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!!
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?!
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 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!!
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...!!
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!!
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...!
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!!
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!!
Ah, it's Friday! It means most of us in dear old Blighty will be looking forward to four whole days off work - with pay! However, it turns out I've got to work tomorrow, so I'll have three whole days off work, which is almost as good. And the weather has sorted itself out just in time for an epic bank holiday. Yes, that's right - gone are the sizzling tropical temperatures, the humid air, the old men traipsing round town just wearing a little pair of shorts and socks with sandals (why oh why?!) and the threat of a nice barbecue in the back garden. The air has regained the usual summertime nippiness we're used to, the skies are a sort of charcoal grey colour and the weather has been, as they call it in Spain (Joanna reliably tells me this, and she's very good at Spanish, so she should know) "El Pissi Downio". Ah, yes. British Summertime. It's back, and I love it.
So, things are going very well. I'd like to thank Anonymous for their lovely and very encouraging comment from Wednesday's blog. It turns out that my block lifted quite substantially after that lovely advice and some equally kind and helpful tips from Mr L. Although I've still not really got a plot together yet, I have indeed made a start on the Western (tentatively entitled The Western With No Name). Turns out it had no intention of ever being a book, it wanted to be a screenplay all along. Which in some ways is slightly easier, I'm much better with dialogue than narrative, but even though you only really need minimal narrative for a screenplay I still don't think I have enough. But I'll come back to it later when I've figured out more of a structure to the story. My biggest problem is that I want it to be instantly perfect, rather than just acknowledging that the first three or four rewrites are going to be ropey at best before I get it close to being right and writing it anyway. I bet Joss Whedon didn't write The Avengers perfectly on his first run-through!!
I know what you're thinking. 'She's avoiding the weight-loss topic'. Well, yes. I am.
I put half a pound on. I have no idea how. I was doing really well, I'd been dead good, I hadn't cheated (there's no point in cheating because the only person who suffers is me) - I was at least hoping for a couple of pounds' loss. Maybe even three. But putting half a pound on?! What the -?!?!!
Baffled. Stumped. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. Discombobulated. Narked. All appropriate adjectives to describe my reaction to the number on the scales yesterday.
Enrique was quite relieved I'd put weight on. He's still convinced he has athlete's hoof from when I sent them swimming last Friday and has taken to his bed with bandages from hoof to fetlock on all four of his little legs. The rest of the llamas were delighted to have another week off and have all gone on a coach holiday to Blackpool for the weekend. If you're in the Blackpool area and come across a collective of llamas in gold lamee leg warmers, go and join them, they're a great bunch of lads!!
I mean, things aren't all bad news. I'm getting smaller. If I'm honest with myself about my original starting size (i.e. Beyond Huge. If there was a dress size that could be renamed "AY CHIHUAHA!!" that'd probably be where I was!), I've actually lost three dress sizes already and I'm probably only another stone away from hitting the fourth. So actually I've not done at all badly. It's just one of those things. Maybe it was just the way I held my gob when I stood on the scales. Who knows. I'm lots thinner than I was, and that's a fact. I just need to be... you know. Thinner than this. And I will be. This time in three months I might've lost another two sizes and then I'll be very nearly almost there.
You know what it'll involve, of course. I've been threatening it and then putting it off since January, but I am actually going to have to... I can't even bring myself to say it. You know, though. And I know. It's got to be done, there's truly nothing else for it. I have plans and extremely good intentions, I just have no willpower!! I hate running, walking round an industrial estate is no fun, and I'm just not disciplined enough to attempt any form of E***cise at home!! Gah!! That blasted E word. Why is it never fun?! If I could do the E word and not notice I was doing it, that'd be brilliant!
Ho hum.
Join me next Wednesday, if you don't mind. I'll be taking Monday off due to the Bank Holiday and I'll probably still be in a very dark state of depression following my birthday on Sunday. I get SO depressed on my birthday, there's literally no point in even acknowledging my existence, you'll only end up similarly suicidal! I don't want to be old! Don't make me!! Nooooo!!! PETER PAN NEVER HAD TO DO IT!!!
I dread to even think how I'll cope next year when I hit the big Three-Oh...!! *shudder*
