Ah, the fragrant odour of smog. The feel of the tarmacadam beneath the feet. The cars driving on the left hand side of the road. I am back in England, folks - and as lovely as France is, I must say I was very glad to be reunited with my Batman bedding after travelling 800 miles over four trains and two taxis on Wednesday night.
The llamas have had a lovely holiday and no mistake. Miguel looks very dashing in his new sombrero blanco, Enrique actually managed to relax and had a few chocolate milkshakes by the pool. Ricardo made a new friend, a llama named Antonio. They got on so well that Antonio has agreed to come back to England and join their dance troupe. You want to see his moonwalk - it's really a sight to behold!!
The llamas have definitely got their legwarmers on this week and are limbering up for quite a fiesta. Why not? After all, we've all been on holiday for a week and had a lovely time - and, even more excitingly, after a week away and eating like a lunatic, I got on the scales at Fat Club last night and discovered to my absolute shock and delight that I had, despite three desserts last Saturday, lost 4lbs!!
So chuffed. I really thought I'd put weight on this week, I'd prepared myself for putting on 5lbs and I was amazed that I hadn't. I've only got 2lbs more to lose before I reach my Club 10 target, so hopefully I'll be able to box that off next week. I know I've gone some weeks and really tried hard and only lost 1/2 lb, but then other weeks I've not been too bothered and totally forgot about it and ended up losing 3 or 4 lbs, so I'm going to go for the relaxed approach this week. Fingers crossed I'll make it.
I've lost 2st 1lb altogether, after my 11th weigh-in. It's not a record-breaking staggering amount, but that's fine. I'm still losing weight and I should have reached my target of losing 7st by the end of September, according to my little Slimming World Graph. I would like to have lost another stone, or at least be well on my way to having lost another stone by the end of April - there's a huge party coming up in the middle of May and I've got a dress lined up for it that I really want to be able to fit into. All I need is a steely determination and the total avoidance of chocolate mousse...
A friend of mine told me back in January when I was a bit stressed out after having put 1 1/2 lbs on, that weight-loss builds momentum as you go on, he likened it to a train gathering pace. And I have to say, he was absolutely right (thanks, Timbolicious!). I've added up all my weight-lossses over the last three months. Including my 1 1/2lb gain in January, my weight loss has been very progressive. In January I lost 8 1/2 lbs, in February I lost 9 1/2 lbs, and in March I lost a total of 13lbs. So I'm losing weight at a much faster rate now than I was when I started, which is all very encouraging. Hopefully I'll carry on in this vein during April. Who knows. It's all very exciting anyway. For anyone who hasn't seen me in a while, I haven't really changed shape too much except for the fact I do go in slightly in the middle now. It's a really slow process but I'm confident that if I stick to it, I'll get there in the end.
Well, after all that, I shall leave you to have a fabulous weekend. There's a bit of a sad note to my weekend as it's the mini-leaving party for my beloved pixie princess, Helena, who moves to Australia in two weeks' time. I miss her already. Although rumour has it she will come back. Hope so. It's a bloomin' long way to go for a quick visit. There is talk of a beer and wine festival at the Commercial Vehicle Museum in Leyland - and if I remember anything from Saturday I shall be sure to relay it to you on Monday.
Whatever you're up to, have a great weekend, and I'll see you all back here on Monday morning!!
Friday 30 March 2012
Sunday 25 March 2012
Ou est tu allez en vacance?
Oddly, that's one of the first phrases I ever really picked up in French. Which is a bit of a silly thing to say to a complete stranger when you're on your holidays. Although if anyone wants to know how old I am, it's all right, I've got it covered - j'ai onze ans.
So anyway, I'm actually in actual France. I'm not too sure what I expected from this country. I expected French people, definitely. I expected it to be a bit bigger than the UK. So, thus far in the list, all my expectations have been met - and, to a certain extent, exceeded, due to the fact it's huge.
I'm staying with my sister, who has owned two houses out here for the last ten years and lived here for the last four years. This is my first time in France and yes, that does make me a terrible sister. Luckily for me, I have baked brownies and lemon drizzle cake today so I'm possibly nearly on my way to being forgiven by both the sister and The Brother-in-Law (capitalisation is, in this instance, correct, due to him being the definitive article of brothers-in-law and generally one of the most amazing chaps you could ever wish to meet) for having avoided their house like the plague for so many years.
I have often described their abode (as I have been able to piece certain aspects of their life out here together by means of stories from everyone else who's been out here) as 'halfway up a mountain in the middle of nowhere'. To be honest, it was a rather accurate description. I mean, in fairness, you cannot fault the scenery, it's rather incredible. Seven whole days of chilling out surrounded by people I love and something akin to the most beautiful parts of British countryside (think of Pitlochry and the Ribble Valley and the Lake District and Snowdonia all mixed into one and timesed by a hundred) but on a much bigger scale - I mean, it's not a bad life, is it!
I must say, before I go any further, that I am in love with Paris. I briefly passed through the city on my way from one train station to another, but I felt that same tingle of excitement run down my spine and the same, almost overwhelming urge to leap out of the taxi and go off on an adventure as I did the first time I went to London. I must return one day for a proper adventure. Anyone who wishes to volunteer as my partner in crime can apply to the usual address. Seriously. Let's go. It'll be ace.
Speaking of taxis - we made a bit of a faux-pas (see, I'm fluent already) in Paris when getting into a taxi. Those familiar with Paris will probably have already guessed and are laughing at our idiocy, but let me tell you - it was the highlight of my journey!! We had already been on four different trains since 8a.m. (it was 4p.m. French time by the time we got off the train in Paris) and Jo had had a couple of little panic attacks, and we'd shared a table from London to Paris with a pair of hippies who gave hippies a bad name - and not only that, took all the leg room - so by the time we arrived in Paris, my head was done in, Jo's nerves were a wreck, and all I wanted to do was get on the last blasted train and get to Michelle's house. That was the plan.
My very rusty French was the only thing that we had been reliant on, and I was convinced that even I could manage to say to a taxi driver "Le gare Bercy, s'il vous plait." Ha!
I had been pre-warned by Michelle that occasionally, there might be an obnoxious Parisian taxi-driver who would pretend not to understand me as I'd probably still be speaking with an English accent, so imagine my surprise when a silver fox strode purposefully towards the sister and I and asked where we needed to go - in English! You know one of those people who are strikingly good-looking and even though you don't fancy them you feel a bit intimidated by them? He was like that, he looked like a film star. I told him we needed to go to Paris Bercy. He said he'd take us. We agreed a sum of money and off we went. He was possibly THE most polite person I have ever met. He opened the car doors for us, wouldn't let us handle our own bags, I mean, the works. 'Piggin' 'ell, dunno what our Shell's going on about, he's a very nice chap!' I stupidly thought to myself.
It wasn't until we got in we realised we'd actually hired a limo..................
Still. Complimentary drinks and snacks AND soft trad jazz the whole journey - it was worth it. But for future reference, apparently it should only cost between 15 and 20 Euros to get from Paris Nord to Paris Bercy in a taxi. Not 80.
For those of you worried about how I'm coping on The Diet in France, I'm pleased to inform you that everything is still going swimmingly and I've been very good indeed. Apart from yesterday, which was the actual date of Mum and Dad's anniversary. We went to a restaurant for a... I dunno... seventy-six course meal - or at least that's what it still feels like. I noshed like a good'un. And they were so lovely. The next to last course was the cheese course and they brought a trolley laden with all sorts of cheeses - and trust me, it stank to high heaven. I hate cheese, and I couldn't bring myself to even attempt it just to be polite, the sight of it makes me feel a bit poorly - so they brought me a huge fruit platter. I've never liked strawberries until yesterday - they were incredible. I would've munched my way through the lot if it hadn't been for the fact I knew there was one more course to go...
Finally, the dessert trolley arrived. Oh, and I made up there for any cheese I didn't eat earlier on! I really did! Three desserts!! A tarte au citron, which was melt-in-the-mouth fabulous, some sort of caramelly nutty... thing... that I could happily have eaten for the rest of my life - until the chocolate mousse. Holy moly. I can still taste it. Hell's teeth. It was the most amazing thing I've ever had in my life.
I've been very very good apart from that though, and in fact, I'm still quite full from yesterday, although I did manage a mushroom omelette for lunch today. I've been for one monumental walk, and have had huge plans of more, but they just haven't come to fruition yet. Still - I'm not going home until Wednesday so I've got plenty of time for all that sort of thing!!
I shall tell you more about my adventures when I get back. I might be able to update again while I'm over here but don't hold me to that!! There's still tonnes to tell you, such as my amazing discovery in the video cabinet, the discovery of Reggie Perrin and my new Superhero Psychology textbook!!
I got a postcard from the llamas, by the way. They're all having a lovely time and Ricardo thinks he's found a new recruit for the dance troupe... more on that next time!!
So anyway, I'm actually in actual France. I'm not too sure what I expected from this country. I expected French people, definitely. I expected it to be a bit bigger than the UK. So, thus far in the list, all my expectations have been met - and, to a certain extent, exceeded, due to the fact it's huge.
I'm staying with my sister, who has owned two houses out here for the last ten years and lived here for the last four years. This is my first time in France and yes, that does make me a terrible sister. Luckily for me, I have baked brownies and lemon drizzle cake today so I'm possibly nearly on my way to being forgiven by both the sister and The Brother-in-Law (capitalisation is, in this instance, correct, due to him being the definitive article of brothers-in-law and generally one of the most amazing chaps you could ever wish to meet) for having avoided their house like the plague for so many years.
I have often described their abode (as I have been able to piece certain aspects of their life out here together by means of stories from everyone else who's been out here) as 'halfway up a mountain in the middle of nowhere'. To be honest, it was a rather accurate description. I mean, in fairness, you cannot fault the scenery, it's rather incredible. Seven whole days of chilling out surrounded by people I love and something akin to the most beautiful parts of British countryside (think of Pitlochry and the Ribble Valley and the Lake District and Snowdonia all mixed into one and timesed by a hundred) but on a much bigger scale - I mean, it's not a bad life, is it!
I must say, before I go any further, that I am in love with Paris. I briefly passed through the city on my way from one train station to another, but I felt that same tingle of excitement run down my spine and the same, almost overwhelming urge to leap out of the taxi and go off on an adventure as I did the first time I went to London. I must return one day for a proper adventure. Anyone who wishes to volunteer as my partner in crime can apply to the usual address. Seriously. Let's go. It'll be ace.
Speaking of taxis - we made a bit of a faux-pas (see, I'm fluent already) in Paris when getting into a taxi. Those familiar with Paris will probably have already guessed and are laughing at our idiocy, but let me tell you - it was the highlight of my journey!! We had already been on four different trains since 8a.m. (it was 4p.m. French time by the time we got off the train in Paris) and Jo had had a couple of little panic attacks, and we'd shared a table from London to Paris with a pair of hippies who gave hippies a bad name - and not only that, took all the leg room - so by the time we arrived in Paris, my head was done in, Jo's nerves were a wreck, and all I wanted to do was get on the last blasted train and get to Michelle's house. That was the plan.
My very rusty French was the only thing that we had been reliant on, and I was convinced that even I could manage to say to a taxi driver "Le gare Bercy, s'il vous plait." Ha!
I had been pre-warned by Michelle that occasionally, there might be an obnoxious Parisian taxi-driver who would pretend not to understand me as I'd probably still be speaking with an English accent, so imagine my surprise when a silver fox strode purposefully towards the sister and I and asked where we needed to go - in English! You know one of those people who are strikingly good-looking and even though you don't fancy them you feel a bit intimidated by them? He was like that, he looked like a film star. I told him we needed to go to Paris Bercy. He said he'd take us. We agreed a sum of money and off we went. He was possibly THE most polite person I have ever met. He opened the car doors for us, wouldn't let us handle our own bags, I mean, the works. 'Piggin' 'ell, dunno what our Shell's going on about, he's a very nice chap!' I stupidly thought to myself.
It wasn't until we got in we realised we'd actually hired a limo..................
Still. Complimentary drinks and snacks AND soft trad jazz the whole journey - it was worth it. But for future reference, apparently it should only cost between 15 and 20 Euros to get from Paris Nord to Paris Bercy in a taxi. Not 80.
For those of you worried about how I'm coping on The Diet in France, I'm pleased to inform you that everything is still going swimmingly and I've been very good indeed. Apart from yesterday, which was the actual date of Mum and Dad's anniversary. We went to a restaurant for a... I dunno... seventy-six course meal - or at least that's what it still feels like. I noshed like a good'un. And they were so lovely. The next to last course was the cheese course and they brought a trolley laden with all sorts of cheeses - and trust me, it stank to high heaven. I hate cheese, and I couldn't bring myself to even attempt it just to be polite, the sight of it makes me feel a bit poorly - so they brought me a huge fruit platter. I've never liked strawberries until yesterday - they were incredible. I would've munched my way through the lot if it hadn't been for the fact I knew there was one more course to go...
Finally, the dessert trolley arrived. Oh, and I made up there for any cheese I didn't eat earlier on! I really did! Three desserts!! A tarte au citron, which was melt-in-the-mouth fabulous, some sort of caramelly nutty... thing... that I could happily have eaten for the rest of my life - until the chocolate mousse. Holy moly. I can still taste it. Hell's teeth. It was the most amazing thing I've ever had in my life.
I've been very very good apart from that though, and in fact, I'm still quite full from yesterday, although I did manage a mushroom omelette for lunch today. I've been for one monumental walk, and have had huge plans of more, but they just haven't come to fruition yet. Still - I'm not going home until Wednesday so I've got plenty of time for all that sort of thing!!
I shall tell you more about my adventures when I get back. I might be able to update again while I'm over here but don't hold me to that!! There's still tonnes to tell you, such as my amazing discovery in the video cabinet, the discovery of Reggie Perrin and my new Superhero Psychology textbook!!
I got a postcard from the llamas, by the way. They're all having a lovely time and Ricardo thinks he's found a new recruit for the dance troupe... more on that next time!!
Monday 19 March 2012
Leaving On A Jet Plane
Yes, I know, I'm leaving on a series of trains, but you get the general idea.
The last time I left the UK was in 2006, I think. My friend Clayre-Louyse and I went to Norway for 24 hours. We wanted to do something a bit different and Ryanair had flights going for £1.99 per person each way. It would've been rude to not take advantage of that! I think the last real live actual holiday I went on that didn't involve being somewhere because I had something to do and somewhere to go was in 2003 when I went to America for a fortnight that turned into three weeks because of the snow. So... yeah. I think a holiday is somewhat overdue!
I know you're probably all a bit worried about the llamas. After all, they do work very hard all week training for the Big Fiesta of a Friday, and if I leave them for a week with no food and drink they might waste away. Well. Fear not. The boys are off on their holidays too. Tomorrow, they are all jetting off to Magaluf for a week of well-earned R&R. Ricardo has packed his shocking pink leg-warmers for nights out and fluorescent green ones for lounging by the pool with a pina colada. Miguel can't wait to buy himself a new sombrero after one of the twins, Pedro, accidentally ate his old one. Enrique is, frankly, on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he has made checklists of checklists for all the things they need to remember. He must have checked all the llama passports at least five times already this morning. No wonder he's so short - it's all the stress, it must have stunted his growth.
When they get back though, they'll be straight back in training!! As will I! I've still got a shedload of weight to lose, and I don't see why being on holiday should necessarily mean that I have to undo all the hard work I've done over the last ten weeks. I mean I'll definitely have a few more drinkypoops than usual (I am particularly excited about having my first beer of 2012 while I'm away - I can almost taste the Kronenburg already!) and it'd be unfair not to have a smidgen of something yummy from the patisserie - but there's still no need to go crazy and reprise my previous role in life as Miss Pacman just because I'm not going to Fat Club on Thursday. I'm aiming to lose a minimum of 3lbs but I'm hoping to get as close to losing 6lbs over the next two weeks as I can (which isn't impossible and I have done it before). August is getting closer by the day and I don't want to let the side down by ruining things for myself when I've really only just started. I've just got things to do. Big things. Food can't get in the way of my plans - I've made too many of them!!
I can't promise any blog entries while I'm away - although I can promise that I'll try to update at least once. I'm really looking forward to France now. I was unsure about it at first, but now I'm longing to take some lovely long walks in the countryside, taking in the view, hopefully getting inspired to do a bit of writing - the landscape of Leyland really isn't conduicive to a great deal of inspiration, I won't lie.
That's right, France. I'm ready for you. Just hope the feeling's mutual!!
I have no news to report of the weekend's activities. The big sister and I were so pooped after a long and stressful week that we were reduced to gibbering wrecks by Friday and did pretty much chuff all over the weekend, despite our valiant plans of cleaning and packing. However, Jo did teach me how to make a proper spaghetti bolognese last night. I was quite proud of myself. It was actually edible. It's weird that, although I can bake one hell of a cake - I find cooking savoury food to be completely baffling, unless it's a full English breakfast. Which is most unfortunate because it turns out that you can't actually live on cake and full English breakfasts. Trust me. I've tried!!
So, this is it - the penultimate English blog of the month. Jo and I will be catching the eight o'clock train from Leyland on Wednesday morning. We should just be arriving in London this time in 48 hours. Whatever you're all up to over the next ten days, I hope you all have a lovely time. Be good - and if you can't be good, be careful. I will miss you all very much indeed - but don't worry, I shall be back with Ricardo and the boys a week on Friday, hopefully with some good news from Fat Club. If not, it won't be from a lack of trying, that's for sure!
The last time I left the UK was in 2006, I think. My friend Clayre-Louyse and I went to Norway for 24 hours. We wanted to do something a bit different and Ryanair had flights going for £1.99 per person each way. It would've been rude to not take advantage of that! I think the last real live actual holiday I went on that didn't involve being somewhere because I had something to do and somewhere to go was in 2003 when I went to America for a fortnight that turned into three weeks because of the snow. So... yeah. I think a holiday is somewhat overdue!
I know you're probably all a bit worried about the llamas. After all, they do work very hard all week training for the Big Fiesta of a Friday, and if I leave them for a week with no food and drink they might waste away. Well. Fear not. The boys are off on their holidays too. Tomorrow, they are all jetting off to Magaluf for a week of well-earned R&R. Ricardo has packed his shocking pink leg-warmers for nights out and fluorescent green ones for lounging by the pool with a pina colada. Miguel can't wait to buy himself a new sombrero after one of the twins, Pedro, accidentally ate his old one. Enrique is, frankly, on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he has made checklists of checklists for all the things they need to remember. He must have checked all the llama passports at least five times already this morning. No wonder he's so short - it's all the stress, it must have stunted his growth.
When they get back though, they'll be straight back in training!! As will I! I've still got a shedload of weight to lose, and I don't see why being on holiday should necessarily mean that I have to undo all the hard work I've done over the last ten weeks. I mean I'll definitely have a few more drinkypoops than usual (I am particularly excited about having my first beer of 2012 while I'm away - I can almost taste the Kronenburg already!) and it'd be unfair not to have a smidgen of something yummy from the patisserie - but there's still no need to go crazy and reprise my previous role in life as Miss Pacman just because I'm not going to Fat Club on Thursday. I'm aiming to lose a minimum of 3lbs but I'm hoping to get as close to losing 6lbs over the next two weeks as I can (which isn't impossible and I have done it before). August is getting closer by the day and I don't want to let the side down by ruining things for myself when I've really only just started. I've just got things to do. Big things. Food can't get in the way of my plans - I've made too many of them!!
I can't promise any blog entries while I'm away - although I can promise that I'll try to update at least once. I'm really looking forward to France now. I was unsure about it at first, but now I'm longing to take some lovely long walks in the countryside, taking in the view, hopefully getting inspired to do a bit of writing - the landscape of Leyland really isn't conduicive to a great deal of inspiration, I won't lie.
That's right, France. I'm ready for you. Just hope the feeling's mutual!!
I have no news to report of the weekend's activities. The big sister and I were so pooped after a long and stressful week that we were reduced to gibbering wrecks by Friday and did pretty much chuff all over the weekend, despite our valiant plans of cleaning and packing. However, Jo did teach me how to make a proper spaghetti bolognese last night. I was quite proud of myself. It was actually edible. It's weird that, although I can bake one hell of a cake - I find cooking savoury food to be completely baffling, unless it's a full English breakfast. Which is most unfortunate because it turns out that you can't actually live on cake and full English breakfasts. Trust me. I've tried!!
So, this is it - the penultimate English blog of the month. Jo and I will be catching the eight o'clock train from Leyland on Wednesday morning. We should just be arriving in London this time in 48 hours. Whatever you're all up to over the next ten days, I hope you all have a lovely time. Be good - and if you can't be good, be careful. I will miss you all very much indeed - but don't worry, I shall be back with Ricardo and the boys a week on Friday, hopefully with some good news from Fat Club. If not, it won't be from a lack of trying, that's for sure!
Friday 16 March 2012
If Llamas had Thumbs...
...They would be held aloft right now, like Sir Paul McCartney in llamaesque form, jubilantly declaring a silent victory in one of the many battles in my war with weight.
Ah, but llamas don't have thumbs. They have hooves. What are hooves for, Ricardo?
"Son para bailar, señora!"
Eh?
"He says, 'They're for dancing, lady!'"
(Thank goodness for my half-English llama, Steve!)
Right!! Hit it!!!
*shakes maracas as if possessed by the spirit of Davy Jones himself*
3 1/2 lbs off!! Who'd've thought? I certainly wouldn't. In fact I told the weigh-in lady that I was convinced I'd put weight on. I explained that it wasn't that I'd been naughty, I'd just not really eaten very much and done practically no exercise. So, when I got on the scales and it said that, we were all shocked - even Andrea the Consultant!
I'm now 3lbs off my 2 stone award and 6lbs off my Club 10 target. I mean, it's going well, isn't it?! It's all happening. The chart thingy on the Slimming World website thinks I'll have achieved my final target by mid-September. I can cope with that. That's only six months away.
I'll be skinny. Well. Thinner. Sooner than I think. I don't know, it still seems impossible. But if I keep doing it then it might just happen. One day. Maybe.
Briefly, in other news - the script is finished and going in the post this afternoon. I'm really proud of it. Don't think I've ever really been proud of anything I've written before, I can always see improvements and things that I should've done better. And I know I wouldn't have got it done - and it definitely wouldn't have been so funny - if it hadn't been for my lovely writing partner. The man is a legend. Wainwright & Leslie. Almost as catchy as Galton & Simpson. Watch out, we'll be taking over television before you know it. I can tell. He'll get his own panel show and I'll just take advantage of the free booze at the awards ceremonies before clumsily trying it on with David Mitchell... High life - we're ready for you!
This weekend will basically consist of doing boring things like packing and cleaning before the sister and I go on our French adventures. I'm very excited about it now. Not only will I get to see my other big sister who I haven't seen in over a year, I'll also get to spend a few brief minutes with my best pal, Nathan, during my fleeting stop in London. Just about time for a hug and a hi - but totally worth it, and hooray for him for making it possible!!
Join me again on Monday for the penultimate English blog entry of the month, when I'll be looking forward to speaking French again - or not, and probably panicking ever so slightly about remembering my passport...
Ah, but llamas don't have thumbs. They have hooves. What are hooves for, Ricardo?
"Son para bailar, señora!"
Eh?
"He says, 'They're for dancing, lady!'"
(Thank goodness for my half-English llama, Steve!)
Right!! Hit it!!!
*shakes maracas as if possessed by the spirit of Davy Jones himself*
3 1/2 lbs off!! Who'd've thought? I certainly wouldn't. In fact I told the weigh-in lady that I was convinced I'd put weight on. I explained that it wasn't that I'd been naughty, I'd just not really eaten very much and done practically no exercise. So, when I got on the scales and it said that, we were all shocked - even Andrea the Consultant!
I'm now 3lbs off my 2 stone award and 6lbs off my Club 10 target. I mean, it's going well, isn't it?! It's all happening. The chart thingy on the Slimming World website thinks I'll have achieved my final target by mid-September. I can cope with that. That's only six months away.
I'll be skinny. Well. Thinner. Sooner than I think. I don't know, it still seems impossible. But if I keep doing it then it might just happen. One day. Maybe.
Briefly, in other news - the script is finished and going in the post this afternoon. I'm really proud of it. Don't think I've ever really been proud of anything I've written before, I can always see improvements and things that I should've done better. And I know I wouldn't have got it done - and it definitely wouldn't have been so funny - if it hadn't been for my lovely writing partner. The man is a legend. Wainwright & Leslie. Almost as catchy as Galton & Simpson. Watch out, we'll be taking over television before you know it. I can tell. He'll get his own panel show and I'll just take advantage of the free booze at the awards ceremonies before clumsily trying it on with David Mitchell... High life - we're ready for you!
This weekend will basically consist of doing boring things like packing and cleaning before the sister and I go on our French adventures. I'm very excited about it now. Not only will I get to see my other big sister who I haven't seen in over a year, I'll also get to spend a few brief minutes with my best pal, Nathan, during my fleeting stop in London. Just about time for a hug and a hi - but totally worth it, and hooray for him for making it possible!!
Join me again on Monday for the penultimate English blog entry of the month, when I'll be looking forward to speaking French again - or not, and probably panicking ever so slightly about remembering my passport...
Wednesday 14 March 2012
The Last Time
Welcome, one and all, to the final Wednesday blog of the month!!
I'm travelling to France next Wednesday for a family shindig - and yes, it will take all day. We're going by train, so it'll take between ten and eleven hours. Sheesh. The following Wednesday, I will be travelling home. I will probably be able to update the blog while I'm in France, maybe, possibly - but after Monday's blog I can't guarantee much on the updating front until 30 March.
So, as it is the last Wednesday blog of the month, I suppose I'd best find something monumental to tell you.
Erm.
........ Umm.........
... Nah, I got nuthin'.
Good progress has been made on the script. Which is quite fortunate considering that the deadline is a week today. Luckily I have a genius and all-round good egg looking over it and contributing greatly to the content and layout - so I think between us we will make a writing team as strong as Spike Milligan and Eric Sykes, or Terry Jones and Michael Palin, or Caroline Quentin and.... that other fella... Don't worry, folks, when we're famous, we'll still remember you. Whoever you are.
I'm feeling much more chipper today - I thought I would do. I think a large part of it is to do with the fact I did manage to complete my first re-write of the script. I think after hearing about Davy Jones, stupid as it sounds, my head was a bit screwed up. Not in an 'I need therapy' type way or anything nearly so drastic, just in a 'Oh. Right. Well. I don't know if I remember how to be funny, now' type way. Just, y'know. Well. It came as a shock to everyone, didn't it? But I did have visions of the deadline passing me by and me just beating myself up endlessly over it. Even though the Beeb are always on the lookout for unsolicited sitcom scripts and I could feasibly have sent it to them any time - I think the Dawn French factor in this particular competition really made me want to make an extra effort. So, even though I know it isn't finished yet, I'm a lot more confident that it will be finished by the deadline and we can still enter the competition together. It feels like an achievement already.
Dieting is still going the same way as before. I haven't done much walking this week, partly because I got a bit put off the idea on Sunday and partly because I'm just shattered this week, it's been ungodly stressful at work and my head's a bit mashed - the last thing I feel like I've got the energy for is a 7a.m. stroll to and from the little Tesco at the bottom of the hill!! I'll work something out, though. I'll get back on it. I don't feel remotely thinner this week and I feel as though I might've put a little weight on but I know why and I'm not too worried. I'm not going to fat club next week so I've got two weeks to sort myself out and hopefully get even closer to my 2 stone certificate and my Club 10 certificate, which are only 3lbs apart. I want it to be Shiny Stickers A Go-Go when I get back into that slimming club!!!
Join me again on Friday, when hopefully the llamas will be out in full force and having a good old boogie in celebration of me losing some sort of weight... but don't hold your breath - I certainly won't be!!
I'm travelling to France next Wednesday for a family shindig - and yes, it will take all day. We're going by train, so it'll take between ten and eleven hours. Sheesh. The following Wednesday, I will be travelling home. I will probably be able to update the blog while I'm in France, maybe, possibly - but after Monday's blog I can't guarantee much on the updating front until 30 March.
So, as it is the last Wednesday blog of the month, I suppose I'd best find something monumental to tell you.
Erm.
........ Umm.........
... Nah, I got nuthin'.
Good progress has been made on the script. Which is quite fortunate considering that the deadline is a week today. Luckily I have a genius and all-round good egg looking over it and contributing greatly to the content and layout - so I think between us we will make a writing team as strong as Spike Milligan and Eric Sykes, or Terry Jones and Michael Palin, or Caroline Quentin and.... that other fella... Don't worry, folks, when we're famous, we'll still remember you. Whoever you are.
I'm feeling much more chipper today - I thought I would do. I think a large part of it is to do with the fact I did manage to complete my first re-write of the script. I think after hearing about Davy Jones, stupid as it sounds, my head was a bit screwed up. Not in an 'I need therapy' type way or anything nearly so drastic, just in a 'Oh. Right. Well. I don't know if I remember how to be funny, now' type way. Just, y'know. Well. It came as a shock to everyone, didn't it? But I did have visions of the deadline passing me by and me just beating myself up endlessly over it. Even though the Beeb are always on the lookout for unsolicited sitcom scripts and I could feasibly have sent it to them any time - I think the Dawn French factor in this particular competition really made me want to make an extra effort. So, even though I know it isn't finished yet, I'm a lot more confident that it will be finished by the deadline and we can still enter the competition together. It feels like an achievement already.
Dieting is still going the same way as before. I haven't done much walking this week, partly because I got a bit put off the idea on Sunday and partly because I'm just shattered this week, it's been ungodly stressful at work and my head's a bit mashed - the last thing I feel like I've got the energy for is a 7a.m. stroll to and from the little Tesco at the bottom of the hill!! I'll work something out, though. I'll get back on it. I don't feel remotely thinner this week and I feel as though I might've put a little weight on but I know why and I'm not too worried. I'm not going to fat club next week so I've got two weeks to sort myself out and hopefully get even closer to my 2 stone certificate and my Club 10 certificate, which are only 3lbs apart. I want it to be Shiny Stickers A Go-Go when I get back into that slimming club!!!
Join me again on Friday, when hopefully the llamas will be out in full force and having a good old boogie in celebration of me losing some sort of weight... but don't hold your breath - I certainly won't be!!
Monday 12 March 2012
Crash! Boom! Bang!
Can't believe it's Monday again. Can't a girl get a break?! All I want is just one day off, just one, on my own, to get my little head straight, to get some things done that need doing and to just have a few hours of silence. God. Sounds like heaven. It's all too much. I need everything to stop for a while so my head stops spinning. I have a feeling it won't happen until at least Easter, though. Even then, I have my doubts!
Saturday was lovely. I haven't seen my niece and nephews (collectively still termed 'the kids' despite the fact they're all grown up and only a few years younger than I am) all year. Which is partly due to general bad auntie-dom, but also due to the fact Southport is a hell of a place to navigate into and out of on public transport - and the fact my niece now lives in Bristol. Which is quite a walk. Still, getting to spend time with any of them is on my favourite things to do in the whole world list - so spending time with all three of them at once made me ridiculously happy. It's my Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary at the end of March and the celebrations began on Saturday. Well. Technically I think they began last Wednesday when Mum invited some of my cousins over, but this was the first actual party for them, and there will be more celebrations as the month progresses. I mean, why not? If you're going to celebrate something so monumental, do it properly!!
I got really upset yesterday. I have never known an overweight person get heckled more than I do while minding their own business walking down the street. Honestly. It's ridiculous. I must be some sort of monster. People must visibly recoil in horror when they look at me and get a little bit sick in their mouths at the sight of the putrid mass that is me. Honestly. I was just walking to my pal's house, feeling quite proud of myself for not being knackered at the half-way point, when I saw three kids on the pavement a bit further up the road. I hate children (I say 'children', they were probably about 17, however, evidently still not old enough to have learned any people skills), as you know, so I thought rather than have to share the same airspace as them, I'd just cross the road. As I did, this happened:
BOY 1: Bloody hell, you're fat, aren't you?
ME: [thinking] Ignore him, ignore him, he may be talking to... someone else... even if you are the only other person on the street!
BOY 1: Erm, excuse me, didn't you hear me?
ME: [thinking] Holy hell! Vile people are getting braver! I wish I knew more people on this road so I could just call on them and hide till they went away!
BOY 2: I'm sorry, were you talking to me, I thought you were talking to the fat person who just crossed the road!
ME: [thinking] If only there was a convenient tall building I could throw myself off at this juncture - it'd be over quickly, I must have one hell of a gravitational pull!!
I mean - goodness only knows what they'd've said if they'd seen me walking down the street at the beginning of January, they'd've probably had a heart attack - as between all three of them they probably only have one heart.
I know. I know what you're all saying. They're idiots - and this is true. They were only showing off in front of their friends - and this is true too, because one of them was a girl. I am quite aware that their hostility and attempts to humiliate me in public was merely due to the fact that they likely have to compensate for inadequate-sized, ineffectual genetalia. And I do derive a smug sense of satisfaction that, if they ever read this blog entry, they wouldn't have a clue what the last sentence meant. But then you can't help that little voice in the back of your head saying, "They're only saying what everyone else is thinking because they don't know you so they're not worried about offending you." You'd think, the more it happened, the less it'd hurt, but to be honest, it doesn't hurt any less - if anything, especially after all the hard work I've put in over the last nine weeks, it hurts more.
I'm feeling very wobbly at the moment, I think that's what I'm saying. I keep having dreams about devouring the contents of a sweet shop and I wake up feeling really bloated and horrible, even though I know I haven't really eaten anything. I felt a bit of a failure on Thursday night and managed to talk myself round by Friday - but now I feel as though perhaps my initial self-loathing was possibly warranted. The thing is, I'm really doing my best and I feel like it isn't good enough but I've no idea what else I can possibly do to make it better. I know I'm a bit grumpy, but by and large I like to think I'm quite a nice person - I definitely wouldn't go out of my way to upset anyone, and I don't understand why complete strangers feel the need to inform me of how large I am when I am clearly already painfully aware of the fact. Really. Stop it. It's fine. I know. I'm doing something about it. It isn't a miracle cure, it's a long, hard slog - so it'll take time, but I'm doing it. Just... back off and stop heckling me! I wouldn't mind but they're not even funny like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show!!
So, all in all, I'm feeling far too Mondayish for my own good today. Still. There's only seven hours until I'm on the train on my way home. Sorry. Six hours and fifty nine minutes...
Join me again on Wednesday. The good thing about that will be the fact that as I'm already pretty much at rock bottom today, I can't hit a midweek slump by Wednesday - so with any luck I'll be feeling far more cheerful and positive about everything. Well. Perhaps!!
Saturday was lovely. I haven't seen my niece and nephews (collectively still termed 'the kids' despite the fact they're all grown up and only a few years younger than I am) all year. Which is partly due to general bad auntie-dom, but also due to the fact Southport is a hell of a place to navigate into and out of on public transport - and the fact my niece now lives in Bristol. Which is quite a walk. Still, getting to spend time with any of them is on my favourite things to do in the whole world list - so spending time with all three of them at once made me ridiculously happy. It's my Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary at the end of March and the celebrations began on Saturday. Well. Technically I think they began last Wednesday when Mum invited some of my cousins over, but this was the first actual party for them, and there will be more celebrations as the month progresses. I mean, why not? If you're going to celebrate something so monumental, do it properly!!
I got really upset yesterday. I have never known an overweight person get heckled more than I do while minding their own business walking down the street. Honestly. It's ridiculous. I must be some sort of monster. People must visibly recoil in horror when they look at me and get a little bit sick in their mouths at the sight of the putrid mass that is me. Honestly. I was just walking to my pal's house, feeling quite proud of myself for not being knackered at the half-way point, when I saw three kids on the pavement a bit further up the road. I hate children (I say 'children', they were probably about 17, however, evidently still not old enough to have learned any people skills), as you know, so I thought rather than have to share the same airspace as them, I'd just cross the road. As I did, this happened:
BOY 1: Bloody hell, you're fat, aren't you?
ME: [thinking] Ignore him, ignore him, he may be talking to... someone else... even if you are the only other person on the street!
BOY 1: Erm, excuse me, didn't you hear me?
ME: [thinking] Holy hell! Vile people are getting braver! I wish I knew more people on this road so I could just call on them and hide till they went away!
BOY 2: I'm sorry, were you talking to me, I thought you were talking to the fat person who just crossed the road!
ME: [thinking] If only there was a convenient tall building I could throw myself off at this juncture - it'd be over quickly, I must have one hell of a gravitational pull!!
I mean - goodness only knows what they'd've said if they'd seen me walking down the street at the beginning of January, they'd've probably had a heart attack - as between all three of them they probably only have one heart.
I know. I know what you're all saying. They're idiots - and this is true. They were only showing off in front of their friends - and this is true too, because one of them was a girl. I am quite aware that their hostility and attempts to humiliate me in public was merely due to the fact that they likely have to compensate for inadequate-sized, ineffectual genetalia. And I do derive a smug sense of satisfaction that, if they ever read this blog entry, they wouldn't have a clue what the last sentence meant. But then you can't help that little voice in the back of your head saying, "They're only saying what everyone else is thinking because they don't know you so they're not worried about offending you." You'd think, the more it happened, the less it'd hurt, but to be honest, it doesn't hurt any less - if anything, especially after all the hard work I've put in over the last nine weeks, it hurts more.
I'm feeling very wobbly at the moment, I think that's what I'm saying. I keep having dreams about devouring the contents of a sweet shop and I wake up feeling really bloated and horrible, even though I know I haven't really eaten anything. I felt a bit of a failure on Thursday night and managed to talk myself round by Friday - but now I feel as though perhaps my initial self-loathing was possibly warranted. The thing is, I'm really doing my best and I feel like it isn't good enough but I've no idea what else I can possibly do to make it better. I know I'm a bit grumpy, but by and large I like to think I'm quite a nice person - I definitely wouldn't go out of my way to upset anyone, and I don't understand why complete strangers feel the need to inform me of how large I am when I am clearly already painfully aware of the fact. Really. Stop it. It's fine. I know. I'm doing something about it. It isn't a miracle cure, it's a long, hard slog - so it'll take time, but I'm doing it. Just... back off and stop heckling me! I wouldn't mind but they're not even funny like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show!!
So, all in all, I'm feeling far too Mondayish for my own good today. Still. There's only seven hours until I'm on the train on my way home. Sorry. Six hours and fifty nine minutes...
Join me again on Wednesday. The good thing about that will be the fact that as I'm already pretty much at rock bottom today, I can't hit a midweek slump by Wednesday - so with any luck I'll be feeling far more cheerful and positive about everything. Well. Perhaps!!
Friday 9 March 2012
I am Not a Number, I am a Free Woman!
You see, there's a reason for me updating my blog on a Friday rather than on a Thursday night. If I'd asked the llamas to dance for me last night, Ricardo would have looked derisively at me and replied, "La mitad de una libra? Eso no vale ni siquiera una sonrisa, la novia!" - or, as they say in Spanish, "Half a pound? That isn't even worth a smile, girlfriend!"
He'd have been right. I was gutted. There's no point in all of this 'any loss is a good loss' thing as soon as you get that news. It's very encouraging and motivating two or three hours later when you've finished beating yourself up and you're in the process of dusting yourself down and starting all over again - and admittedly it's more helpful than handing over a large slice of chocolate cake and saying "to hell with it, get this down you!" But at the time - when you'd been hoping and striving to lose a minimum of 2lbs and you only lose 1/2lb - trying to get any posititivity out of that feeling of abject failure is really tough.
However, I've slept on it. Not the llama - the bitter disappointment that after a week of sensible eating and walking like a true Wainwright, I only lost half a blasted pound. Now, after a fabulous night's sleep - now I can say the words we've all been waiting for all week:
Hit it, llamas!!!
*shimmys around the room shaking maracas*
Why the celebration?? Because, as I realised this morning, my focus had been dead wrong all week.
When I first started this weight loss thing, I wanted to lose five dress sizes. I had absolutely no idea how much I weighed because I'd been too scared to stand on a pair of scales for at least five years (even when I got weighed at the doctors I closed my eyes and told them not to tell me what the scales said!), and I had no idea how much I wanted or, indeed, needed to lose in pounds and ounces. That's still my aim. I didn't think I'd lost sight of that, particularly, but when people start bringing scales into the equation, naturally your focus gets shifted to how much you weigh now and how much you ideally should weigh.
Thankfully, Slimming World aren't interested particularly in focussing on BMIs and don't have that "if you're X feet and inches tall you should weigh X stone otherwise you're fat" mentality. You set your own target, you don't even need to tell them what it is if you don't want to, they'll just give you the right support until you get to wherever you want to be. Which is great. But, for practical and logistic reasons, they do need to focus on the pounds. Which is a very contagious focus, especially when you can't really see much difference but the scales tell you that you're definitely losing weight.
This week was completely the opposite. I can now see that I'm getting smaller. Even though it's only been a week I can see how the walking is helping to tone me up. I can tell by my clothes being a lot more loose-fitting that I'm getting smaller. I am still working towards being five sizes smaller. I've lost one dress size already. I've only got four to go by August. I'll still do it. It's all about the shape. I'm not going to be dicatated to by a set of numbers on a pair of scales. I'm still Being Skinny!! Even if I did only lose half a pound!!
So, to any of my pals or my other readers who are also on a weight-loss journey and have had similar blip, honestly - don't feel down. You've not failed, even though you might think it. You're still winning. It's the small battles that count. We can all do this. It'll happen. We just need to keep our focus in the right place. You will never wear a pair of scales but you will wear lovely clothes in smaller sizes. You will. It'll happen. Let's do this!!
Join me again on Monday, when I'll give you a full report of the weekend's activity - I'm really excited about seeing my beautiful niece and gorgeous nephews (biological and adopted!) this weekend for one of the early celebrations of Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary. It'll be a lovely weekend - and whatever it is you're up to over the next couple of days, have a fabulous time and I'll see you back here on Monday!!
He'd have been right. I was gutted. There's no point in all of this 'any loss is a good loss' thing as soon as you get that news. It's very encouraging and motivating two or three hours later when you've finished beating yourself up and you're in the process of dusting yourself down and starting all over again - and admittedly it's more helpful than handing over a large slice of chocolate cake and saying "to hell with it, get this down you!" But at the time - when you'd been hoping and striving to lose a minimum of 2lbs and you only lose 1/2lb - trying to get any posititivity out of that feeling of abject failure is really tough.
However, I've slept on it. Not the llama - the bitter disappointment that after a week of sensible eating and walking like a true Wainwright, I only lost half a blasted pound. Now, after a fabulous night's sleep - now I can say the words we've all been waiting for all week:
Hit it, llamas!!!
*shimmys around the room shaking maracas*
Why the celebration?? Because, as I realised this morning, my focus had been dead wrong all week.
When I first started this weight loss thing, I wanted to lose five dress sizes. I had absolutely no idea how much I weighed because I'd been too scared to stand on a pair of scales for at least five years (even when I got weighed at the doctors I closed my eyes and told them not to tell me what the scales said!), and I had no idea how much I wanted or, indeed, needed to lose in pounds and ounces. That's still my aim. I didn't think I'd lost sight of that, particularly, but when people start bringing scales into the equation, naturally your focus gets shifted to how much you weigh now and how much you ideally should weigh.
Thankfully, Slimming World aren't interested particularly in focussing on BMIs and don't have that "if you're X feet and inches tall you should weigh X stone otherwise you're fat" mentality. You set your own target, you don't even need to tell them what it is if you don't want to, they'll just give you the right support until you get to wherever you want to be. Which is great. But, for practical and logistic reasons, they do need to focus on the pounds. Which is a very contagious focus, especially when you can't really see much difference but the scales tell you that you're definitely losing weight.
This week was completely the opposite. I can now see that I'm getting smaller. Even though it's only been a week I can see how the walking is helping to tone me up. I can tell by my clothes being a lot more loose-fitting that I'm getting smaller. I am still working towards being five sizes smaller. I've lost one dress size already. I've only got four to go by August. I'll still do it. It's all about the shape. I'm not going to be dicatated to by a set of numbers on a pair of scales. I'm still Being Skinny!! Even if I did only lose half a pound!!
So, to any of my pals or my other readers who are also on a weight-loss journey and have had similar blip, honestly - don't feel down. You've not failed, even though you might think it. You're still winning. It's the small battles that count. We can all do this. It'll happen. We just need to keep our focus in the right place. You will never wear a pair of scales but you will wear lovely clothes in smaller sizes. You will. It'll happen. Let's do this!!
Join me again on Monday, when I'll give you a full report of the weekend's activity - I'm really excited about seeing my beautiful niece and gorgeous nephews (biological and adopted!) this weekend for one of the early celebrations of Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary. It'll be a lovely weekend - and whatever it is you're up to over the next couple of days, have a fabulous time and I'll see you back here on Monday!!
Wednesday 7 March 2012
Assemble!
Oh, you don't even know - you can't possibly have any idea exactly how excited I am about the forthcoming Avengers film. You just can't. 52 sleeps till it's out at the pictures! I do love this time of year, when all the buzz about the forthcoming summer films first starts. I know I'm mostly a retro vintage silver screen type girl (my favourite film of all time is City Lights by Charlie Chaplin. Watch it. You'll never regret it!), but I'm a sucker for a film containing big explosions, reeeeally evil baddies and slightly anti-heroic good guys, preferably ones with superpowers.
I'll try and calm down in order to blog like a human being rather than, if I really did just type out my train of thought, simply typing out 100,000 lines of "OMFG!" Acronyms should be used sparingly, after all. There's never really much to say of a Wednesday, truth be told - it's not like anyone's particularly interested in how much I hate my job at the moment (lots, incidentally) and how much I'm looking forward to Masterchef tonight (SQUEEE!). I suppose, then, the Wednesday blog is my most self-indulgent update of the week - which is likely why I always feel so apologetic about them!!
I have no news on the writing front. I'm actually blocked on everything. Which is rubbish. I have no proper computer access and the deadline for the competition is in two weeks. I just wish everything would come to me in a dream (rather than the weird psycho killer dream I had last night which just scared me into consciousness every time I nodded off) and then I could have a day off to write and everything would be peachy. Ho hum. The book is on the back burner for now and probably will stay there until late spring/early summer, but I did have another read of it and I surprised myself with how much I didn't hate it.
I do have one exciting thing to mention on the weight loss front. Okay, you may not find it exciting, but I did allow myself a little whoop of joy. I own a black, woollen coat that I inherited from my late cousin, which is of a peculiar size - it says 18 but I have a feeling the top of it is much bigger than that as I've been able to squeeze into it for some time and I'm definitely not that size yet. Anyway, for a considerable time I could only fasten two of the four buttons, and then for about a month I've been able to fasten three. Imagine my excitement, if you will, when I actually fastened all four buttons yesterday!! We're talking actual progress now, folks. Real, visible, in-yer-face progress. I'm shrinking before my very eyes. Well. Not quite, obviously, because that'd be impossible. But you know what I mean.
For the first time since January, then, I'm feeling slightly confident about tomorrow. Naturally, I understand that losing 5lbs every week is impossible, impractical and not particularly healthy. But I know I've been even more motivated than usual, I'm getting my walk on every day - and even I can see that I'm getting littler, so hopefully all of that positivity will be reflected in the scales. Really hope so, anyway.
Join me again on Friday, when hopefully you'll meet more of my llamas if I have a good result tomorrow, and I'll have a bit of a look forward to an exciting weekend. Hope you're all having a fabulous week - and if you get chance, watch the trailer to the new Avengers film. Two words. AWE. SOME. (winking smiley)
I'll try and calm down in order to blog like a human being rather than, if I really did just type out my train of thought, simply typing out 100,000 lines of "OMFG!" Acronyms should be used sparingly, after all. There's never really much to say of a Wednesday, truth be told - it's not like anyone's particularly interested in how much I hate my job at the moment (lots, incidentally) and how much I'm looking forward to Masterchef tonight (SQUEEE!). I suppose, then, the Wednesday blog is my most self-indulgent update of the week - which is likely why I always feel so apologetic about them!!
I have no news on the writing front. I'm actually blocked on everything. Which is rubbish. I have no proper computer access and the deadline for the competition is in two weeks. I just wish everything would come to me in a dream (rather than the weird psycho killer dream I had last night which just scared me into consciousness every time I nodded off) and then I could have a day off to write and everything would be peachy. Ho hum. The book is on the back burner for now and probably will stay there until late spring/early summer, but I did have another read of it and I surprised myself with how much I didn't hate it.
I do have one exciting thing to mention on the weight loss front. Okay, you may not find it exciting, but I did allow myself a little whoop of joy. I own a black, woollen coat that I inherited from my late cousin, which is of a peculiar size - it says 18 but I have a feeling the top of it is much bigger than that as I've been able to squeeze into it for some time and I'm definitely not that size yet. Anyway, for a considerable time I could only fasten two of the four buttons, and then for about a month I've been able to fasten three. Imagine my excitement, if you will, when I actually fastened all four buttons yesterday!! We're talking actual progress now, folks. Real, visible, in-yer-face progress. I'm shrinking before my very eyes. Well. Not quite, obviously, because that'd be impossible. But you know what I mean.
For the first time since January, then, I'm feeling slightly confident about tomorrow. Naturally, I understand that losing 5lbs every week is impossible, impractical and not particularly healthy. But I know I've been even more motivated than usual, I'm getting my walk on every day - and even I can see that I'm getting littler, so hopefully all of that positivity will be reflected in the scales. Really hope so, anyway.
Join me again on Friday, when hopefully you'll meet more of my llamas if I have a good result tomorrow, and I'll have a bit of a look forward to an exciting weekend. Hope you're all having a fabulous week - and if you get chance, watch the trailer to the new Avengers film. Two words. AWE. SOME. (winking smiley)
Monday 5 March 2012
Keep on Walking
Thanks to everyone who gave such positive feedback from Friday's blog. Miguel, Ricardo and Enrique were all really pleased to meet you. Who knows, if I have another good result this week I might introduce you to the twin llamas - Pablo and Eduardo.
You know the thing that worries me most about exercise? The amount of people who go to Slimming World every week and say, "I don't understand how I managed to put weight on - I've been to the gym every day!" only to get the reply "Ah, that'll be why you've put weight on..."
I know muscle weighs more than fat, but still. At the moment I can't afford to put an ounce back on. Of anything. Besides. Losing 1 1/2 stone in eight weeks with relatively little exercise must be some sort of sign. And yes, I am something of an expert in the art of avoiding physical exertion on any level. Besides, I'm a girl, I don't want muscles!
Still. Now I've lost a bit of weight, I seem to have a bit more energy than I used to. Naturally, I understand it's very tiring to lug three tonnes of weight around with you, and that offloading any of it will make you feel slightly more spry of step. But I have all this pent-up energy knocking about the place and in the absence of any talent at any physical activity I was in a bit of a quandry about what to do with it.
So, after a lovely Synful curry cooked by the big sister on Friday, I decided to go for a rather wacky walk on Saturday afternoon in some sort of bizarre attempt to walk it off. When I say wacky, don't get any ideas of The Ministry of Silly Walks - just a slightly bizarre route. I had intended to walk a sort of a square route (get me being all mathematical) but I decided I hadn't quite walked far enough so it turned into a sort of deformed octagonal route...
I must now be thinking like a skinny person. I would never, ever ever ever in a quadrillion years, EVER have so much as considered exercising off any meal - ever. But there you go. I did it. I went for a walk, I didn't die, and in fact I enjoyed it so much that I took a slightly shorter walk yesterday as well. So, I've decided I'm going to do some walking every day. Not tonnes, like, just a mile or two at the most, then I can build it up over the coming months. See how I get on. After all, I've been walking for well over a quarter of a century now and I'm quite used to the 'one foot in front of the other' concept. But I'll never do running. Never. Running is not an activity that was ever designed with bosoms in mind!
Tried on a dress last night that I've only ever worn once and even then it didn't fit properly. It's slightly stretchy material and there are no zips or buttons or anything - but if it doesn't fit, it really doesn't fit. Hadn't even been able to get the thing past my shoulders for years. One of those unforgiving frocks that you really need to have curves in the right places and none anywhere else. It still doesn't fit properly but it does fit very well at the top and around the back. Hopefully I might fit into it soon enough. Fingers crossed. At the moment I'm just chuffed I can try the thing on without feeling as though I might suffocate or be trapped forever with my elbows round my ears...
All in all I suppose I'm feeling rather positive about the start of the week. Suppose it can only get better, at least. Join me again on Wednesday, when we'll all be suffering the midweek slump but will be able to see Friday waving cheerfully at us in signal of a lovely weekend ahead!!
You know the thing that worries me most about exercise? The amount of people who go to Slimming World every week and say, "I don't understand how I managed to put weight on - I've been to the gym every day!" only to get the reply "Ah, that'll be why you've put weight on..."
I know muscle weighs more than fat, but still. At the moment I can't afford to put an ounce back on. Of anything. Besides. Losing 1 1/2 stone in eight weeks with relatively little exercise must be some sort of sign. And yes, I am something of an expert in the art of avoiding physical exertion on any level. Besides, I'm a girl, I don't want muscles!
Still. Now I've lost a bit of weight, I seem to have a bit more energy than I used to. Naturally, I understand it's very tiring to lug three tonnes of weight around with you, and that offloading any of it will make you feel slightly more spry of step. But I have all this pent-up energy knocking about the place and in the absence of any talent at any physical activity I was in a bit of a quandry about what to do with it.
So, after a lovely Synful curry cooked by the big sister on Friday, I decided to go for a rather wacky walk on Saturday afternoon in some sort of bizarre attempt to walk it off. When I say wacky, don't get any ideas of The Ministry of Silly Walks - just a slightly bizarre route. I had intended to walk a sort of a square route (get me being all mathematical) but I decided I hadn't quite walked far enough so it turned into a sort of deformed octagonal route...
I must now be thinking like a skinny person. I would never, ever ever ever in a quadrillion years, EVER have so much as considered exercising off any meal - ever. But there you go. I did it. I went for a walk, I didn't die, and in fact I enjoyed it so much that I took a slightly shorter walk yesterday as well. So, I've decided I'm going to do some walking every day. Not tonnes, like, just a mile or two at the most, then I can build it up over the coming months. See how I get on. After all, I've been walking for well over a quarter of a century now and I'm quite used to the 'one foot in front of the other' concept. But I'll never do running. Never. Running is not an activity that was ever designed with bosoms in mind!
Tried on a dress last night that I've only ever worn once and even then it didn't fit properly. It's slightly stretchy material and there are no zips or buttons or anything - but if it doesn't fit, it really doesn't fit. Hadn't even been able to get the thing past my shoulders for years. One of those unforgiving frocks that you really need to have curves in the right places and none anywhere else. It still doesn't fit properly but it does fit very well at the top and around the back. Hopefully I might fit into it soon enough. Fingers crossed. At the moment I'm just chuffed I can try the thing on without feeling as though I might suffocate or be trapped forever with my elbows round my ears...
All in all I suppose I'm feeling rather positive about the start of the week. Suppose it can only get better, at least. Join me again on Wednesday, when we'll all be suffering the midweek slump but will be able to see Friday waving cheerfully at us in signal of a lovely weekend ahead!!
Friday 2 March 2012
ZOWIE!!!
This week, folks, I want you to meet some of my dancing llamas. I talk about them a lot. And they will be doing some quite extreme dancing today.
This is Miguel. He's the joker of the pack:
And this is Enrique - he's the brains of the outfit and the real llama in charge. He is the llama version of Perry from Diversity. Put simply - don't mess with him:
You know why they're all dancing like mad eejits today? Well. I'll tell you.
I've lost 5lbs!!! Get your maracas out, people, this calls for a real celebration!!! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIBBBAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Honestly, don't even ask me how it happened. Something funny's going on. I haven't really concentrated too much on dieting this week and I was poorly over the weekend so I did absolutely no exercise. There's no reason at all why I should have lost more weight than normal. Or, indeed, any weight at all.
My biggest surprise was that, upon learning of the tragic news of Wednesday, I didn't even attempt to consume my body weight in chocolate. This is progress, ladies and gentlemen. I took it on the chin, I held it in, I dealt with it - I channelled it somewhere slightly more productive (let's face it, that's why I started this blog in the first place) and I feel oddly better for it. It's a bit peculiar. But there you go. 5lbs. That's a lot of uneaten chocolate.
For those of you who are interested in cumulative weight losses, I've lost 1 1/2 stone in eight weeks. Which, eight weeks ago, I wouldn't have believed was possible. In fact, I'm still not totally sure how I managed it.
There was a chap there tonight - Dave the Bloke has either moved groups or he's quit. I hope he's moved groups. He really seemed to be focussed and motivated. But there was a chap there called Lee. He looked like a sort of lovechild of Antony Cotton off've Coronation Street and Andy Bell off've Erasure. At first I thought he was either new and one of those skinny people who don't need to lose any weight - but then as I saw him chatting to a load of the girls I thought perhaps he was just a friend who'd tagged along before they all went out. How wrong was I? During the meeting, Andrea the Consultant handed him a special award, for having 100% attendance over the last twelve months - and for losing 8 1/2 stone!!! Eight and a half stone!! That's 119lbs to my American readers, and... ummm... just over 54kgs to my metric-loving readers. She went on to ask him how losing weight has changed his life, and he said that he'd been accepted to do a 13mile charity walk over the summer, and also that he'd been accepted to do the Preston Guild half-marathon. When she asked him what he'd have said a year ago if he'd been told he'd be running a half-marathon, he just said he would have laughed at them. He also said that it had taken losing 8 1/2 stone for him to build up the confidence to start learning to swim, something he'd always wanted to do but been far too self-conscious to be seen out in public wearing so little. Which oddly echoes the exact words I've said to my sister for years whenever she tells me I need to learn to swim. I felt a bit emotional.
What a guy. Let's hear it for Lee, everyone.
Oh, and just before I go, I must tell you about Mr Syn Free Sausage. Officially the most camp butcher I have ever met. Really lovely, dead chatty fella. His business is called Ye Olde Sausage Shop. Which cracked me up. He turned up yesterday and I decided to go a bit early to make sure I got a pound of Cumberland for the weekend - and he'd almost completely sold out. Apparently he'd stocked his van full to bursting and thought he'd definitely have too much and was amazed how quickly it all went. So he's coming back next week - I'll have to make sure I get some stuff ordered before then if he's going to sell out! I bet he had no idea his business would be so lucrative when he first took it on the road!!! I got the only packet of sausages left, garlic ones - not my snorker of choice, but I have a feeling they'll go quite nicely in a pasta-y thing. My sister is the best cook in the whole wide world, so if anyone can turn them into a work of art, it's her. Can't wait!!!
Join me again on Monday, when hopefully I'll have something to report about something...!! I hope you all have a lovely weekend - and, please, if you get chance to over the weekend, either stick on a couple of Monkees tunes or get an episode watched. You won't regret it.
Thursday 1 March 2012
The Lancashire Midget Greenie (1945-2012)
"7A."
"What number is this, Chip?"
"SEVEN - AY!"
"Okay, don't mean it, don't get excited man! It's cos I'm short, I know."
You all know what comes next. Daydream Believer is a timeless song that has touched the hearts of millions and been turned into football chants across the globe.
It's very difficult to sit here and try and pin down all the ways that The Monkees have influenced my life. After all, I wasn't even an idea back on September 16 1966 when The Monkees first aired in the US. I didn't buy Monkees Monthly or subscribe to the fan club. I didn't queue outside record shops to get my copy of Headquarters. I wasn't there on 3 December 1967 when they played the UK's first ever stadium gig. They were not, strictly speaking, of my time. Yet, it is a complete truth to say that if it hadn't been for The Monkees, I wouldn't be the person I am today.
10 April 1996. No idea why I remember the date. I was twelve years old and just starting that awkward, self-conscious, not fitting in stage (still in it!). Although, in fairness, I had never quite fitted in anywhere. I am ten and a half years younger than my closest sibling. My parents are old enough to be my grandparents and I've always described my situation as an only child with five parents. Because I was always with my parents and their friends who were all 40 or so years older than me, I never really had much in common with my peers - after all, what self-respecting adolescent really wants to be friends with a precocious, squeaky voiced, bespectacled, fat, ugly Jehovah's Witness kid with a 30,000 word vocabulary at the age of 12? I just felt as though I'd always been on the periphery of everything. I'm not saying I had an unhappy childhood because, hand on heart, I had the best childhood anyone could ask for - but I've never really been quite old enough or quite hip enough to fit in, or I've been too old and still not hip enough. I've never acted my age because I'm not sure how a person my age is supposed to act.
Channel 4 had been advertising the fact they were going to show re-runs of The Monkees on Sunday nights at six o'clock. I'd never heard of it before but it looked bright and fun and funny and my curiosity was piqued. I'd planned to watch it. I asked Mum and Dad if I could watch it on the little portable television in their room after tea and they'd agreed. Six o'clock came. The first thing I saw was a tiny fella, with longish, shiny brown hair, wearing the smallest pair of red shorts I had ever seen in my life.
"This is it. I love it!" I declared. Before a word of dialogue had been spoken.
By the time the opening scene was over, I was hooked. I can still remember vividly, being sat on the end of Mum and Dad's bed, the first time I saw those opening credits, and just knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. I still remember, week after week, being unable to breathe with laughter as Davy, Micky, Mike and Peter got into and out of all kinds of scrapes in the most hilarious and zany ways. I counted down the seconds from the end of one episode to the beginning of the next each week. They were my show, they were my boys, they were my music, they were my sense of humour entirely. They spoke to my soul on so many levels - I finally felt that I had something that could belong to me, that I could belong to. That, even though the show was 30 years old, being a bit different, being seen as being a bit weird, not fitting in didn't matter; just being who you are - that's all you need to be.
Through The Monkees, it naturally followed that, four or five years later, I broadened my 60s horizon and embraced other bands - starting with The Animals and then moving on to The Who-> and Hermans' Hermits... in fact, I'd discovered most of the 1960s before I even gave The Beatles a second thought. The Monkees are my Beatles. They're where it begins and ends for me. Not just musically. Although I've always loved writing stories, it wasn't until I became a Monkees fan that I ever even considered writing comedy of my own or putting it into a script. They broke so many boundaries and inspired so much creativity and were behind so much of modern popular culture - it's easy to just dismiss them out of hand as a kids' TV show. But they were so much more than that - and they still are. It wasn't until yesterday that I realised just how much they've affected so many people, and how much people still love them - especially the little one with the shiny hair and the tiny red shorts.
My brother broke the news to me yesterday that Davy Jones had passed away. It had only been a few weeks ago he'd said to me that he had been a Monkees fan right from the beginning and had watched their show while he was growing up, long before I was born - but now, whenever anyone mentioned The Monkees, he always thought of me. I must've had ten text messages all saying how sorry people were - one even said 'I'm sorry for your loss', which was so sweet - as though I'd really lost someone so close to me. Perhaps I have. I'd hoped that, when I finally heard the news about one of The Monkees - as I knew I'd have to one day - I'd be in a different position. I'd be settled down, probably married with kids, and that I'd have other things to concentrate on, that it would just be a sad piece of news but that I'd still get on with my life mostly unaffected. I hadn't expected to still be the oversized kid that didn't quite grow up and who still doesn't really fit in.
The tears haven't come too badly yet. But I have a feeling they will. I know I didn't know him. I know it was 'just' a show and they 'just' made some great music and he was 'just' a person. I know it's silly to feel his loss so deeply, as though he was really my friend, when I know he wasn't. It sounds melodramatic and ridiculous, I know - but the truth is, when I'm depressed, I watch The Monkees and they take my pain away. They never get the breaks and they never get the girls - but they always have each other and they never give up hope. They're my sunshine, my warmth and my heart. And a very, very special part of my life has gone.
I may be a Nez girl through and through - but the true Heart and Soul of The Monkees has gone. All my thoughts and best wishes are with his family and friends at this tragic time - and especially to his three brothers-in-arms, Mike, Peter and Micky. My boys. My music. My Monkees. And they always will be.
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