday I've been campaigning for for the last who knows how long - International Keith Moon Day.  Everything is wonderful on that day, it's by far my favourite day on the calendar.  So it's only fitting, really, that everything sorts itself out by then.

I shall try to update on Wednesday or Thursday but I won't be able to update on my results from Fat Club until at least Monday next week.  Sorry about that, chaps.  Wish me luck though.  I have a feeling that this week I'm seriously going to need it!!

24 Toasters from Scunthorpe

Prizes will be handed out to anyone who gets the reference in today's blog title.  Answers to the usual address.

It's Wednesday.  Just over 24 hours to go and I'll be hopping back on those scales for the first time in three weeks. 

I.  Am.  Terrified.

What if I've thought I've been doing the right things for the last week or two and actually I haven't and I've put a couple of stone on?  Actually, is that biologically possible?  Even if it isn't I bet I probably still would!!

When you do something unpleasant on a regular basis, the pleasantness doesn't improve, because it's always a horrible thing to do, but the discomfort does subside a little because you're used to it.  I can't really think of anything nearly as unpleasant to willingly put oneself through aside from going to work every day.  You have to do it because otherwise you starve, it isn't pleasant but you go anyway, and then you usually find it isn't quite so hellish when you get there.  Unless you work for the NHS.  Fabulous institution, Britain's best idea by miles - absolutely terrible employer. 

I'm going off-topic.

My point is, I avoided scales like the plague until January, and then I've subsequently I've hopped on a pair every week for the last 26 weeks or so.  I never liked getting on the scales but it had become a slightly less scary prospect.  After 20 days away from the scales, half of which were spent mostly in blissful varying stages of inebriation - I have roughly the same desire to get back on the scales as a Death Row convict has when offered a seat a large chair near an electric switch.

But it's one of those things, isn't it?  I've got to do it otherwise I'll just slip back into the old routine, and I really don't want that.  I've come much too far now.  Or at least I think I have.  Who knows. 

What if the worst happens?  What if I do get on the scales tomorrow and even though I've reined it back in SO much over the last ten days I've still put weight on?  Am I going to give up?  Go back to how things used to be?  Think "I'll never get there" and cry for an hour?  Probably.  But then after I've cried for an hour I'll have a stern talk to myself, stop being weak and pathetic and get the hell back on it again.  Marathon.  Not a sprint.  I will get there.  Whether that happens this year or next year.  I gave myself 18 months to do this, and on June 3rd 2013 I will look completely different to how I looked on January 1st 2012.  I will.  I'll even post pictures to prove it.

Maybe!

Join me on Friday.  I will have got back on the scales and I'll know exactly what I'm working with.  The llamas are going to have a fiesta anyway because it's the Olympics and Ricardo has decided to try and campaign for 'fiesta-ing' to be an Olympic sport.  He's even designed Team GB's legwarmers for the Rio Olympics...

Swimmin' with the Wimmin'

So, the Olympics has started in London and everyone's mind is turning to all things sporty. 

Mine isn't.  Even though I've watched a lot of gymnastics (and fencing, swimming and... actually that's it, so far).  If I could back-flip, I have a feeling that I would never walk again.  A normal trip to the corner shop for a pint of milk would be a very different experience.  Or if I'd gone on a dead long walk and my legs got tired, I'd just walk on my hands instead.  I'd be triple somersaulting all over the flippin' (ha! see what I did there?!) place.  It must be nice to be a natural athlete.

The E Word keeps rearing its ugly head and I keep on avoiding it like the plague.  Due to my lack of car I do walk nearly everywhere - at least two miles a day, but I'm really starting to get the feeling that I have to do more.  I have arms that need unwobbling.  I have curves that need to look more curvy and less lumpy.  I have core muscles that need... er... coring. 

I'm bored already.  Exercise is for people without the capability to watch sport on television, surely?

I blame the plethora of exercise that's going on in the country right now.  Us sedentary chaps and chapesses are being made to feel guilty.  Look.  Some of us - like Bruce Springsteen - were born to run.  Some of us were born to get public transport instead - like me.

I keep being advised to take up swimming, but I feel this is the last thing I ought to do. For a start it will unquestionably involve, at some stage, the concept of me in a swimming costume. There is probably no sight more repugnant to the human race. Even the thought of it makes my blood run cold. Nobody needs to see that!  Eeesh!!!  The other problem with swimming is that I can't swim.  Which really is a problem that far exceeds any self-hate issues I happen to have running in conjunction with my lack of ability.  Besides, I'd end up with shoulders the size of a small child.  I don't need another hang-up about my physical appearance, thank you - I already have enough for two lifetimes!!

There'll be an activity out there that has my name on it.  Something that doesn't involve going outside, is a well known source of aerobic exercise and is utterly enjoyable and with purpose.  I know what you're all thinking.  And you're right.  I should really start dancing round the living room!  (What?!  What were you thinking?!)

I've been very good this weekend.  I've eaten a lot but it's all been the right sort of stuff.  I've also done a ton of decorating and loads more walking than usual.  That ought to do something for certain muscle groups.  Dunno what, like, but it ought to - I'm knackered.  It should at least improve my karate.  I've seen the Karate Kid (I'm referring to the real one and not the abysmal remake that Jackie Chan basically spent the whole film looking apologetic for.  And this is from the man who made Shanghai Knights!), I know how it works.  I bet I'm an expert now - I could take on ALL the Cobra Kai team and batter 'em!!  Just try coming at me!  Try it!! 

Actually - don't.  I'll most likely scream hysterically, fall to the floor and assume the foetal position.

I don't know what to think about the weight-loss thing at the moment, though.  It seems to me, whenever I think "Oooh, I dunno, I feel a bit podgier this week, I'm sure I've put on!  And how about that extra cup of coffee with milk I had on Tuesday morning?!" it turns out that I lose something ridiculous like 4lbs or so.  But when I've been mega-good and Synned like a nun at Lourdes, and thought to myself, "I've been dead good, I must've lost something this week!  I even feel thinner!" I end up either only losing half a pound or putting a bit of weight on or staying the same.  All I'm doing is following the plan exactly as I did on my first week back in January.  At the moment I'm simply aiming to still be the same weight as I was before my epic week of hedonism.  If I get a better result than that then I shall be chuffed, but I really don't want to get my hopes up.  I mean, I've been very good last week and am determined to be just as good this week, so, who knows.  If I can get as close as I can to my 4 stone mark by next Thursday I shall be more chuffed than the chuff of a chuff's chuff.  And we all know how chuffed they are!

Join me later on in the week for my pre-weigh in nervous breakdown.  It's been two weeks since I last went to Fat Club and I'm sure by Wednesdayish I shall be absolutely terrified about getting back on those there scales...  *wibble*

Full to Bursting

This is the happy predicament in which I find myself.

My cheating days are over.  I think that's what Kirsten Stewart said to Robert Pattinson (satire!).

I have to say, quite seriously now, that I love Slimming World.  For a person of the large persuasion who genuinely loves their food in all its glorious different guises, I'm pretty sure it's the only way.  Basically, the idea of it - for those who are lucky enough not to need to lose weight or those who have never heard of the plan before - is to fill up on foods with a lower density of calories (fruit, veg, rice, pasta, potatoes, lean meat etc) so that you basically don't really have a lot of room for foods with a high density of calories (chocolate, cakes, cheese, booze etc), but the diet is still flexible enough to allow some of those foods every day so (each food is appointed a 'Syn' value, and you're allowed between 10-15 'Syns' a day.  Not 100% sure of the reason for the purposeful misspelling, but I'm a Monkees fan, so I'll let it slide), theoretically, you don't get put off and you can feasibly just eat that way forever.  Which sounds perfectly logical. 

Doesn't it sound just TOO easy??  Yes.  Tell you what though - if you follow it, it works.  Just over 3 1/2 stone later, I'm proof of that.

The reason I mention it is because I'm in that glorious mood of post-lunch.   This lunchtime - and bearing in mind I am absolutely 100% hardcore on this diet right now - I managed to cheerfully plough my way through a jacket potato with baked beans, followed by a Vanilla/Chocolate sprinkles Mullerlight and half a canteloupe melon.  This was on the back of a breakfast consisting of two boiled eggs, a handful of cherries, a banana and an orange.  Stomach - full to capacity.  Syns consumed - 0.  Associated guilt regarding said full stomach - 0.  And don't worry, there's an apple in my bag for later on this afternoon so I will have actually had my five a day!!

Beat that, Weight Watchers.

I have no idea how it works.  But it does feel as though the more you eat, the more weight you lose.  I'm totally up for that. 

I won't be going to weigh-in tonight because there's stuff to do at Wainwright Towers that requires my constant presence.  However, I've had a bit of a conflab with Andrea the Consultant and I'll be back next week, and - hopefully - get my 4 stone shiny sticker and matching certificate.  I shall be working hard to get there.  I just hope it pays off.

The llamas (I know how much you all love them) are fine.  They've been taking it easy for the last few weeks, but they're back in training for next Friday's fiesta.  I've promised them a fiesta and if I don't deliver on it I think Enrique will keel over with worry.  That's right.  I'm not losing weight for my health, my appearance or my obsession with filling my wardrobe with dresses - I'm doing it for the llamas.  After the cannonball stunt of a few weeks ago, Miguel has finally recovered, the cast came off his leg last week and he's delighted - do you know how itchy llama legs get in plaster casts?  Neither do I, but the poor little fella was going mad with the itching.  Watch Rear Window with Jimmy Stewart, you'll get some idea of how Miguel felt.  I mean, with regard to having an itchy leg up to the hip in plaster, not with regard to inadvertently witnessing a murder when all he wanted to do was have a sneaky perve over the ballerina in the flat opposite.

Join me on Monday, if you like.  I don't know what news I'll have to report by then, but if I have any I promise you'll be the first to read about it!!!

Starting All Over Again

I know it's been ages, but I've really had very little indeed to report on the weight loss front.

Although...

On July 5th (exactly 6 months after I first stepped on the scales) I managed to hit my half-way target of 3 1/2 stones. In fact I got just over my half way point, and all I needed was to lose another 5lbs in 5 weeks in order to hit my 4 stone mark.  Then the boredom set in.  And when it set, it stuck good and proper. 

I don't know why, when I'd worked so hard over the last six months, I suddenly decided it would be a fabulous idea to go completely off the rails because I couldn't be bothered keeping on the straight and narrow.  Yes, because getting halfway there totally means you're allowed to give yourself a week or two off, just because you 'can't be bothered'!! 

No, actually, I shouldn't be allowed to give myself two weeks off 'just because' yet.  I've not done anything yet.  Halfway does not count.  I've been here before.  I've been halfway, and I've always fallen into this trap and the weight has piled straight back on and I'm back to where I was before I know it.  I haven't done anything to congratulate myself for yet.  I'm not taking away from the fact that it's been a long hard slog to get this far. And I know that losing over 3 1/2 stones in six months is an achievement, and I'm not really detracting from that.  But it isn't the target.  It isn't where I want to be. 

You don't see people training for marathons giving themselves a few weeks off from training after they finally manage to run for thirteen miles solid, do you?  Exactly.  I haven't made it yet, I've got no reason to start messing around and giving myself lame excuses to fall off the wagon.  So what if I've had a tough day at work?  That doesn't instantly mean that I have to have a few large glasses of something interesting.  It's not going to make my tough day any less tough.  It's just a bunch of extra Syns that I don't actually need and that will only serve to make me feel guilty for a lapse in motivation.

Perhaps, and the thought did occur to me earlier last week, I've really never known myself this size.  It feels weird.  I look in the mirror now and I only see two chins, rather than 50.  I saw my collar bone when I looked in the mirror the other week.  It was just, y'know, there.  I genuinely panicked for a few moments and thought there was a tumour growing below my neck, until I realised what it was!!  My shoulders have gone skinny.  My cheekbones are huge.  I don't look like me any more.

Being smaller than I already am, although I want it desperately, will seem so weird.  Being 'big' is very much an intrinsic part of how I see myself and what I think I am.  If I haven't got that instant, bizarrely comforting, self-deprecating joke of me being fat to hide behind, then I'm not really sure what I have got.  Perhaps my firm thwack on the 'self-destruct' button last week was because I'm actually really scared of the physical aspects of being smaller.  I already hate the attention.  And no, no I haven't had any attention from blokes, they still have no idea I exist - but getting told, "Wow, you look great!" and "Oh my god, look at you!!" or "I can't believe how amazing/stunning/beautiful/fabulous you look!" (and seriously - words like 'stunning' and 'beautiful' should never be associated with me) and all that sort of thing... don't get me wrong, it's lovely, I really appreciate how supportive everyone is - and it's a lot nicer than "Holy hell, look at that fat bitch!" which I haven't actually heard for a while now.  But to be truthful, I don't feel like I deserve it and it really makes me uncomfortable.  I don't really want to be looked at.  I thought that's what being smaller would help me achieve - a nice little degree of invisibility. 

Still.  That's still no reason to go completely off track.  I've got things to do.  I've got clothes to fit into.  I've got a Michael Nesmith gig to go to at the end of October!!  So I'm going to stop feeling sorry for myself, I'm going to stop being scared and I'm going to get the hell on with it. 

In the wise words of Tony DiNozzo from NCIS - "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got."  In the equally wise words of Stanley Holloway - "You can't jump with one foot on the floor."  Basically, this week, I need to get my finger out and make damn sure I don't completely put the last six months to waste.

Four stone mark - I am going to own you...!!

Two Steps Behind

Thank you to Def Leppard for providing the title to today's blog post.  It's in reference to the fact that at the moment I seem to be two steps behind the step forward I'd taken at last week's Fat Club.

I'm sending the llamas to Madrid for the weekend.  It's the Euro 2012 final on Sunday and they're supporting Spain.  They're all so excited it's been pandemonium round here, what with them flinging their sombreros in the air with jubilation, Enrique doing back flips all over the place, Ricardo getting busy making red and yellow leg warmers for the occasion and Miguel finally getting up from his sick bed to look for his passport.  He's still only on three legs at the moment but the cast is due to come off next week, and he can start training again in a couple of weeks.

You know what that means, of course, and they're so busy celebrating the fact that they're going on holiday that they've failed to notice that there will be no fiesta this week.  They only get upset when I don't lose weight, and have you ever seen an unhappy llama face?  It'd melt a heart of lead, I'm telling you.  Look:

Imagine twenty of those.  I  simply couldn't do it to them. 

After a week of hard slog, self-deprivation, a will of cast iron and Synning like a Puritan in an attempt to lose half a goddam sodding pound - I somehow inexplicably managed to put ON half a pound!!

I was gutted.  And really really narked.  Those blooming scales haven't been on my side since Andrea the Consultant bought them!! 

So, I felt the only thing to do under the circumstances was to come home, pour out a few large glasses of something interesting and have my first pizza of the year.  Let's face it, if I put half a pound on by being majorly strict, I may as well eat yummy food and have a good time putting weight on!!

Of course, I'm back on it today.  I do think having nights where you think "Soddit!" is an important part of the whole process.  I'm not going to put 3 1/2 stone back on by eating half a pizza and a enjoying a couple of drinks while I'm watching the football once in six months.  So long as it's just ONE night of forgetting about it out of seven or fourteen or thirty or however often you officially come to the end of your tether, rather than every night, it's not going to do you any harm and it does keep you going on the straight and narrow for a lot longer.  Constantly saying 'no' to food and drink that you're dying to say 'yes' to just depresses you, especially when you feel like you're constantly saying 'no' and not seeing any results from it.  Like me, at the moment.

Although I was genuinely buoyed when one of the ladies at Fat Club who hadn't been for the last couple of weeks turned to me and said, "Bloomin' 'eck, you haven't half gone skinny!  You can really see it in your face!  You're doing brilliant!"  I mean, I was so pleased that I didn't even think about correcting her grammar!! 

I know half a pound isn't the end of the world, but it's just so annoying.  I honestly feel at the moment that I will never ever get there.  Ever.  So I'm not going to think about it for the next few days, it's just too depressing. 

Besides, I've started reading again.  You know the biggest tip writers get?  READ.  As much as you can.  Just give it a whirl.  Get reading.  Open a book, sit down for an hour and let your eyes dance across the pages.  Not literally.  I have to say, when I was younger I was known to (my friend Emily will testify to this) read at least two books in one night.  Of late, I've totally got out of the habit of reading.  It's sheer laziness.  I've had the best of intentions of reading and just never got round to actually doing it in ages and ages.  Not properly.  Not in that 'I am actually so into this book that I have utterly lost my grip on reality' manner that made me fall in love with books and reading and writing in the first place type fashion.  Until yesterday when I started reading The Prisoner of Zenda.  I have a feeling that even though I've only read the first three chapters, if anyone wants me for the next week or so, I'll be in Ruritania. 

The reason I'm telling you this is because I think I've discovered the real cause of my writer's block.  I vaguely realised it yesterday afternoon when I read a snippet of Suzie Tullet's current work in progress, and couldn't stop thinking about all the different directions the story could have come from and might go to.  The realisation was cemented when I started reading Zenda.  I haven't read anything - and so it naturally follows that I can't write anything. 

I don't even know how this works.  It's some sort of magic.  I had worried for a while that writing after reading would be viewed by others as a type of plaigarism.  This, however, is a stupid line of reasoning because - as everyone knows - there are only seven stories, therefore there are no original ideas, there are only variations on themes.  But reading actually doesn't have the effect of making someone write a carbon copy of what they've read.  It does more than that.  It somehow manages to realign your brain into thinking creatively, so that you can form your own plots and subplots and tangents from what you're writing - no story ever really finishes because everyone can add to it or put their own spin on it.  It brings characters and worlds to life and it shows you the way you need to construct sentences, paragraphs and dialogue in order to do it.  They're How-To manuals for the Muse.  It makes the Muse think 'hang on a minute, I can do better than that!' and then before you know it you've written something, most of the time completely different to the thing you've been reading.  I simply haven't had anything to work from.  That's my problem.

I really wish I'd made this glaringly obvious discovery a lot sooner.  I might need to go off-grid while I get some heavy duty reading done over the next few weeks.  I have ideas and hopefully this will help me to realise them.

So, all in all, the utter devastation I felt last night has somewhat dissipated (I think the pizza and brandy helped massively, in fairness) and I'm really rather looking forward to the weekend.  Hopefully I'll get a lot of reading and some other rather important things done and when I report back on Monday I can tell you all about The Prisoner of Zenda and what happened to Rudolf Rassendyll at the coronation...  I hope that Michael fella keeps out of it.  Never trust a fictional character who has been played onscreen by James Mason - that's my advice!!

Whatever you're up to this weekend, have a lovely time, and thank you so much for sitting through this torturously long blog entry!! 

Shortest Blog Post Ever

I feel I may have been unintentionally misleading.  I said at the end of my blog on Monday that I might have some exciting news on Wednesday and now everyone seems to think that I have a huge announcement of excitement.

I... well... I really don't.  Sorry.  I just meant it in that usual, "I might have something exciting to tell you - but the likelihood is I won't," capacity that I normally end posts with.  I should've made myself a bit clearer.  Apologies for building your hopes up.  If I did have any exciting news to announce, I'd just announce it, I wouldn't make you wait!!

No, there is truly nothing to report in my boring life, as usual.  It's a general state of OK-ness in Wainwright Central.  I'm a bit skint, but I'm always a bit skint.  I'm still not a bestselling novellist, but I haven't written in months.  I'm not at target yet, but I won't be for a good few months yet.  I will get there, though, that's a fact.  I'm not going out with David Mitchell, but then I never was.  Curse you, Coren!  Everything is pretty much the same as ever.

I'm feeling a little midweek slumpish, to be honest.  Just a general feeling of 'meh'.  I know why, like, and I suppose in a way it makes things easier knowing that you're feeling 'meh' for a reason, because at least you know you're not going mad.  Or, if you are going mad, there's a a perfectly logical reason for it.

Still, at least Friday will coincide with pay-day.  What's more exciting than pay-day on a Friday, may I ask?  Answer - NOTHING!  Except of course for a fiesta led by a troupe of dancing llamas!!

Let's all cross our fingers and hope for the best - I need to have lost at least half a pound by tomorrow to get my shiny sticker and certificate - but if I've lost more then hopefully I will be well on my way to the 4 stone shiny sticker!!  I wonder what colour that is?!  Liz will know, she'll tell me.  Although I sort of like the surprise of finding out when I get the shiny stickers.  "Oooh!  A green one!!  Shiny!!"  I mean, you know.  It's pathetic but it's a thing.  Just go with it.

There's nothing more to see here.  I think this probably qualifies as my shortest blog post ever.  I bet you didn't even get time for a little swig of tea, did you?! 

Rainy Days and Mondays...

I'd like to dedicate today's blog title to my cousin Angela in honour of the best karaoke story ever!

I had a really weird dream last night that Adam and I went to see Michael Nesmith but Manchester had been taken over by zombies and we were trapped in a taxi with a zombie taxi driver.  It was scary.  I have no idea where it came from either, I am not a fan of the zombie on any level, and have never watched anything involving said mythical baddie ever in my life.  Except an epsiode of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. called 'The Very Important Zombie Affair' and an episode of Gilligan's Island called 'Voodoo'.  But in each case the zombie situation wasn't particularly threatening, least of all from Professor Roy Hinkley. 

In fairness, I get that sort of 'undead' vibe from Manchester every time I visit the place.

And I have to say, he may unquestionably be very close to the top of my Favourite People in Existence list and he is an artistic, literary and musical Peter Perfect - but Mr Leslie screams like a girl when confronted by a zombie asking him for his taxi fare.  Just sayin'.

Tell you what though, if any zombies even attempt to ruin my night seeing Nesmith, they'll be messing with the wrong girl...

Anyway, where was I?  Ah yes.  Manchester.  *shudder*  Let's get out of there.

I can't say the weekend has been particularly interesting.  The rain was so bad on Friday (as previously documented) that I had to postpone Zara and Nicky coming to visit as Leyland was absolutely flooded, so Saturday went from being potentially the most exciting day of the year so far to being spent doing housework and glaring disapprovingly at the rain every time I looked out the window.

In the end I gave up and watched the Bourne Trilogy.  I do love the Bourne films.  I'm not a fan of Matt Damon, particularly - but I do love the films.  They're all very exciting and there's hardly any dialogue to screw up, but there's loads of Jason Bourne looking all tortured and then going off killing people with biros and stuff - and the car chase in The Bourne Supremacy is possibly the best one in cinematic history.  I can't wait till The Bourne Legacy comes out, it'll be more of the same (hey, if it ain't broke etc!) but with Jeremy Renner AND Edward Norton on the screen at the same time!!  Eeep!!  I'm far more excited about that than the Spider-Man and Batman films put together.  Which sounds terrible coming from a huge fan of both Spider-Man and Batman, but there you go.  Don't get me started on my trepidation for the new Spider-Man film.  There's only one Peter Parker/Spider-Man and that's Tobey Maguire. 

I know, I had a similar feeling about the Edward Norton/Mark Ruffalo/Hulk/Bruce Banner issue, and I was proved completely wrong there - but Spider-Man is my all-time favourite superhero and it genuinely didn't feel like Tobey Maguire ever needed to act that role.  He just was Peter/Spidey.  Say what you like about the Sam Raimi films, but they were all very special to me (especially Spider-Man 2) and it's going to take something spectacular to win me over.  Judging by the reviews so far, I'm not going to build my hopes up.

2012 - it's an interesting year for cinema and no mistake!

I did overdo the Synnage on Friday - but I had spent the entire day being rained on and thought a couple of chuff-off brandies would have a medicinal benefit and stop me catching pneumonia.  So far, so good - I've not even had a sniffle yet.  So there must be something in it...  I've been very good on the diet front since Friday, though.  I've had a will of iron.  I will lose that half-pound this week if it flippin' kills me!!!

I might have some exciting news on Wednesday.  Why don't you join me then and find out?

And the Rain Rain Rain Came Down Down Down...

...And the river sucked up Pooh!!

Ah, Disney.  You never cease to be hilarious.

It is truly El Pissi Downio out there today.  I turned up at work looking like a drowned rat because I currently have no umbrella (a stupid thing for any native to this country, I know), as mine was attacked by the only element that no umbrella can stand - the heavy wind/driving rain combo.  I wouldn't have minded but it was a huge umbrella, not one of those ones that snaps in half during a gentle breeze.

You don't want to know my umbrella woes.  I'm getting terribly boring in my old age.  Only yesterday I got a new computer in work and lamented about how difficult Office 2007 is to use compared to Office 2003 (any idiot who thinks getting rid of AutoText is a good idea has NEVER been a secretary!) while lauding the fabness of the i3 processor and being generally impressed with Windows 7. 

I fell asleep twice while typing that sentence.  That's how boring I've become.

You think I'm avoiding talking about Fat Club, don't you?  Well, no, actually, not really.

As you all know, I was desperate to lose 1 1/2 lbs to get to my halfway 3 1/2 stone mark.  I'd been very good indeed and hadn't drunk too much or eaten too much, although as I'd been rather poorly for the past few days I had been what can only be described as sedentary for the past week, so I wasn't too confident.  As it turned out I managed to lose 1lb.  Which is still good going and I know I can't lose 4lbs every week etc etc etc etc, but it was so annoying just to be half a pound out!  That's neither here nor there!!  8oz, it's less than a packet of butter!  Gahhh!!!

So, to stop myself being too annoyed at the 'so near yet so far'-ness of the situation, I've already decided in my head that I've hit it.  Let's face it, if I'd got on the scales an hour earlier or later I probably would've weighed half a pound less.  I've probably already lost half a pound this morning.  My next target is to concentrate on hitting the 4 stone mark. 

I think this is becoming the most sensible option on the weight-loss front (as I'm practically a veteran now).  Rather than thinking "Gosh, I need to lose [insert number here] [ha!! I said 'insert'!!] [HAHA! And again!] stone, that's going to take forEVER!", just think "I can lose half a stone.  Half a stone is do-able.  Any eejit can lose half a stone!" and then when that's done, you can aim to lose another half stone, and then another and another.  You're still aiming for that big goal at the end, but rather than feeling you have an impossible mountain to climb, you just feel you have a few gentle inclines to stroll.  And who knows - I mean at the moment I'm pretty sure my target is 7 stone, but when I get there, what if I haven't lost quite enough and I have to move the goalposts back by a stone, or maybe even two?  If I try telling myself I have to lose nine stone, I'll freak out, but all I ever have to lose is half a stone. I just have to do it quite a few times, that's all.

Come on, then, llamas - time to shimmy away those summertime blues, never mind the rain!  Let the fiesta commence!!

*dances round room like a mad eejit*

My mum lost 1 1/2 lbs in her first week, she wasn't overly strict with keeping to the Syns limit either, so she's really pleased to have seen a result.  She's determined to follow the diet to the letter and lose 4lbs next week - and I bet she'll do it too!! 

This weekend my pal Zara and her son Dominic are coming to visit.  I've not seen them in forever and it'll be lovely to catch up with them both.  Whatever you're up to over the weekend, I hope you have a good'un - and I'll see you back here on Monday with a round-up of all the weekend's action!!

Dude, I Feel So Gnarly

I'm pretty sure only one person on earth will get that particular reference.

My apologies for a lack of update on Monday.  I've been poorly.  I've felt, well... gnarly.  Just unnaturally exhausted, all the time.   And dizzy.  So flippin' dizzy.  Kind of like I'm coming down with something but nothing's actually happening.  You know those really annoying vague illnesses that make you feel like all hell but you can't exactly say what's wrong with you.  So tired my fingertips hurt, frequently dizzy and nauseous, weird headaches that feel like my head's trapped in a vice... and I feel a right numpty going to the doctors and saying "I feel lousy, what the chuff's up with me?!"

Nevertheless, I did.  Two days off work and I still felt rubbish.  There was nothing else for it.  Understandably, the doc was as stumped as I was and sent me for blood tests just to make sure my body isn't being taken over by aliens (because that's guaranteed to make anyone feel under the weather) or anything.

I've dragged myself back into work today and typically I feel even worse today than I did yesterday and Monday combined.  What's a girl to do?  If my boss provided sick pay I'd have taken the week off and actually managed to get some proper rest.  Never mind.  I'll live.  I don't think it's possible to actually die of tiredness.  Although if I'm wrong I want Fire by the Crazy World of Arthur Brown to be played at my cremation...

My plan this week is to lose 1 1/2 lbs.  I dunno if I'll do it because, due to the fact I've felt like someone's pulled the plug out on me and replaced all my limbs with lead-lined cement blocks, I've been rather sedentary the last couple of days.  Still, I've been pretty good on the lack of Synning front.  I've been drinking heaps more water than usual and eaten loads of fruit and stuff.  So I should be okay.  I mean 1 1/2 lbs isn't exactly attempting to reach the unreachable.  I mean if I'm being mammothly aspirational I'd like to have lost 8 1/2 lbs by my weigh in on July 5th, which will be my six-monthiversary of starting Slimming World and it will be great to say I've lost 4 stone in six months.  But if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen, I'll lose it eventually.  I've got just over 4 months before I go to see Michael Nesmith in concert and I should be almost there by then.  At least, I hope so.

Join me again on Friday when I'll bring you all the gossip from Slimming World, including how mum got on during her first week and hopefully news that I've reached my half-way point at last.  The llamas should be on fine form.  Miguel is still tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle, groaning slightly every now and again for effect, but Ricardo's friend Diego said that he'd happily stand in this week while Miguel's recouperating.  I just hope Enrique can teach him the dance routine in time...!!

Keep On Keeping On

There is a double celebration of fiesta-ing today in the Diary, and a good job too.  The llamas have had three weeks off and Enrique has started panicking that if they have any more time off, their muscles will all seize up and they'll never be able to do those high-kicks again.

To mark the glorious occasion, they've decided on a very spectacular stunt.  Miguel has bravely offered to be a llama cannonball!!  Ricardo has designed a lovely red sparkly cape for the occasion. It'll be the finale sequence to the fiesta and I'm sure it'll be a breathtaking sight!

The first reason I'm celebrating is, after a week off and not really following the diet strictly at all - it turns out I've lost a whopping FOUR POUNDS!!!  I'm now just 1 1/2 lbs off having lost 3 1/2 stone!!  For those still keeping track, I've lost 47 1/2 lbs in 23 weeks.  Which is still quite good going.

*AAARRRRIIIIBBAAAAAA!!!!!!*

The second reason for celebration is that I have actually managed to get tickets to see Michael Nesmith - after a very dramatic turn of events this morning.  It nearly didn't happen at all - but eventually I got two seats.  They're back row, I grant you, and when I had the possibilty of seats in the third row at first, it does sting somwhat, but there are only 12 rows in total, the venue only seats 460, and I think the hall is laid out in such a way that there's really no such thing as a bad seat.  I mightn't get to see every whisker on his face but I'll certainly know it's the right fella.

WOOOOOOOHHHHOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

*dances round like a mad eejit*

133 sleeps, apparently.  According to my calculations, there were 136 but I'm reliably informed there are only 133.  This is very exciting news.  I just hope by then I'll be as close as possible to my target size.  I've got four and a half months to lose three dress sizes.  I think I can do it.  I hope so.  Even two would be great!! 

Anyway, back to Slimming World.  My mum joined last night!!  This is great news.  Partly because I get in next week free for introducing someone.  I really hope she makes a good job of it.  She only wants to lose the same amount I've already lost.  And I've managed it so she can definitely do it.  Hell's teeth, she's had five kids, losing a bit of weight isn't going to cause any problems!!!  Apparently Andrea the Consultant kept telling mum (and the other newbies) to listen to what I told her because I'm doing so well.  How embarrassing!!!  I wish Mum hadn't told me, I'm not a fan of all this attention. 

I'm so excited I really don't have the brain to type any more.  Let's see The Llama Cannonball in action for the big finale to end this very exciting and hysterical blog!!

.............

.....................................

...................................................................................

*wince*

Ricardo, you really ought to check that you're not firing that thing off anywhere near a wall....

*sigh*  We're a llama down, ladies and gentlemen, but don't worry, it isn't fatal - he just needs a good rest and he'll be right as rain soon.

Join me next week, when hopefully I'll have calmed down slightly, and I'll give you an update on Miguel's progress.  Hooves crossed he's well on the mend by then!!

Harmony Constant

I don't think this will really get it out of my system, but here it is anyway:

29 OCTOBER!!  SOMEWHERE IN MANCHESTER!!!  ROBERT MICHAEL NESMITH!!!!  AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I found out the news via Milton Keynes' finest export first thing this morning.  Normally I'm a miserable old sod of a morning.  I don't do conversation, I don't do eye contact and I certainly cannot smile before at least my second coffee.  But this morning was different.  The overcast drizzly British summertime morning seemed bright and breezy.  A song filled my heart, my eyes brightened, the smile on my face spread from ear to ear. 

Needless to say, the first thing I did when I arrived in work was book the time off.  It's happening.  It's finally happening.  Me.  Nesmith.  Same airspace.  In the words of Dusty Springfield - I just don't know what to do with myself.  I'm so excited it's beyond ridiculous.  I'm already trying to decide what to wear and realising that I might just be at my target size by October and I don't know how well I can cope with the dual excitement of Nesmith AND skinniness...

I need to link my excitement over the forthcoming Nesmith gig to a recant of my adventures at the weekend.  And I can't do that in a particularly smooth manner.  So... er... I won't.

I went to see Westlife on Saturday with my pal Sue.  She's a huge fan and was so upset that they'd announced they were splitting up before she'd had chance to see them live in concert that she thought 'to hell with it' and ordered two tickets, she didn't care where they were.  They weren't together, but they were on the same row - and I, in an unselfish act of kindness *removes tongue from cheek*, agreed to go with her to save her husband the trauma of spending the evening in a room with 16,000 screaming women.  Which is understandable.

They were actually very good.  Of course, I've liked them since they won the Smash Hits! Pollwinners Best New Act as Westside in 1998, and I used to be absolutely mad about them until around about their third album when I just became far too 60s for anything modern at all.  It also sort of coincided with the time they started to be marketed as a sort of Housewives' Choice act and, well, I'm not a housewife so I suppose I'm not the target audience any more.  I went to see them on their first arena tour back in 1999 (I think), when they were just another boy band as the boy band trend was dying out - and 90% of the audience was made up of 13 year old girls, and they were pretty good then, but naturally, over the years they've just gone from strength to strength and are genuinely a very good live act.  Vocally they're all absolutely spot on and their crowd interaction was brilliant. 

Everyone had a good night.  It was pretty emotional for them, it was their last gig as a group in Manchester.  I suppose it must be a bit weird if you've been doing the same job since you were 18/19 and then you get to 32 and decide it's time for a change - this tour is sort of them working their notice period.  Must be really bizarre for them. 

They did, however, at one point do a cover of 'Don't Cha' by The Pussycat Dolls.  I think the phrase "least said, soonest mended" would apply here.  I don't think the reaction they were after was hysterical laughter, and I'm not proud of myself for it, but it was hilarious in all the wrong ways.  Just... no.  Really.  Just.  No.  Someone will have put it on YouTube by now, and I'd recommend you take a look just for the comedy factor.  Which I have a feeling wasn't quite intentional.

All in all, though, it was a great night, they did very well.  It's strange that it's all over.  It's like they were the last of the great boy bands of the 90s (anyone who is of the mindset 'there were no great boy bands of the 90s' is simply wrong - the 90s were the decade of the boy band, it's like saying there were no great beat groups of the 60s!!).  There's quite a large chapter of my teenage years that's been closed by their breakup.  I'm not sad or upset or anything, it's just a bit sort of... strange.  Still.  Onwards and upwards.  They'll probably get back together for a reunion tour in five years anyway!!

I have no news on the weight loss front.  I'm pretty much back on it now - I discovered yesterday that I'm drinking far too much diet coke and it's made me a bit poorly, so I've quit that.  Herbal teas and water all the way it is, then.  Serves me right, of course.  If I'd only been sensible in my eating and drinking habits in the first place I wouldn't be in this situation now.  Still, if I didn't need to lose weight, I wouldn't have started this blog and what would you have to while 10-15 minutes of your day away with?!  Exactly.  You're welcome!!

Join me again on Wednesday when I might've calmed down slightly from the Most Awesome News Ever In My Life.  But don't count on it...!

Nathan Persad In Colour

The llamas have been shaking their little furry hind quarters to Nathan's new album over the last few days.  Miguel says it's a hoof-tapping delight.  Ricardo says he thinks he might be a little bit in love with him.  Enrique liked it so much he said that listening to it cured his athlete's hoof immediately.  The power of pop music, ladies and gentlemen.

I've known Nathan for... erm... ever, I think.  It certainly feels like it, anyway - or at least it feels that before Nathan and I became friends, my life was merely a case of waiting for him to burst into it like a joyous ray of sunshine, shaking up my world and ensuring that nothing would ever be the same again.   

Not long after Mr P and I became pals, he sent me a copy of his then latest album, The N in R'n'B.  I really wasn't sure what to expect, after all, I was 19, had been stuck in a 60s timewarp from the age of 12 and had by this point not listened to any modern music since approximately 1998.  I really didn't want to hate it because he seemed like such a nice guy, but I'm so fussy about music I knew it'd have to be pretty special for me to really dig it. The first song on the album was called 'Sweetie'.  The intro started, I liked it.  The verse began, he was singing about a beautiful girl with long dark hair - I was in!  The chorus kicked in - it was a sort of spiritual, life affirming moment.  I was hooked.  I must have listened to that album so much that I knew the words better than Nathan did!  Since then I have been proud to be one of Nathan's staunchest supporters.  The man is a musical legend, and it absolutely tears me up that he hasn't hit the big-time yet, in this deplorable age of music that is more about sound engineering wizardry than solid songwriting and musical prowess.  One day, though, it'll be different.  One day.  I just know it.  Especially now as he's actually signed to a label.  A small label, but a label nonetheless.  On 4 June, his second official album (although in total it's his sixth album!) was released through Mile High Music and I have very high hopes for it.

There is a reason for me telling you about this.  'Sweetie', the song that began and cemented my adoration for Persad The Musician (my adoration for Persad The Man was cemented long before that) has been re-recorded and features on his new album, Nathan Persad In Colour!  My cup runneth over!

The opening track, 'We're Back On', is a drum-heavy beat standard detailing the joy of a rekindled romance that really sets the scene for the rest of the album.  Shades of early Hollies and Herman's Hermits shine through and if you're not on your feet by the end of the intro then you're either dead or, as I was during the time of my first listen, driving. 

One of my all-time favourite numbers by Nathan is the wistful 'I Don't Wanna Surf Alone'.  A surf ballad in the 'Don't Worry Baby' ilk, It first featured on his second 'unofficial' album, Maximum NPP, and hasn't really changed much in its arrangement since then, but it didn't need to.  The story is about a successful surfing partnership that blossomed on England's beaches, only to be dashed to pieces like an errant surfboard smashing onto the rocks by one throwaway comment from the song's protagonist.  Realising he can't possibly continue a surfing career without his partner, he begs for forgiveness, declares her the real star of the show, and asks for another chance, "Let's do it again - starting with Skegness."  A beautiful song and a true highlight of the album.

Time and space will fail me if I continue to list all the great moments of the album, but '(I'm Not A) Love 'Em and Leave 'Em Guy' is definitely worth a mention.  An unashamed nod to New Jerseys' finest exports, The Four Seasons, he even mentions Frankie, Tony, Nick and Bob - listen carefully to the backing vocals during the plea, "I'll give you ten reasons why you should stay and love me for all Four Seasons".  His falsetto work is spectacular and would definitely make Frankie Valli proud.

I'll force myself to speed through the next few tracks on the album and pause for 'A Slow One'.  I've been listening to Nathan's music for almost ten years, but this is probably the one track that's surprised me most from him.  It's a bluesy number, with a solid drum beat and some stunning guitar licks, in truth probably only a slight deviation from his unique brand of melting-pot, cross-genre work, but it really sounds as though he's starting to take his music to a new level entirely, one that I didn't know I was ready for but one I love nonetheless.  It's still very Nathan and his own particular turns of phrase will always keep his songs fresh and fun - but this is a bit of a curve ball in comparison to anything you may have heard before by him. 

Time will truly fail me if I talk about 'XB-100', 'Johnny Echols', or the Batman/Searchers bassline section in 'Let's Get Going!' - but suffice to say, Nathan's new album is truly everything I hoped it would be and so much more besides.  I can't recommend it highly enough to you.  If you've got £6 that you'd like to invest wisely, there can be no finer way to spend it than on this album.  There are also some pretty dashed funny liner notes on the back of the album that should help you while away a good five minutes or so!

Join me on Monday, when I'll be well back on the straight and narrow diet-wise again.  Have a lovely weekend, everybody!!

The Blog Entry With No Name

It's all right, I didn't kill myself on Sunday as envisaged.  I hit the 29 mark, I survived, I made it through, I'm going to continue with living for a little while longer.  After all, I've lost three stone, it'd be a shame to waste it.  I'll just have to be old and deal with it like normal people. 

To combat the ageing blues, I've started a new (not 'new', exactly, more 'revisited' as I've loved this actor for years anyway) and more than likely short-lived cinematic obsession, it'll probably only last a few weeks.  I can't even remember how many Stewart Granger films I've watched over the last three days.  At least six.  I've had a jolly good time doing it, too!!  Did you know - and I certainly didn't, but I love him even more now I do know - his real name is James Stewart, but he had to change his name (he chose a mixture of his surname and his mum's maiden name) to stop him being mixed up with... well... James Stewart, aka my absolute favourite actor of all time!  I mean, there is a resemblence, I suppose, they're both tall and a bit gormless-looking!!  Good ol' Granger - he's like the David Bowie of cinema, but without heterochromia!!  Scaramouche.  Get it watched.  It's a classic. 

I went to a party on Friday night and I wore a dress that I bought from a high street shop.  That's right.  I walked into Dorothy Perkins.  I saw a red dress (it's a constant source of disappointment to my Dad that, although I've been raised a true Evertonian, I love wearing red!).  I thought "Oooh, that's pretty!"  I saw it was very reasonably priced.  I bought it.  I tried it on.  IT.  FITTED.  PERFECTLY.  Seriously.  It's such an achievement I really can't describe how chuffed I was.  I might've still looked a mess, but at least I know that I can buy nice clothes on the high street now.  I still have a long way to go, I know I do - but it was such a great feeling to go out in public wearing clothing that wasn't from the plus-size range!!

However, having said all that - I've decided to have a week off the diet.  Not a going mad and turning into Miss Pacman type week off, but just a week off.  It all started on Saturday.  My lovely friend Clayre-Louyse and her husband, Adam, have moved near me.  This is brilliant.  Clayre and I have been friends for about eight years but we've always lived miles and miles away from each other - now she lives a ten minute walk away!!  Hooraaayyy!!  Anyway, I'd been in work all morning, then gone grocery shopping straight from work and by the time I got to Clayre's at half three, I hadn't eaten anything.  I brought her a packet of biscuits (they always help with unpacking), really nice chocolatey ones, and she offered me one with my brew.  Normally I'd've said no and been strong, but I hadn't eaten anything all day and I hadn't had a biscuit all year, so I accepted.  I instantly thought "Gah, that's it now..." and decided to have a day off.  In fact, I had a monumental day off.  I went to the pub with my sister, had burger and chips and a pint of beer, followed by a chocolate ice-cream sundae, which had huge chunks of brownies in - and the brownies were still warm!!  Oh my goodness!  It was indescribably incredible!!

I really haven't had a huge day off like that yet, so I didn't feel too bad.  But bank holidays are funny things, and I haven't been able to reign it back in as normal.  I've not been spectacularly naughty, I've just not been nearly so strict with myself.  So I'm not going to weigh-in tomorrow.  A week off won't kill me.  I'm still going to get there eventually.  It feels like I've taken a bit of pressure off myself, which has to be a good thing.  I'll get back on it properly and with a vengeance in the next day or so, I promise.  I'm even strongly toying with the idea of joining a gym.  Yes, you read that right.  A gym.  Cross-trainers, rowing machines, all that type of thing.  A real live gym!

For those of you who are huge fans of the llamas - fear not!  They will be out in fine style on Friday anyway, dancing away like things possessed, as I will be dedicating Friday's blog to a review of Nathan's album, which I received on Saturday morning.  I'll tell you all about it then!!