Yesterday was okay. The test itself wasn't remotely difficult, all I had to do was just lie down and have flashing lights in my eyes for fifteen minutes and then breathe like Darth Vader during hayfever season for three minutes and then they let me have a kip. Staying awake for twenty-four hours prior to that, however, was pretty tough going. Between half past two and half past three I felt ridiculously hyper, between four and six I thought I was going crazy and felt like my eyeballs were going to fall out of their sockets. The worst part was the car journey to the hospital, I couldn't keep my eyes open!! I must've looked dreadful. I certainly felt like I'd died three weeks earlier and my body was just in the process of catching up with me...
When it finally came to the time the nurse let me sleep, and how I managed to stay awake through the rest of the test is still beyond me, as luck would have it - no sooner did I close my eyes than the workmen outside thought it'd be a great idea to start drilling the pavement. Not even a euphemism. Still, after approximately 28 hours, even if they'd started drilling in the exam room I wouldn't have noticed, I was out like a light for fifteen glorious minutes. Sigh. It was great.
Anyway, that's all over now and hopefully I won't have to do it again.
But today was my second weigh-in after a week of generally being good and refusing yummy stuff and being completely sober, I hopped back on the scales, waiting to see how I'd done. The llamas got their new leg-warmers on especially for the occasion, ready at any moment to put on the fiesta of all fiestas. I crossed my fingers, I thought thin thoughts, I said the magic words "Please don't let me put any weight on...!" and then looked at the number on the scales...
It was exactly the same. Exactly. To the ounce. Absolutely nothing had altered.
Positives: Hey, at least I didn't put any on!
Negatives: WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!! What is the point in life?!!? Nothing is worth anything!! I AM POINTLESS!!! I should just die now and save the NHS time and expense on treating any future weight-related health issues!!!! *sob*
After having a mini-breakdown and writing seven different versions of a suicide note, I told my Mum when she came to visit. She said she'd been weighed the previous day and hopped on the scales to see what it said about her. If they're to be believed she put half a stone on in less than 24 hours... Then she said that the scales were actually third-hand and not very good.
So.... erm... Well, the llamas haven't done a fiesta today because we're all scratching our heads in confusion.
I'm changing the scales and getting weighed again tomorrow so I can start all over again. So the llamas will have an extra week to work on their routine. It will be spectacular. Or at least it should be.
Flippin' scales. They do have a habit of spoiling people's day. But they won't do next week!!!
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blogging. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
Monday, 13 January 2014
Nessun Dorma
(blog post title courtesy of my lovely big sister, Joanna)
Still, at least now I can officially say, in the style of the well-known genius, Dr Sheldon Lee Cooper - "I'm not crazy - my mother had me tested!" Or at least there's definitely nothing physiologically wrong with my brain - and contrary to the scurrilous rumours, I do actually have a brain rolling around in the vast expanse of my cranium. Which is useful.
Despite the fact I suffer rather frequently with bouts of insomnia, I am finding today something of a struggle. All I've wanted to do since 8a.m. has been to have a nap. I think it's mostly a sort of psychological thing (that and the fact that I've barely slept for the past two weeks due to aforementioned insomnia). I know I'm not allowed to sleep so I'm desperate to sleep. Still. I have a few films I'm planning on watching tonight, and I've bought some nice coffee that I'm saving for later so I can feel like I'm being dead naughty having caffeine at midnight. Not really got anything for a midnight feast, but at least I can bask in the joy of knowing that later this year I will be skinnier.
At a slight tangent: Is it wrong that my main ambition is to order a gigantic pizza at midnight and sit eating it in my size 12/14 pyjamas while feeling absolutely no trace of guilt whatsoever? I've never even done that at the size I'm at now, I don't know why I want to do it when I'm skinny! Everyone else might be in this weight loss thing for the health benefits. I just want to be thin enough to eat crap and not beat myself up over it!!
Speaking of weight loss, I have discovered something absolutely amazing about the fact I'm having a second go at it. If you go back to my earlier blog entries, say from January probably through to about March 2012, I really struggled at the beginning to figure out how to function on a healthy eating regime, and how not to panic if I get hungry, or wonder what the hell I can eat when there's only stuff for a sandwich in the house, or all those horrible niggly "can't I just give in and eat my body weight in fry-ups?!?" type dilemmas. This time, I've settled back into the routine pretty much straight away. I've got my dieting head back on and if anything it's more of a relief than a constant series of mind-battles, knowing exactly what I need to do to get myself back on track. It feels far less of a diet and far more of a "right, this is just what I'm doing from now on" type lifestyle change. And to be honest, although the changes I've had to make have been pretty drastic, they've really not been anywhere near the kind of struggle they were when I went through this the first time. So I'm feeling really encouraged by that. I'm not sure if I've actually lost any weight yet, I won't get weighed until Wednesday morning, but I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, so hopefully the results will follow. I feel a lot more chilled about the whole thing, which can only be a good thing when it comes to actually keeping going on this whole weight-loss regime.
In other news, I have got my Llama-Keeping Licence back and the boys are due home tomorrow. I can't wait to see them, it's been ages and I'm sure we've all got lots of catching up to do. I have some tequila on hand for them - Ricardo says it helps him remember his stories better. They're going to work through the inevitable jet lag to prepare for Wednesday's fiesta just in case I lose weight this week - and they've even incorporated a few moves into their dance routine that I can join in with, which will be very exciting!
Remind me to pick up some red sparkle leg-warmers on my way home from the hospital tomorrow...
Wednesday, 8 January 2014
The Weight of the Situation
So I've re-applied for my llama licence. I had to. I got a postcard from Miguel (I dunno how he managed it due to the lack of his opposable thumbs, but I didn't like to split hairs with him over it) saying that him and Ricardo are broke and can't find work. There are too many Llama Dancing Troupes in Bolivia and they aren't considered a novelty act over there any more. Javier left the troupe (I know, he was everyone's favourite) after an incident with one of the girl llamas in the local theatre and so they're all pretty down on their luck and want to come home as soon as possible. Ricardo's everyday legwarmers went threadbare about six months ago and he's been wearing his gold sparkle ones for the past three weeks which are starting to look a bit grubby. There are no local launderettes and Ricardo's nerves are like piano wires due to the fact he has to walk the streets of Bolivia wearing dirty legwarmers.
It was a very large postcard, that's how he managed to fit so much information on it.
For those of you new to my blog, I'd best explain that I am the proud owner of an invisible and completely imaginary troupe of dancing llamas who put on a fiesta for me every week during 2012 when I was losing weight. They've had a year off travelling around the world (although they finally settled in Bolivia) and going on adventures but now they're just about ready to come home.
This morning I weighed myself for the first time in fifteen months. It's an inaccuracy to say it was 'difficult', because it was actually remarkably easy - I just stood on a pair of scales and tried to think thin thoughts. The build-up, however, was a little daunting. Scales and I have never been friends. They have never said anything nice to me. Of all the plus sides associated with losing weight, stepping on a pair of scales every week was never something I had missed. Part of me secretly hoped that I hadn't really put any weight on at all and that someone had just blown me up with a foot-pump in the night when I wasn't looking. Another part of me worried that I'd put at least eight stone on (112 lbs, for the benefit of my American readers). But I knew that if I was ever going to get anywhere, then I'd need to take a deep breath and get back on the scales, so as soon as I'd woken up and while I was too tired to talk myself out of it, I weighed myself.
It was pretty much as I'd expected. I've put every single gram of weight back on - plus one pound for good luck. So I am more or less exactly where I started (after all, when you weigh the same as an entire rugby league squad, what's an extra pound between friends?!) two years ago. Which, actually, is a really good thing. The slate is completely wiped clean. I can start completely afresh. I know what mistakes I made last time, I know how quickly the weight came off last time so I won't get as impatient with myself. I know what to be aware of and I know not to be afraid that losing weight won't ever happen, because I know it will.
I'm back to Square One - but this time I've got one up on myself from last time. This isn't new ground. I've got this. I've done this, I've been here. And now I know exactly where I'm going...
It was a very large postcard, that's how he managed to fit so much information on it.
For those of you new to my blog, I'd best explain that I am the proud owner of an invisible and completely imaginary troupe of dancing llamas who put on a fiesta for me every week during 2012 when I was losing weight. They've had a year off travelling around the world (although they finally settled in Bolivia) and going on adventures but now they're just about ready to come home.
This morning I weighed myself for the first time in fifteen months. It's an inaccuracy to say it was 'difficult', because it was actually remarkably easy - I just stood on a pair of scales and tried to think thin thoughts. The build-up, however, was a little daunting. Scales and I have never been friends. They have never said anything nice to me. Of all the plus sides associated with losing weight, stepping on a pair of scales every week was never something I had missed. Part of me secretly hoped that I hadn't really put any weight on at all and that someone had just blown me up with a foot-pump in the night when I wasn't looking. Another part of me worried that I'd put at least eight stone on (112 lbs, for the benefit of my American readers). But I knew that if I was ever going to get anywhere, then I'd need to take a deep breath and get back on the scales, so as soon as I'd woken up and while I was too tired to talk myself out of it, I weighed myself.
It was pretty much as I'd expected. I've put every single gram of weight back on - plus one pound for good luck. So I am more or less exactly where I started (after all, when you weigh the same as an entire rugby league squad, what's an extra pound between friends?!) two years ago. Which, actually, is a really good thing. The slate is completely wiped clean. I can start completely afresh. I know what mistakes I made last time, I know how quickly the weight came off last time so I won't get as impatient with myself. I know what to be aware of and I know not to be afraid that losing weight won't ever happen, because I know it will.
I'm back to Square One - but this time I've got one up on myself from last time. This isn't new ground. I've got this. I've done this, I've been here. And now I know exactly where I'm going...
**********Cue theme music to Rocky**********
Monday, 6 January 2014
Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off, Start All Over Again
So, yes, it's been ages.
2013 was officially the worst year of my life. Turning 30, surprisingly, was the least traumatic event of the year. Most of my pals know the main things that have happened to my family and I this past year, and just one of them would've been enough to send anyone over the edge - but the culmination of all the traumas ended up with me completely losing it in July and I've been too ill to work since.
Not to mention the fact that the RSPCA have revoked my llama-keeping licence. I sent the boys on holiday to Bolivia and apparently that makes me responsible for the veritable epidemic of llamas in Bolivia. Trust me, nobody was more surprised than I was. All this time I thought they were gay.
Anyway. Now it's 2014 and I haven't stopped thinking about the fact that I've hit the big Three-Oh and still not actually achieved anything I'd set out to achieve. My twenties were mostly a dreadful waste of time and energy. I don't even remember most of them, they were such a non-event. And I'm buggered if I'll waste my thirties in the same way. I don't want to wake up one morning and suddenly realise I'm 40 and be at the same point in my life that I'm at now.
So that's sort of part of the reason I've decided to lose weight again. For the last time. I've really no intention of putting myself through this more than twice. I haven't weighed myself yet but I'm pretty sure I've put all five stone and then some back on. To be honest, the way last year panned out I'm amazed I haven't put twice as much back on. But last year is over. It's time to stop moping and wallowing and sort myself out once and for all. And with everything else spinning horribly out of control - the one thing in my life I do have any say over is what I put into this colossal sphere with limbs known as my body. Maybe if I can get one thing under control, other things might follow. One thing at a time, and all that.
After having lost weight and put it on again, I am aware of a few things. My size actually is important in the way I feel about myself, no matter how much I would like to believe otherwise. I don't judge other people by their size or their looks, and most normal people don't - but I really don't need any excuse to find something to hate and judge myself over. Although intrinsically I'm the same person I always have been, I do know that when I was a bit smaller I wasn't so terrified of going out in public. I'm never going to think I'm in any way awesome, but I know I did get to the stage where I didn't feel like I was too fat and too ugly to live any more. That was quite a nice feeling. I never felt pretty, but I at least felt average-looking, which was a really huge leap for me. Perhaps that's the ceiling. I can't be proud of myself and I can't love myself or like myself - but I KNOW I managed to feel OK about myself. I'd like to feel OK again.
I am not going to rejoin Slimming World, however, I am going to try and stick to the principles of it as closely as I can. It isn't a diet a person can realistically live with for the rest of their life, but there's no denying that their methods do work, Also, I don't want to set myself a time-based target to lose weight by, because I know it took me years to get this gigantic and it's going to take a similar length of time to start looking like a person again. So if by June I haven't lost three stone or whatever little goal I might have in mind, I don't want to freak out about it. It'll happen eventually because I'm going to have to make it happen. Sadly, nobody's gonna come along, wave a magic wand and transform me into Scarlett Johansson!! I have a dress size in mind, rather than a weight. It takes longer to lose a dress size than it does to lose a pound, so that's why I'll be weighing myself once a week. Last time my big letdown was the fact I didn't really exercise, so I know I need to prioritise doing that. Even if it does look like I'm gaining weight at first - someone please remind me that muscle weighs more than fat!!
I'm going to keep the blog going again as well. It's good therapy for me and you never know, hopefully it might help other people too - especially people who've lost a significant amount of weight and then put it back on. It happens. I know I'm not the only one who's done it - and it's nice to know that other people feel the same way and have the same experiences. Being fat is isolating enough without feeling like you're the only one who feels the way you feel. Yes, you do feel ashamed of yourself for being weak enough to get yourself back to the very place you didn't want to be in - but you don't just have one go at weight-loss. For some people it's not an issue, but for a lot of us it is truly a battle - and the one thing you need in a battle is support from your pals. I know how much the support of all my friends meant to me and how much it genuinely helped me keep going when I thought I couldn't back in 2012, and I know I can't do it again without the same encouragement.
I've binned the chocolate. I've knocked booze on the head. Bread and I are no longer friends. I am going to adopt my game face, I will have a cast-iron resolve and hey, eventually - I will have one hell of a wardrobe. In the meantime, I've got work to do.
Now then, where did I put my Skip-It?!?!
2013 was officially the worst year of my life. Turning 30, surprisingly, was the least traumatic event of the year. Most of my pals know the main things that have happened to my family and I this past year, and just one of them would've been enough to send anyone over the edge - but the culmination of all the traumas ended up with me completely losing it in July and I've been too ill to work since.
Not to mention the fact that the RSPCA have revoked my llama-keeping licence. I sent the boys on holiday to Bolivia and apparently that makes me responsible for the veritable epidemic of llamas in Bolivia. Trust me, nobody was more surprised than I was. All this time I thought they were gay.
Anyway. Now it's 2014 and I haven't stopped thinking about the fact that I've hit the big Three-Oh and still not actually achieved anything I'd set out to achieve. My twenties were mostly a dreadful waste of time and energy. I don't even remember most of them, they were such a non-event. And I'm buggered if I'll waste my thirties in the same way. I don't want to wake up one morning and suddenly realise I'm 40 and be at the same point in my life that I'm at now.
So that's sort of part of the reason I've decided to lose weight again. For the last time. I've really no intention of putting myself through this more than twice. I haven't weighed myself yet but I'm pretty sure I've put all five stone and then some back on. To be honest, the way last year panned out I'm amazed I haven't put twice as much back on. But last year is over. It's time to stop moping and wallowing and sort myself out once and for all. And with everything else spinning horribly out of control - the one thing in my life I do have any say over is what I put into this colossal sphere with limbs known as my body. Maybe if I can get one thing under control, other things might follow. One thing at a time, and all that.
After having lost weight and put it on again, I am aware of a few things. My size actually is important in the way I feel about myself, no matter how much I would like to believe otherwise. I don't judge other people by their size or their looks, and most normal people don't - but I really don't need any excuse to find something to hate and judge myself over. Although intrinsically I'm the same person I always have been, I do know that when I was a bit smaller I wasn't so terrified of going out in public. I'm never going to think I'm in any way awesome, but I know I did get to the stage where I didn't feel like I was too fat and too ugly to live any more. That was quite a nice feeling. I never felt pretty, but I at least felt average-looking, which was a really huge leap for me. Perhaps that's the ceiling. I can't be proud of myself and I can't love myself or like myself - but I KNOW I managed to feel OK about myself. I'd like to feel OK again.
I am not going to rejoin Slimming World, however, I am going to try and stick to the principles of it as closely as I can. It isn't a diet a person can realistically live with for the rest of their life, but there's no denying that their methods do work, Also, I don't want to set myself a time-based target to lose weight by, because I know it took me years to get this gigantic and it's going to take a similar length of time to start looking like a person again. So if by June I haven't lost three stone or whatever little goal I might have in mind, I don't want to freak out about it. It'll happen eventually because I'm going to have to make it happen. Sadly, nobody's gonna come along, wave a magic wand and transform me into Scarlett Johansson!! I have a dress size in mind, rather than a weight. It takes longer to lose a dress size than it does to lose a pound, so that's why I'll be weighing myself once a week. Last time my big letdown was the fact I didn't really exercise, so I know I need to prioritise doing that. Even if it does look like I'm gaining weight at first - someone please remind me that muscle weighs more than fat!!
I'm going to keep the blog going again as well. It's good therapy for me and you never know, hopefully it might help other people too - especially people who've lost a significant amount of weight and then put it back on. It happens. I know I'm not the only one who's done it - and it's nice to know that other people feel the same way and have the same experiences. Being fat is isolating enough without feeling like you're the only one who feels the way you feel. Yes, you do feel ashamed of yourself for being weak enough to get yourself back to the very place you didn't want to be in - but you don't just have one go at weight-loss. For some people it's not an issue, but for a lot of us it is truly a battle - and the one thing you need in a battle is support from your pals. I know how much the support of all my friends meant to me and how much it genuinely helped me keep going when I thought I couldn't back in 2012, and I know I can't do it again without the same encouragement.
I've binned the chocolate. I've knocked booze on the head. Bread and I are no longer friends. I am going to adopt my game face, I will have a cast-iron resolve and hey, eventually - I will have one hell of a wardrobe. In the meantime, I've got work to do.
Now then, where did I put my Skip-It?!?!
Friday, 14 September 2012
Get. In.
Hello, hello, hello and welcome everybody to my formerly thrice-weekly blog which now appears to be my once-in-a-blue-moon-but-more-commonly-on-a-Friday blog.
So anyway, this week has been rather non-eventful. I mean there's really not been much to report of anything, it's all work and very little play. I've also gone back on the wagon and sobriety really isn't the most cheerful of mindsets for anyone, especially when you can't even substitute it for doughnuts or chocolate cake.
I hadn't really given a great deal of thought to the diet, particularly, and in fact, as my weight loss has been so hit and miss over the last ten weeks or so, I was quite convinced that if anything I'd've put weight on this week. Especially when I realised that I've not been eating nearly so much veg as I should be eating. "Oh well," I thought to myself, "There's always next week, I'll try harder then! I've still got another six weeks to lose a dress size, no big deal."
Imagine, then, my surprise when the scales declared that I'd lost 3 1/2 lbs!!
The llamas were chuffed. They're all ready to go with this week's fiesta, so without any further ado - hit it, lads!!
Whew! That was great, boys!! Just the job!
I was delighted with that result. I honestly didn't expect it. I thought my weeks of losing big numbers of lbs were long gone, and that it'd be a slow and boring, pleasure-free road to box off my last three stone, half a pound here, a pound there... I thought it'd take me The Rest Of My Rotten Stinkin' Life to do it. But now - now there is hope! Now there is a little bright, cheery spark in my heart that says, "Come on, Spevvo, you can do this!! You're probably not really too far now and you'll be legitimately skinny rather than just relatively skinny in comparison to your former spherical physique!"
I mean I have to do it and I have to do it soon. The time left is reduced. I've done all right so far, like, and aside from just not stressing about things and following the plan as best as I can, I'm not 100% sure what else I can do. More fruit, more veg, I don't know if I've ever recommended green tea and a slice of lemon, but trust me, it works. It's an acquired taste but it's a taste well worth acquiring. It'll all come off eventually. I'll soon be svelte. I'll achieve voluptuous rather than rotund. I'll wiggle in all the right places. This will happen. Because if it doesn't, I think I'll cry. Which won't be a remotely helpful reaction and it won't even make me feel better about it but it's the one thing slightly more positive than jumping off a tall building.
The thing that cheered me up the most was that finally, Andrea the Consultant told me that I was really doing well. She said "You're disappearing before my very eyes! You must feel great!!" I genuinely didn't think she'd noticed. A couple of the ladies in group have come up to me and been like "Good grief, you can really tell you've lost weight, you're looking good!" which is really nice, but it was great to finally get a bit of a high five from the lady in charge. She's never been discouraging or dismissive, I'd like to make that clear, but I just genuinely didn't think she'd noticed, and that because she hadn't said anything I mustn't actually look like I've lost any weight. Which obviously is a stupidly warped thought process, I mean for chuff's sake I've lost 60lbs now, I must literally be the only person on earth who hasn't really noticed the difference in me!! In fairness, I avoid reflective surfaces like the plague and whenever I look down at myself all I can see are my bosoms and my hair so I suppose the fact they're still very much there isn't too much of an indicator about how well I've actually done.
So, I went home and had a yummy Slimming World tea of sirloin steak, new potatoes, and fried mushrooms and tomatoes. It was fabulous. My sister is officially the best cook in the world.
This weekend I'm going to a party on Saturday, which will be great. I'm still on the wagon and I'm the designated driver so I'm going to have to do the Being Sober While Meeting New People thing, which is a little worrying, but the people I do know who are going are fabulous so I'm sure it'll all be great. The only problem is that nowadays I only have clothes for work and clothes for the Kingdom Hall. I have no other items of clothing, and as I'm an anti-social sod, I definitely have no party clothes. I'll probably end up going and looking really overdressed. But at least I won't be scruffy!!
Join me sometime next week. Definitely on Friday, when hopefully I'll be even closer to my 4 1/2 stone shiny sticker!!
So anyway, this week has been rather non-eventful. I mean there's really not been much to report of anything, it's all work and very little play. I've also gone back on the wagon and sobriety really isn't the most cheerful of mindsets for anyone, especially when you can't even substitute it for doughnuts or chocolate cake.
I hadn't really given a great deal of thought to the diet, particularly, and in fact, as my weight loss has been so hit and miss over the last ten weeks or so, I was quite convinced that if anything I'd've put weight on this week. Especially when I realised that I've not been eating nearly so much veg as I should be eating. "Oh well," I thought to myself, "There's always next week, I'll try harder then! I've still got another six weeks to lose a dress size, no big deal."
Imagine, then, my surprise when the scales declared that I'd lost 3 1/2 lbs!!
The llamas were chuffed. They're all ready to go with this week's fiesta, so without any further ado - hit it, lads!!
***AAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIBAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!***
¯ La cucaracha, la cucaracha, dah dee dah de dah de dahh...! ¯
Whew! That was great, boys!! Just the job!
I was delighted with that result. I honestly didn't expect it. I thought my weeks of losing big numbers of lbs were long gone, and that it'd be a slow and boring, pleasure-free road to box off my last three stone, half a pound here, a pound there... I thought it'd take me The Rest Of My Rotten Stinkin' Life to do it. But now - now there is hope! Now there is a little bright, cheery spark in my heart that says, "Come on, Spevvo, you can do this!! You're probably not really too far now and you'll be legitimately skinny rather than just relatively skinny in comparison to your former spherical physique!"
I mean I have to do it and I have to do it soon. The time left is reduced. I've done all right so far, like, and aside from just not stressing about things and following the plan as best as I can, I'm not 100% sure what else I can do. More fruit, more veg, I don't know if I've ever recommended green tea and a slice of lemon, but trust me, it works. It's an acquired taste but it's a taste well worth acquiring. It'll all come off eventually. I'll soon be svelte. I'll achieve voluptuous rather than rotund. I'll wiggle in all the right places. This will happen. Because if it doesn't, I think I'll cry. Which won't be a remotely helpful reaction and it won't even make me feel better about it but it's the one thing slightly more positive than jumping off a tall building.
The thing that cheered me up the most was that finally, Andrea the Consultant told me that I was really doing well. She said "You're disappearing before my very eyes! You must feel great!!" I genuinely didn't think she'd noticed. A couple of the ladies in group have come up to me and been like "Good grief, you can really tell you've lost weight, you're looking good!" which is really nice, but it was great to finally get a bit of a high five from the lady in charge. She's never been discouraging or dismissive, I'd like to make that clear, but I just genuinely didn't think she'd noticed, and that because she hadn't said anything I mustn't actually look like I've lost any weight. Which obviously is a stupidly warped thought process, I mean for chuff's sake I've lost 60lbs now, I must literally be the only person on earth who hasn't really noticed the difference in me!! In fairness, I avoid reflective surfaces like the plague and whenever I look down at myself all I can see are my bosoms and my hair so I suppose the fact they're still very much there isn't too much of an indicator about how well I've actually done.
So, I went home and had a yummy Slimming World tea of sirloin steak, new potatoes, and fried mushrooms and tomatoes. It was fabulous. My sister is officially the best cook in the world.
This weekend I'm going to a party on Saturday, which will be great. I'm still on the wagon and I'm the designated driver so I'm going to have to do the Being Sober While Meeting New People thing, which is a little worrying, but the people I do know who are going are fabulous so I'm sure it'll all be great. The only problem is that nowadays I only have clothes for work and clothes for the Kingdom Hall. I have no other items of clothing, and as I'm an anti-social sod, I definitely have no party clothes. I'll probably end up going and looking really overdressed. But at least I won't be scruffy!!
Join me sometime next week. Definitely on Friday, when hopefully I'll be even closer to my 4 1/2 stone shiny sticker!!
Friday, 7 September 2012
Sleeves Firmly Rolled Up
Normally, as you know, I get pretty narked when I put weight on after a week of being good.
However, this week, I've put half a pound on, and although the llamas haven't come out for a celebratory fiesta (although to be fair they had two fiestas last week so they could do with a break), I'm really not too worried about it.
This is good because I've taken into account that for the first couple of days since my last weigh in I was still a bit wobbly on the diet before getting back on it properly on Monday so I haven't really had a week of being good, I've had about four days of being good. I've also taken into account the fact that I've drunk a lot more water this week, mostly due to the fact I've walked everywhere. I've walked about four miles a day over the last week, which doesn't seem like much but it's more than twice as far as I usually walk, so for me, it's loads, and I've probably developed a teensy tiny bit of muscle. Not to mention the fact I've worked full-time which always screws up my diet plans, and I more often than not end up skipping breakfast altogether, which isn't ideal, I know. But still, I know why I've put on, and that's less frustrating than being really good and still putting half a pound on. AND it means that I'm finally starting to get a bit of perspective on weight loss, realising that it can't always be a constant thing and just because I put a bit on, it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person or a failure. Which is quite a revelation.
However, at the same time, it's also a bit scary because not being too worried about a weight gain can make you complacent. And I'm not skinny enough to get complacent!
Andrea The Consultant gave us all the New Members' talk again. It's not just been me that's been a bit screw-uppy, everyone's gone a bit off the boil. It's apparently only 16 weigh-ins till Christmas, which doesn't worry me too much because obviously I don't celebrate Christmas and I've no plans around that time anyway other than to eat my own body weight in chocolate and to drink enough alcohol to make Georgie Best, Oliver Reed, Keith Moon and Robert Newton all applaud my stalwart efforts.
But it's only seven weigh-ins until the Michael Nesmith gig, and that does worry me. Even though it shouldn't, really. I know if anyone said to me this time last year I'd be able to wear a size 18 dress to go and see Michael Nesmith in concert, I'd have laughed at the implausibility of both suggestions. So, really, in that sort of context, even if I don't lose another dress size between now and then, I'm still ridiculously thinner than I was this time last year - AND I'll get to fulfill a lifelong ambition and actually be in the same room at the same time as my favourite Monkee. I mean, it's all good. Even if I put four stone on between now and then, the fact I'll be there is incredible enough in itself. Not that I will, of course. I've come much too far now to go back to how I used to be.
But now I'm here, two or three dress sizes to go until I get to target (I probably won't reach that decision until I've lost the next two dress sizes!), and it somehow still doesn't feel like I've done nearly enough. I know it isn't a race. I'm not trying to be thin for an event or because someone else is losing X amount of stones and I want to beat them to it. I'm losing weight because I don't want to spend the rest of my life not doing things because I'm too fat to do them. And if it takes me a year to do it or it takes me 18 months to do it - fine, so long as I do it eventually.
But I still want to get it over and done with as quickly as I can so I can make a start on maintaining it!!
It isn't an impossible ask to drop a dress size in 7 weeks. In fact, it's quite reasonable. I know I can do it. So I'd best get on with it, really, hadn't I?! I've not got time to mope - I've got lbs to shed!
Join me again at some juncture next week when I may have some sort of an update for you. But if not I shall update again on Friday when hopefully, fingers crossed, after a whole week of being good I'll finally have a result worthy of a fiesta from the llamas!!
However, this week, I've put half a pound on, and although the llamas haven't come out for a celebratory fiesta (although to be fair they had two fiestas last week so they could do with a break), I'm really not too worried about it.
This is good because I've taken into account that for the first couple of days since my last weigh in I was still a bit wobbly on the diet before getting back on it properly on Monday so I haven't really had a week of being good, I've had about four days of being good. I've also taken into account the fact that I've drunk a lot more water this week, mostly due to the fact I've walked everywhere. I've walked about four miles a day over the last week, which doesn't seem like much but it's more than twice as far as I usually walk, so for me, it's loads, and I've probably developed a teensy tiny bit of muscle. Not to mention the fact I've worked full-time which always screws up my diet plans, and I more often than not end up skipping breakfast altogether, which isn't ideal, I know. But still, I know why I've put on, and that's less frustrating than being really good and still putting half a pound on. AND it means that I'm finally starting to get a bit of perspective on weight loss, realising that it can't always be a constant thing and just because I put a bit on, it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person or a failure. Which is quite a revelation.
However, at the same time, it's also a bit scary because not being too worried about a weight gain can make you complacent. And I'm not skinny enough to get complacent!
Andrea The Consultant gave us all the New Members' talk again. It's not just been me that's been a bit screw-uppy, everyone's gone a bit off the boil. It's apparently only 16 weigh-ins till Christmas, which doesn't worry me too much because obviously I don't celebrate Christmas and I've no plans around that time anyway other than to eat my own body weight in chocolate and to drink enough alcohol to make Georgie Best, Oliver Reed, Keith Moon and Robert Newton all applaud my stalwart efforts.
But it's only seven weigh-ins until the Michael Nesmith gig, and that does worry me. Even though it shouldn't, really. I know if anyone said to me this time last year I'd be able to wear a size 18 dress to go and see Michael Nesmith in concert, I'd have laughed at the implausibility of both suggestions. So, really, in that sort of context, even if I don't lose another dress size between now and then, I'm still ridiculously thinner than I was this time last year - AND I'll get to fulfill a lifelong ambition and actually be in the same room at the same time as my favourite Monkee. I mean, it's all good. Even if I put four stone on between now and then, the fact I'll be there is incredible enough in itself. Not that I will, of course. I've come much too far now to go back to how I used to be.
But now I'm here, two or three dress sizes to go until I get to target (I probably won't reach that decision until I've lost the next two dress sizes!), and it somehow still doesn't feel like I've done nearly enough. I know it isn't a race. I'm not trying to be thin for an event or because someone else is losing X amount of stones and I want to beat them to it. I'm losing weight because I don't want to spend the rest of my life not doing things because I'm too fat to do them. And if it takes me a year to do it or it takes me 18 months to do it - fine, so long as I do it eventually.
But I still want to get it over and done with as quickly as I can so I can make a start on maintaining it!!
It isn't an impossible ask to drop a dress size in 7 weeks. In fact, it's quite reasonable. I know I can do it. So I'd best get on with it, really, hadn't I?! I've not got time to mope - I've got lbs to shed!
Join me again at some juncture next week when I may have some sort of an update for you. But if not I shall update again on Friday when hopefully, fingers crossed, after a whole week of being good I'll finally have a result worthy of a fiesta from the llamas!!
Friday, 31 August 2012
Le Gasp!! Il Gaspo!! Die Gazpen!!
Yeah that's right, so shocking I had to say it in French and then translate it into Spanish and German.
The shocks are manifold in this blog entry, so if you're of a nervous disposition I'd recommend changing your knickers now and bringing a spare pair back to the computer with you, just in case.
Firstly... I'm writing a blog entry!
I know, it's been ages. Well, I had my mojo working - but it just didn't work on slimming. I ate. And I drank. And I was merry. Well - I may say I was merry, but actually it was just one long stretch of beating myself up for being weak-willed.
Also, it turns out that I am still very addicted to chocolate. I thought after giving it up for eight months I'd be absolutely fine. No. Not at all. In fact all I want to do with my life is to eat chocolate for breakfast, dinner and tea, give up work and eat my body weight in cocoa-infused products. It's a dangerous substance.
Anyway. I think I'm back on the straight and narrow now. I said I'd give myself twelve months and it's only been eight so, y'know, I won't give up.
The second shocking revelation in today's blog entry is this... the llamas will be having TWO fiestas today!!!
I know, after weeks and weeks of training, they're finally ready for two fiestas. The first one is because, two weeks ago - I finally got my 4stone award. Take it away, chaps...!!
*dances round like a mad eejit* Phewf!!
Yeah, that's right, four stone - that's 56lbs to my American pals and 25.4kg to my... metric pals. It's a small child. Or at least a substantial percentage of the average adult. I only got my certificate on the night, they'd run out of shiny stickers, but fear not, I've got my shiny sticker now and it's there, shining proudly on the back of my Slimming World book.
The second fiesta will come later.
The third shock is this - after nearly two weeks of eating and drinking like an attendee at a Roman banquet, I hopped on the scales last night at Fat Club, and lo and behold, I'd lost a pound!!
I was convinced I'd put at least 10lbs on. At least 10. I'd really given it a good go, y'know. I had chocolate, and doughnuts, and... a lot of booze... and takeaways, and crisps, and basically everything I haven't had in the last eight months!!
In fact, I was so convinced that I'd ruined things for myself that I seriously considered just quitting and carrying on the diet from home. I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of getting back on the scales. I knew exactly how much I'd gone off the rails. Although, to be fair - I've really got Jo to thank that I've got this far anyway, she's an amazing cook and has really kept me on the straight and narrow far more than I realised.
Thankfully, I had a stern talking-to from various friends and family members, and so last night I trudged down the hill to the Church Hall to hop on the scales. I dunno if I've mentioned, but the song that always plays in my head when I get on the scales and get a good result is 'You're the Best' by Joe Esposito (the theme tune to The Karate Kid - the real one, not the silly remake). It was like it was playing in some sort of quadrophonic stereo type capacity when I saw the scales say I'd actually lost weight!!
And now - the FOURTH shock of this blog!!!
The song faded out as the Weighing Lady (I think her name's Natalie but I'm not sure. I really should find out, shouldn't I, I've been going for eight months!) started interrogating me about whether I'd been to group last week, or the week before. I felt a bit guilty but I told her I skipped Fat Club last week and didn't stay to group the week before. She started mumbling to herself and then asked the Check-In Lady (Dawn) if it was definitely me, and Dawn said that it was, and then after a few moments' conflab between them, the Weighing Lady and I had the following conversation:
WL: Because, erm, well - you've been named Woman of the Year!
ME: Oh yeah, right!! Hahahahaha!!!!!
[awkward pause]
ME: What, really?!
WL: Really.
ME: Me?!
WL: You.
ME: [points to self] ME?!?
WL: Yes, that's right.
ME: You mean.... me?!?!!???
WL: [rolls eyes] Yes, you!!
ME: Are you sure???? There must be some sort of mistake!!
WL: No, no, it's you.
[SPEV gazes off distractedly as the record player in her head starts up again - "You're the best... AROOOOUUND!! NOTHIN'S GONNA EVER KEEP YOU DOOOWWNNN!!!!"]
Unfortunately, Andrea the Consultant was on holiday, and so I won't know more about it until next week. I have no idea what it means, but the reports all seem to suggest that I will be getting a certificate, hopefully a shiny sticker and, most excitingly of all - A SASH!!!
That's right, all I'll need is a peaked hat and I could join International Rescue.
So, when I told the llamas, naturally they were all delighted and started leaping about (gambolling, even, I think you could say), doing back flips and Miguel even moonwalked down the street with happiness. Our Joanna cried. It was all very exciting. The latest member of my dancing llama troupe, Pedro, called up one of his 'contacts' and actually arranged a float for the second fiesta!!! I mean it's only a milk-float but you've got to take what you can get, right?
Without further ado - let's all shake our maracas, shimmy like we've no backbone and roll our Rs in a celebratory Latino fashion!!!!
I'm amazed and shocked and... well... Amazed. I can't believe people actually voted for me. I didn't think anyone noticed - I mean not even I've noticed! I hope I don't have to say anything next week.
So, if you've not died of boredom yet, that's basically what's happened over the last couple of weeks, slimming-wise. It didn't feel as though a lot went on - but clearly, it did!! Fabulous.
I've got eight weigh-ins left before the Michael Nesmith concert. I would love to have got my 5 stone award by then, and I'll certainly be working towards it. I've done it four times before so I don't think it's exactly impossible. But it'd still be nice to have done it by the time October 29th comes round.
Join me again - next time... whenever that might be.... maybe next week... when I might have something else to say. Possibly....!!!
The shocks are manifold in this blog entry, so if you're of a nervous disposition I'd recommend changing your knickers now and bringing a spare pair back to the computer with you, just in case.
Firstly... I'm writing a blog entry!
I know, it's been ages. Well, I had my mojo working - but it just didn't work on slimming. I ate. And I drank. And I was merry. Well - I may say I was merry, but actually it was just one long stretch of beating myself up for being weak-willed.
Also, it turns out that I am still very addicted to chocolate. I thought after giving it up for eight months I'd be absolutely fine. No. Not at all. In fact all I want to do with my life is to eat chocolate for breakfast, dinner and tea, give up work and eat my body weight in cocoa-infused products. It's a dangerous substance.
Anyway. I think I'm back on the straight and narrow now. I said I'd give myself twelve months and it's only been eight so, y'know, I won't give up.
The second shocking revelation in today's blog entry is this... the llamas will be having TWO fiestas today!!!
I know, after weeks and weeks of training, they're finally ready for two fiestas. The first one is because, two weeks ago - I finally got my 4stone award. Take it away, chaps...!!
AAARRRRIIIIIIBBBAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ole!!!
*dances round like a mad eejit* Phewf!!
Yeah, that's right, four stone - that's 56lbs to my American pals and 25.4kg to my... metric pals. It's a small child. Or at least a substantial percentage of the average adult. I only got my certificate on the night, they'd run out of shiny stickers, but fear not, I've got my shiny sticker now and it's there, shining proudly on the back of my Slimming World book.
The second fiesta will come later.
The third shock is this - after nearly two weeks of eating and drinking like an attendee at a Roman banquet, I hopped on the scales last night at Fat Club, and lo and behold, I'd lost a pound!!
I was convinced I'd put at least 10lbs on. At least 10. I'd really given it a good go, y'know. I had chocolate, and doughnuts, and... a lot of booze... and takeaways, and crisps, and basically everything I haven't had in the last eight months!!
In fact, I was so convinced that I'd ruined things for myself that I seriously considered just quitting and carrying on the diet from home. I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of getting back on the scales. I knew exactly how much I'd gone off the rails. Although, to be fair - I've really got Jo to thank that I've got this far anyway, she's an amazing cook and has really kept me on the straight and narrow far more than I realised.
Thankfully, I had a stern talking-to from various friends and family members, and so last night I trudged down the hill to the Church Hall to hop on the scales. I dunno if I've mentioned, but the song that always plays in my head when I get on the scales and get a good result is 'You're the Best' by Joe Esposito (the theme tune to The Karate Kid - the real one, not the silly remake). It was like it was playing in some sort of quadrophonic stereo type capacity when I saw the scales say I'd actually lost weight!!
And now - the FOURTH shock of this blog!!!
The song faded out as the Weighing Lady (I think her name's Natalie but I'm not sure. I really should find out, shouldn't I, I've been going for eight months!) started interrogating me about whether I'd been to group last week, or the week before. I felt a bit guilty but I told her I skipped Fat Club last week and didn't stay to group the week before. She started mumbling to herself and then asked the Check-In Lady (Dawn) if it was definitely me, and Dawn said that it was, and then after a few moments' conflab between them, the Weighing Lady and I had the following conversation:
WL: Because, erm, well - you've been named Woman of the Year!
ME: Oh yeah, right!! Hahahahaha!!!!!
[awkward pause]
ME: What, really?!
WL: Really.
ME: Me?!
WL: You.
ME: [points to self] ME?!?
WL: Yes, that's right.
ME: You mean.... me?!?!!???
WL: [rolls eyes] Yes, you!!
ME: Are you sure???? There must be some sort of mistake!!
WL: No, no, it's you.
[SPEV gazes off distractedly as the record player in her head starts up again - "You're the best... AROOOOUUND!! NOTHIN'S GONNA EVER KEEP YOU DOOOWWNNN!!!!"]
Unfortunately, Andrea the Consultant was on holiday, and so I won't know more about it until next week. I have no idea what it means, but the reports all seem to suggest that I will be getting a certificate, hopefully a shiny sticker and, most excitingly of all - A SASH!!!
That's right, all I'll need is a peaked hat and I could join International Rescue.
So, when I told the llamas, naturally they were all delighted and started leaping about (gambolling, even, I think you could say), doing back flips and Miguel even moonwalked down the street with happiness. Our Joanna cried. It was all very exciting. The latest member of my dancing llama troupe, Pedro, called up one of his 'contacts' and actually arranged a float for the second fiesta!!! I mean it's only a milk-float but you've got to take what you can get, right?
Without further ado - let's all shake our maracas, shimmy like we've no backbone and roll our Rs in a celebratory Latino fashion!!!!
Waahhooooo!!!!! *shimmy* *shake* *wiggle* *etc*
I'm amazed and shocked and... well... Amazed. I can't believe people actually voted for me. I didn't think anyone noticed - I mean not even I've noticed! I hope I don't have to say anything next week.
So, if you've not died of boredom yet, that's basically what's happened over the last couple of weeks, slimming-wise. It didn't feel as though a lot went on - but clearly, it did!! Fabulous.
I've got eight weigh-ins left before the Michael Nesmith concert. I would love to have got my 5 stone award by then, and I'll certainly be working towards it. I've done it four times before so I don't think it's exactly impossible. But it'd still be nice to have done it by the time October 29th comes round.
Join me again - next time... whenever that might be.... maybe next week... when I might have something else to say. Possibly....!!!
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
Dressin' Fine, Makin' Time
I would like to apologise for my complete failure on the blogging front recently. Work's been mental and I haven't had time to write. Sorry.
Thursday went well. I lost 2 1/2 lbs. I now have 2 1/2 lbs to lose before I get my 4 stone award. I'd LOVE it if it was this week. I'm giving it my best shot this week. I've been determined, I'm still on the wagon (Day 16. Blood is now coursing through my alcohol stream. I'm starting to see things as they really are. 'Floor!' 'Curtains!' 'Gobshite!' Erm. Sorry. Just went all Father Ted there for a minute!), I've kept to well under 10 Syns a day, except for Saturday when I went half a Syn over, but I'm not worried about that really. I've walked a lot. I haven't been quite as stressed out this week as I have been during the last two weeks about losing weight. I don't feel any different or any thinner. I know I couldn't possibly have put weight on with the things I've been eating, but hey - who knows how the human body works? Certainly not me. It'th a mythtery, as Toyah Wilcox might say. For the benefit of my readers under the age of 35 and who therefore don't know who Toyah Wilcox is - ask your mum. She'll always be Monkey to me. Toyah, that is. Not your mum. I feel as though I'm unwittingly starting to stray into unintentional 'your mum' jokes territory. I'm going to end this aside right now before I get into trouble!
I'm really sorry you missed the fiesta. It was a special fiesta as well, in honour of the synchronised swimming. Ricardo has become obsessed with it. He designed a load of inflatable leg warmers for the llamas and they did a fabulous routine. If I get my 4 stone shiny sticker this week I'll get them to re-create the whole thing for you.
I should point out at this juncture that I will probably be off-grid for the next ten days or so. I'll update as much as I can, obviously, but on Friday, Saturday and Sunday I shall be at the annual District Convention of Jehovah's Witnesses in Liverpool. In the North West for the last 14 years or so it's been held at the Manchester Arena and it's a big, scary place, so my family and I have escaped to somewhere far more exotic for the Convention over the last few years. Stoke-on-Trent. Anyway, this year it's in Liverpool, and as my entire family are from the glorious city, we're very excited about the prospect.
I have new dresses. I had a disastrous afternoon's shopping on Saturday. Not that the company was disastrous, you understand - it was fabulous. After all, I was with my pal, Heather. I know. Two Heathers, no messing. She's awesome and I love her to distraction. So, I had a grand old time as always with her, it was just the dresses were the problem. They were either too short or too low (and although I'm skinny now, I still have massive knockers to deal with) - and often both at the same time. Although at least they all fitted me. It's nice to know that I can walk into a shop, pick up a dress in a particular size and know that it will fit me. I don't think I've ever done that before. It's all progress. I found a new dress yesterday, which is very pretty and fits me, so I'm nearly replete with dresses in my wardrobe, which is all very exciting. Eventually, I will post my 'before' and 'half way through' photos. I just need to retrieve the 'before' photo that my Auntie Heather took of me in January!
After the Convention, I'm moving out of home for a week or so. Long story. I'm sleeping at my pal's house for a few nights and then staying with another pal for a few nights. I should still be able to update the blog while I'm away because I'll still be working, but if not, you'll know why. My life should hopefully return to normal - well, as normal as my life ever gets, anyway - on or around 23 August, which coincides with the Global Public Holiday I've been campaigning for for the last who knows how long - International Keith Moon Day. Everything is wonderful on that day, it's by far my favourite day on the calendar. So it's only fitting, really, that everything sorts itself out by then.
I shall try to update on Wednesday or Thursday but I won't be able to update on my results from Fat Club until at least Monday next week. Sorry about that, chaps. Wish me luck though. I have a feeling that this week I'm seriously going to need it!!
Thursday went well. I lost 2 1/2 lbs. I now have 2 1/2 lbs to lose before I get my 4 stone award. I'd LOVE it if it was this week. I'm giving it my best shot this week. I've been determined, I'm still on the wagon (Day 16. Blood is now coursing through my alcohol stream. I'm starting to see things as they really are. 'Floor!' 'Curtains!' 'Gobshite!' Erm. Sorry. Just went all Father Ted there for a minute!), I've kept to well under 10 Syns a day, except for Saturday when I went half a Syn over, but I'm not worried about that really. I've walked a lot. I haven't been quite as stressed out this week as I have been during the last two weeks about losing weight. I don't feel any different or any thinner. I know I couldn't possibly have put weight on with the things I've been eating, but hey - who knows how the human body works? Certainly not me. It'th a mythtery, as Toyah Wilcox might say. For the benefit of my readers under the age of 35 and who therefore don't know who Toyah Wilcox is - ask your mum. She'll always be Monkey to me. Toyah, that is. Not your mum. I feel as though I'm unwittingly starting to stray into unintentional 'your mum' jokes territory. I'm going to end this aside right now before I get into trouble!
I'm really sorry you missed the fiesta. It was a special fiesta as well, in honour of the synchronised swimming. Ricardo has become obsessed with it. He designed a load of inflatable leg warmers for the llamas and they did a fabulous routine. If I get my 4 stone shiny sticker this week I'll get them to re-create the whole thing for you.
I should point out at this juncture that I will probably be off-grid for the next ten days or so. I'll update as much as I can, obviously, but on Friday, Saturday and Sunday I shall be at the annual District Convention of Jehovah's Witnesses in Liverpool. In the North West for the last 14 years or so it's been held at the Manchester Arena and it's a big, scary place, so my family and I have escaped to somewhere far more exotic for the Convention over the last few years. Stoke-on-Trent. Anyway, this year it's in Liverpool, and as my entire family are from the glorious city, we're very excited about the prospect.
I have new dresses. I had a disastrous afternoon's shopping on Saturday. Not that the company was disastrous, you understand - it was fabulous. After all, I was with my pal, Heather. I know. Two Heathers, no messing. She's awesome and I love her to distraction. So, I had a grand old time as always with her, it was just the dresses were the problem. They were either too short or too low (and although I'm skinny now, I still have massive knockers to deal with) - and often both at the same time. Although at least they all fitted me. It's nice to know that I can walk into a shop, pick up a dress in a particular size and know that it will fit me. I don't think I've ever done that before. It's all progress. I found a new dress yesterday, which is very pretty and fits me, so I'm nearly replete with dresses in my wardrobe, which is all very exciting. Eventually, I will post my 'before' and 'half way through' photos. I just need to retrieve the 'before' photo that my Auntie Heather took of me in January!
After the Convention, I'm moving out of home for a week or so. Long story. I'm sleeping at my pal's house for a few nights and then staying with another pal for a few nights. I should still be able to update the blog while I'm away because I'll still be working, but if not, you'll know why. My life should hopefully return to normal - well, as normal as my life ever gets, anyway - on or around 23 August, which coincides with the Global Public Holiday I've been campaigning for for the last who knows how long - International Keith Moon Day. Everything is wonderful on that day, it's by far my favourite day on the calendar. So it's only fitting, really, that everything sorts itself out by then.
I shall try to update on Wednesday or Thursday but I won't be able to update on my results from Fat Club until at least Monday next week. Sorry about that, chaps. Wish me luck though. I have a feeling that this week I'm seriously going to need it!!
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
24 Toasters from Scunthorpe
Prizes will be handed out to anyone who gets the reference in today's blog title. Answers to the usual address.
It's Wednesday. Just over 24 hours to go and I'll be hopping back on those scales for the first time in three weeks.
I. Am. Terrified.
What if I've thought I've been doing the right things for the last week or two and actually I haven't and I've put a couple of stone on? Actually, is that biologically possible? Even if it isn't I bet I probably still would!!
When you do something unpleasant on a regular basis, the pleasantness doesn't improve, because it's always a horrible thing to do, but the discomfort does subside a little because you're used to it. I can't really think of anything nearly as unpleasant to willingly put oneself through aside from going to work every day. You have to do it because otherwise you starve, it isn't pleasant but you go anyway, and then you usually find it isn't quite so hellish when you get there. Unless you work for the NHS. Fabulous institution, Britain's best idea by miles - absolutely terrible employer.
I'm going off-topic.
My point is, I avoided scales like the plague until January, and then I've subsequently I've hopped on a pair every week for the last 26 weeks or so. I never liked getting on the scales but it had become a slightly less scary prospect. After 20 days away from the scales, half of which were spent mostly in blissful varying stages of inebriation - I have roughly the same desire to get back on the scales as a Death Row convict has when offered a seat a large chair near an electric switch.
But it's one of those things, isn't it? I've got to do it otherwise I'll just slip back into the old routine, and I really don't want that. I've come much too far now. Or at least I think I have. Who knows.
What if the worst happens? What if I do get on the scales tomorrow and even though I've reined it back in SO much over the last ten days I've still put weight on? Am I going to give up? Go back to how things used to be? Think "I'll never get there" and cry for an hour? Probably. But then after I've cried for an hour I'll have a stern talk to myself, stop being weak and pathetic and get the hell back on it again. Marathon. Not a sprint. I will get there. Whether that happens this year or next year. I gave myself 18 months to do this, and on June 3rd 2013 I will look completely different to how I looked on January 1st 2012. I will. I'll even post pictures to prove it.
Maybe!
Join me on Friday. I will have got back on the scales and I'll know exactly what I'm working with. The llamas are going to have a fiesta anyway because it's the Olympics and Ricardo has decided to try and campaign for 'fiesta-ing' to be an Olympic sport. He's even designed Team GB's legwarmers for the Rio Olympics...
It's Wednesday. Just over 24 hours to go and I'll be hopping back on those scales for the first time in three weeks.
I. Am. Terrified.
What if I've thought I've been doing the right things for the last week or two and actually I haven't and I've put a couple of stone on? Actually, is that biologically possible? Even if it isn't I bet I probably still would!!
When you do something unpleasant on a regular basis, the pleasantness doesn't improve, because it's always a horrible thing to do, but the discomfort does subside a little because you're used to it. I can't really think of anything nearly as unpleasant to willingly put oneself through aside from going to work every day. You have to do it because otherwise you starve, it isn't pleasant but you go anyway, and then you usually find it isn't quite so hellish when you get there. Unless you work for the NHS. Fabulous institution, Britain's best idea by miles - absolutely terrible employer.
I'm going off-topic.
My point is, I avoided scales like the plague until January, and then I've subsequently I've hopped on a pair every week for the last 26 weeks or so. I never liked getting on the scales but it had become a slightly less scary prospect. After 20 days away from the scales, half of which were spent mostly in blissful varying stages of inebriation - I have roughly the same desire to get back on the scales as a Death Row convict has when offered a seat a large chair near an electric switch.
But it's one of those things, isn't it? I've got to do it otherwise I'll just slip back into the old routine, and I really don't want that. I've come much too far now. Or at least I think I have. Who knows.
What if the worst happens? What if I do get on the scales tomorrow and even though I've reined it back in SO much over the last ten days I've still put weight on? Am I going to give up? Go back to how things used to be? Think "I'll never get there" and cry for an hour? Probably. But then after I've cried for an hour I'll have a stern talk to myself, stop being weak and pathetic and get the hell back on it again. Marathon. Not a sprint. I will get there. Whether that happens this year or next year. I gave myself 18 months to do this, and on June 3rd 2013 I will look completely different to how I looked on January 1st 2012. I will. I'll even post pictures to prove it.
Maybe!
Join me on Friday. I will have got back on the scales and I'll know exactly what I'm working with. The llamas are going to have a fiesta anyway because it's the Olympics and Ricardo has decided to try and campaign for 'fiesta-ing' to be an Olympic sport. He's even designed Team GB's legwarmers for the Rio Olympics...
Monday, 30 July 2012
Swimmin' with the Wimmin'
So, the Olympics has started in London and everyone's mind is turning to all things sporty.
Mine isn't. Even though I've watched a lot of gymnastics (and fencing, swimming and... actually that's it, so far). If I could back-flip, I have a feeling that I would never walk again. A normal trip to the corner shop for a pint of milk would be a very different experience. Or if I'd gone on a dead long walk and my legs got tired, I'd just walk on my hands instead. I'd be triple somersaulting all over the flippin' (ha! see what I did there?!) place. It must be nice to be a natural athlete.
The E Word keeps rearing its ugly head and I keep on avoiding it like the plague. Due to my lack of car I do walk nearly everywhere - at least two miles a day, but I'm really starting to get the feeling that I have to do more. I have arms that need unwobbling. I have curves that need to look more curvy and less lumpy. I have core muscles that need... er... coring.
I'm bored already. Exercise is for people without the capability to watch sport on television, surely?
I blame the plethora of exercise that's going on in the country right now. Us sedentary chaps and chapesses are being made to feel guilty. Look. Some of us - like Bruce Springsteen - were born to run. Some of us were born to get public transport instead - like me.
I keep being advised to take up swimming, but I feel this is the last thing I ought to do. For a start it will unquestionably involve, at some stage, the concept of me in a swimming costume. There is probably no sight more repugnant to the human race. Even the thought of it makes my blood run cold. Nobody needs to see that! Eeesh!!! The other problem with swimming is that I can't swim. Which really is a problem that far exceeds any self-hate issues I happen to have running in conjunction with my lack of ability. Besides, I'd end up with shoulders the size of a small child. I don't need another hang-up about my physical appearance, thank you - I already have enough for two lifetimes!!
There'll be an activity out there that has my name on it. Something that doesn't involve going outside, is a well known source of aerobic exercise and is utterly enjoyable and with purpose. I know what you're all thinking. And you're right. I should really start dancing round the living room! (What?! What were you thinking?!)
I've been very good this weekend. I've eaten a lot but it's all been the right sort of stuff. I've also done a ton of decorating and loads more walking than usual. That ought to do something for certain muscle groups. Dunno what, like, but it ought to - I'm knackered. It should at least improve my karate. I've seen the Karate Kid (I'm referring to the real one and not the abysmal remake that Jackie Chan basically spent the whole film looking apologetic for. And this is from the man who made Shanghai Knights!), I know how it works. I bet I'm an expert now - I could take on ALL the Cobra Kai team and batter 'em!! Just try coming at me! Try it!!
Actually - don't. I'll most likely scream hysterically, fall to the floor and assume the foetal position.
I don't know what to think about the weight-loss thing at the moment, though. It seems to me, whenever I think "Oooh, I dunno, I feel a bit podgier this week, I'm sure I've put on! And how about that extra cup of coffee with milk I had on Tuesday morning?!" it turns out that I lose something ridiculous like 4lbs or so. But when I've been mega-good and Synned like a nun at Lourdes, and thought to myself, "I've been dead good, I must've lost something this week! I even feel thinner!" I end up either only losing half a pound or putting a bit of weight on or staying the same. All I'm doing is following the plan exactly as I did on my first week back in January. At the moment I'm simply aiming to still be the same weight as I was before my epic week of hedonism. If I get a better result than that then I shall be chuffed, but I really don't want to get my hopes up. I mean, I've been very good last week and am determined to be just as good this week, so, who knows. If I can get as close as I can to my 4 stone mark by next Thursday I shall be more chuffed than the chuff of a chuff's chuff. And we all know how chuffed they are!
Join me later on in the week for my pre-weigh in nervous breakdown. It's been two weeks since I last went to Fat Club and I'm sure by Wednesdayish I shall be absolutely terrified about getting back on those there scales... *wibble*
Mine isn't. Even though I've watched a lot of gymnastics (and fencing, swimming and... actually that's it, so far). If I could back-flip, I have a feeling that I would never walk again. A normal trip to the corner shop for a pint of milk would be a very different experience. Or if I'd gone on a dead long walk and my legs got tired, I'd just walk on my hands instead. I'd be triple somersaulting all over the flippin' (ha! see what I did there?!) place. It must be nice to be a natural athlete.
The E Word keeps rearing its ugly head and I keep on avoiding it like the plague. Due to my lack of car I do walk nearly everywhere - at least two miles a day, but I'm really starting to get the feeling that I have to do more. I have arms that need unwobbling. I have curves that need to look more curvy and less lumpy. I have core muscles that need... er... coring.
I'm bored already. Exercise is for people without the capability to watch sport on television, surely?
I blame the plethora of exercise that's going on in the country right now. Us sedentary chaps and chapesses are being made to feel guilty. Look. Some of us - like Bruce Springsteen - were born to run. Some of us were born to get public transport instead - like me.
I keep being advised to take up swimming, but I feel this is the last thing I ought to do. For a start it will unquestionably involve, at some stage, the concept of me in a swimming costume. There is probably no sight more repugnant to the human race. Even the thought of it makes my blood run cold. Nobody needs to see that! Eeesh!!! The other problem with swimming is that I can't swim. Which really is a problem that far exceeds any self-hate issues I happen to have running in conjunction with my lack of ability. Besides, I'd end up with shoulders the size of a small child. I don't need another hang-up about my physical appearance, thank you - I already have enough for two lifetimes!!
There'll be an activity out there that has my name on it. Something that doesn't involve going outside, is a well known source of aerobic exercise and is utterly enjoyable and with purpose. I know what you're all thinking. And you're right. I should really start dancing round the living room! (What?! What were you thinking?!)
I've been very good this weekend. I've eaten a lot but it's all been the right sort of stuff. I've also done a ton of decorating and loads more walking than usual. That ought to do something for certain muscle groups. Dunno what, like, but it ought to - I'm knackered. It should at least improve my karate. I've seen the Karate Kid (I'm referring to the real one and not the abysmal remake that Jackie Chan basically spent the whole film looking apologetic for. And this is from the man who made Shanghai Knights!), I know how it works. I bet I'm an expert now - I could take on ALL the Cobra Kai team and batter 'em!! Just try coming at me! Try it!!
Actually - don't. I'll most likely scream hysterically, fall to the floor and assume the foetal position.
I don't know what to think about the weight-loss thing at the moment, though. It seems to me, whenever I think "Oooh, I dunno, I feel a bit podgier this week, I'm sure I've put on! And how about that extra cup of coffee with milk I had on Tuesday morning?!" it turns out that I lose something ridiculous like 4lbs or so. But when I've been mega-good and Synned like a nun at Lourdes, and thought to myself, "I've been dead good, I must've lost something this week! I even feel thinner!" I end up either only losing half a pound or putting a bit of weight on or staying the same. All I'm doing is following the plan exactly as I did on my first week back in January. At the moment I'm simply aiming to still be the same weight as I was before my epic week of hedonism. If I get a better result than that then I shall be chuffed, but I really don't want to get my hopes up. I mean, I've been very good last week and am determined to be just as good this week, so, who knows. If I can get as close as I can to my 4 stone mark by next Thursday I shall be more chuffed than the chuff of a chuff's chuff. And we all know how chuffed they are!
Join me later on in the week for my pre-weigh in nervous breakdown. It's been two weeks since I last went to Fat Club and I'm sure by Wednesdayish I shall be absolutely terrified about getting back on those there scales... *wibble*
Thursday, 26 July 2012
Full to Bursting
This is the happy predicament in which I find myself.
My cheating days are over. I think that's what Kirsten Stewart said to Robert Pattinson (satire!).
I have to say, quite seriously now, that I love Slimming World. For a person of the large persuasion who genuinely loves their food in all its glorious different guises, I'm pretty sure it's the only way. Basically, the idea of it - for those who are lucky enough not to need to lose weight or those who have never heard of the plan before - is to fill up on foods with a lower density of calories (fruit, veg, rice, pasta, potatoes, lean meat etc) so that you basically don't really have a lot of room for foods with a high density of calories (chocolate, cakes, cheese, booze etc), but the diet is still flexible enough to allow some of those foods every day so (each food is appointed a 'Syn' value, and you're allowed between 10-15 'Syns' a day. Not 100% sure of the reason for the purposeful misspelling, but I'm a Monkees fan, so I'll let it slide), theoretically, you don't get put off and you can feasibly just eat that way forever. Which sounds perfectly logical.
Doesn't it sound just TOO easy?? Yes. Tell you what though - if you follow it, it works. Just over 3 1/2 stone later, I'm proof of that.
The reason I mention it is because I'm in that glorious mood of post-lunch. This lunchtime - and bearing in mind I am absolutely 100% hardcore on this diet right now - I managed to cheerfully plough my way through a jacket potato with baked beans, followed by a Vanilla/Chocolate sprinkles Mullerlight and half a canteloupe melon. This was on the back of a breakfast consisting of two boiled eggs, a handful of cherries, a banana and an orange. Stomach - full to capacity. Syns consumed - 0. Associated guilt regarding said full stomach - 0. And don't worry, there's an apple in my bag for later on this afternoon so I will have actually had my five a day!!
Beat that, Weight Watchers.
I have no idea how it works. But it does feel as though the more you eat, the more weight you lose. I'm totally up for that.
I won't be going to weigh-in tonight because there's stuff to do at Wainwright Towers that requires my constant presence. However, I've had a bit of a conflab with Andrea the Consultant and I'll be back next week, and - hopefully - get my 4 stone shiny sticker and matching certificate. I shall be working hard to get there. I just hope it pays off.
The llamas (I know how much you all love them) are fine. They've been taking it easy for the last few weeks, but they're back in training for next Friday's fiesta. I've promised them a fiesta and if I don't deliver on it I think Enrique will keel over with worry. That's right. I'm not losing weight for my health, my appearance or my obsession with filling my wardrobe with dresses - I'm doing it for the llamas. After the cannonball stunt of a few weeks ago, Miguel has finally recovered, the cast came off his leg last week and he's delighted - do you know how itchy llama legs get in plaster casts? Neither do I, but the poor little fella was going mad with the itching. Watch Rear Window with Jimmy Stewart, you'll get some idea of how Miguel felt. I mean, with regard to having an itchy leg up to the hip in plaster, not with regard to inadvertently witnessing a murder when all he wanted to do was have a sneaky perve over the ballerina in the flat opposite.
Join me on Monday, if you like. I don't know what news I'll have to report by then, but if I have any I promise you'll be the first to read about it!!!
My cheating days are over. I think that's what Kirsten Stewart said to Robert Pattinson (satire!).
I have to say, quite seriously now, that I love Slimming World. For a person of the large persuasion who genuinely loves their food in all its glorious different guises, I'm pretty sure it's the only way. Basically, the idea of it - for those who are lucky enough not to need to lose weight or those who have never heard of the plan before - is to fill up on foods with a lower density of calories (fruit, veg, rice, pasta, potatoes, lean meat etc) so that you basically don't really have a lot of room for foods with a high density of calories (chocolate, cakes, cheese, booze etc), but the diet is still flexible enough to allow some of those foods every day so (each food is appointed a 'Syn' value, and you're allowed between 10-15 'Syns' a day. Not 100% sure of the reason for the purposeful misspelling, but I'm a Monkees fan, so I'll let it slide), theoretically, you don't get put off and you can feasibly just eat that way forever. Which sounds perfectly logical.
Doesn't it sound just TOO easy?? Yes. Tell you what though - if you follow it, it works. Just over 3 1/2 stone later, I'm proof of that.
The reason I mention it is because I'm in that glorious mood of post-lunch. This lunchtime - and bearing in mind I am absolutely 100% hardcore on this diet right now - I managed to cheerfully plough my way through a jacket potato with baked beans, followed by a Vanilla/Chocolate sprinkles Mullerlight and half a canteloupe melon. This was on the back of a breakfast consisting of two boiled eggs, a handful of cherries, a banana and an orange. Stomach - full to capacity. Syns consumed - 0. Associated guilt regarding said full stomach - 0. And don't worry, there's an apple in my bag for later on this afternoon so I will have actually had my five a day!!
Beat that, Weight Watchers.
I have no idea how it works. But it does feel as though the more you eat, the more weight you lose. I'm totally up for that.
I won't be going to weigh-in tonight because there's stuff to do at Wainwright Towers that requires my constant presence. However, I've had a bit of a conflab with Andrea the Consultant and I'll be back next week, and - hopefully - get my 4 stone shiny sticker and matching certificate. I shall be working hard to get there. I just hope it pays off.
The llamas (I know how much you all love them) are fine. They've been taking it easy for the last few weeks, but they're back in training for next Friday's fiesta. I've promised them a fiesta and if I don't deliver on it I think Enrique will keel over with worry. That's right. I'm not losing weight for my health, my appearance or my obsession with filling my wardrobe with dresses - I'm doing it for the llamas. After the cannonball stunt of a few weeks ago, Miguel has finally recovered, the cast came off his leg last week and he's delighted - do you know how itchy llama legs get in plaster casts? Neither do I, but the poor little fella was going mad with the itching. Watch Rear Window with Jimmy Stewart, you'll get some idea of how Miguel felt. I mean, with regard to having an itchy leg up to the hip in plaster, not with regard to inadvertently witnessing a murder when all he wanted to do was have a sneaky perve over the ballerina in the flat opposite.
Join me on Monday, if you like. I don't know what news I'll have to report by then, but if I have any I promise you'll be the first to read about it!!!
Monday, 23 July 2012
Starting All Over Again
I know it's been ages, but I've really had very little indeed to report on the weight loss front.
Although...
On July 5th (exactly 6 months after I first stepped on the scales) I managed to hit my half-way target of 3 1/2 stones. In fact I got just over my half way point, and all I needed was to lose another 5lbs in 5 weeks in order to hit my 4 stone mark. Then the boredom set in. And when it set, it stuck good and proper.
I don't know why, when I'd worked so hard over the last six months, I suddenly decided it would be a fabulous idea to go completely off the rails because I couldn't be bothered keeping on the straight and narrow. Yes, because getting halfway there totally means you're allowed to give yourself a week or two off, just because you 'can't be bothered'!!
No, actually, I shouldn't be allowed to give myself two weeks off 'just because' yet. I've not done anything yet. Halfway does not count. I've been here before. I've been halfway, and I've always fallen into this trap and the weight has piled straight back on and I'm back to where I was before I know it. I haven't done anything to congratulate myself for yet. I'm not taking away from the fact that it's been a long hard slog to get this far. And I know that losing over 3 1/2 stones in six months is an achievement, and I'm not really detracting from that. But it isn't the target. It isn't where I want to be.
You don't see people training for marathons giving themselves a few weeks off from training after they finally manage to run for thirteen miles solid, do you? Exactly. I haven't made it yet, I've got no reason to start messing around and giving myself lame excuses to fall off the wagon. So what if I've had a tough day at work? That doesn't instantly mean that I have to have a few large glasses of something interesting. It's not going to make my tough day any less tough. It's just a bunch of extra Syns that I don't actually need and that will only serve to make me feel guilty for a lapse in motivation.
Perhaps, and the thought did occur to me earlier last week, I've really never known myself this size. It feels weird. I look in the mirror now and I only see two chins, rather than 50. I saw my collar bone when I looked in the mirror the other week. It was just, y'know, there. I genuinely panicked for a few moments and thought there was a tumour growing below my neck, until I realised what it was!! My shoulders have gone skinny. My cheekbones are huge. I don't look like me any more.
Being smaller than I already am, although I want it desperately, will seem so weird. Being 'big' is very much an intrinsic part of how I see myself and what I think I am. If I haven't got that instant, bizarrely comforting, self-deprecating joke of me being fat to hide behind, then I'm not really sure what I have got. Perhaps my firm thwack on the 'self-destruct' button last week was because I'm actually really scared of the physical aspects of being smaller. I already hate the attention. And no, no I haven't had any attention from blokes, they still have no idea I exist - but getting told, "Wow, you look great!" and "Oh my god, look at you!!" or "I can't believe how amazing/stunning/beautiful/fabulous you look!" (and seriously - words like 'stunning' and 'beautiful' should never be associated with me) and all that sort of thing... don't get me wrong, it's lovely, I really appreciate how supportive everyone is - and it's a lot nicer than "Holy hell, look at that fat bitch!" which I haven't actually heard for a while now. But to be truthful, I don't feel like I deserve it and it really makes me uncomfortable. I don't really want to be looked at. I thought that's what being smaller would help me achieve - a nice little degree of invisibility.
Still. That's still no reason to go completely off track. I've got things to do. I've got clothes to fit into. I've got a Michael Nesmith gig to go to at the end of October!! So I'm going to stop feeling sorry for myself, I'm going to stop being scared and I'm going to get the hell on with it.
In the wise words of Tony DiNozzo from NCIS - "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got." In the equally wise words of Stanley Holloway - "You can't jump with one foot on the floor." Basically, this week, I need to get my finger out and make damn sure I don't completely put the last six months to waste.
Four stone mark - I am going to own you...!!
Although...
On July 5th (exactly 6 months after I first stepped on the scales) I managed to hit my half-way target of 3 1/2 stones. In fact I got just over my half way point, and all I needed was to lose another 5lbs in 5 weeks in order to hit my 4 stone mark. Then the boredom set in. And when it set, it stuck good and proper.
I don't know why, when I'd worked so hard over the last six months, I suddenly decided it would be a fabulous idea to go completely off the rails because I couldn't be bothered keeping on the straight and narrow. Yes, because getting halfway there totally means you're allowed to give yourself a week or two off, just because you 'can't be bothered'!!
No, actually, I shouldn't be allowed to give myself two weeks off 'just because' yet. I've not done anything yet. Halfway does not count. I've been here before. I've been halfway, and I've always fallen into this trap and the weight has piled straight back on and I'm back to where I was before I know it. I haven't done anything to congratulate myself for yet. I'm not taking away from the fact that it's been a long hard slog to get this far. And I know that losing over 3 1/2 stones in six months is an achievement, and I'm not really detracting from that. But it isn't the target. It isn't where I want to be.
You don't see people training for marathons giving themselves a few weeks off from training after they finally manage to run for thirteen miles solid, do you? Exactly. I haven't made it yet, I've got no reason to start messing around and giving myself lame excuses to fall off the wagon. So what if I've had a tough day at work? That doesn't instantly mean that I have to have a few large glasses of something interesting. It's not going to make my tough day any less tough. It's just a bunch of extra Syns that I don't actually need and that will only serve to make me feel guilty for a lapse in motivation.
Perhaps, and the thought did occur to me earlier last week, I've really never known myself this size. It feels weird. I look in the mirror now and I only see two chins, rather than 50. I saw my collar bone when I looked in the mirror the other week. It was just, y'know, there. I genuinely panicked for a few moments and thought there was a tumour growing below my neck, until I realised what it was!! My shoulders have gone skinny. My cheekbones are huge. I don't look like me any more.
Being smaller than I already am, although I want it desperately, will seem so weird. Being 'big' is very much an intrinsic part of how I see myself and what I think I am. If I haven't got that instant, bizarrely comforting, self-deprecating joke of me being fat to hide behind, then I'm not really sure what I have got. Perhaps my firm thwack on the 'self-destruct' button last week was because I'm actually really scared of the physical aspects of being smaller. I already hate the attention. And no, no I haven't had any attention from blokes, they still have no idea I exist - but getting told, "Wow, you look great!" and "Oh my god, look at you!!" or "I can't believe how amazing/stunning/beautiful/fabulous you look!" (and seriously - words like 'stunning' and 'beautiful' should never be associated with me) and all that sort of thing... don't get me wrong, it's lovely, I really appreciate how supportive everyone is - and it's a lot nicer than "Holy hell, look at that fat bitch!" which I haven't actually heard for a while now. But to be truthful, I don't feel like I deserve it and it really makes me uncomfortable. I don't really want to be looked at. I thought that's what being smaller would help me achieve - a nice little degree of invisibility.
Still. That's still no reason to go completely off track. I've got things to do. I've got clothes to fit into. I've got a Michael Nesmith gig to go to at the end of October!! So I'm going to stop feeling sorry for myself, I'm going to stop being scared and I'm going to get the hell on with it.
In the wise words of Tony DiNozzo from NCIS - "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got." In the equally wise words of Stanley Holloway - "You can't jump with one foot on the floor." Basically, this week, I need to get my finger out and make damn sure I don't completely put the last six months to waste.
Four stone mark - I am going to own you...!!
Wednesday, 27 June 2012
Shortest Blog Post Ever
I feel I may have been unintentionally misleading. I said at the end of my blog on Monday that I might have some exciting news on Wednesday and now everyone seems to think that I have a huge announcement of excitement.
I... well... I really don't. Sorry. I just meant it in that usual, "I might have something exciting to tell you - but the likelihood is I won't," capacity that I normally end posts with. I should've made myself a bit clearer. Apologies for building your hopes up. If I did have any exciting news to announce, I'd just announce it, I wouldn't make you wait!!
No, there is truly nothing to report in my boring life, as usual. It's a general state of OK-ness in Wainwright Central. I'm a bit skint, but I'm always a bit skint. I'm still not a bestselling novellist, but I haven't written in months. I'm not at target yet, but I won't be for a good few months yet. I will get there, though, that's a fact. I'm not going out with David Mitchell, but then I never was. Curse you, Coren! Everything is pretty much the same as ever.
I'm feeling a little midweek slumpish, to be honest. Just a general feeling of 'meh'. I know why, like, and I suppose in a way it makes things easier knowing that you're feeling 'meh' for a reason, because at least you know you're not going mad. Or, if you are going mad, there's a a perfectly logical reason for it.
Still, at least Friday will coincide with pay-day. What's more exciting than pay-day on a Friday, may I ask? Answer - NOTHING! Except of course for a fiesta led by a troupe of dancing llamas!!
Let's all cross our fingers and hope for the best - I need to have lost at least half a pound by tomorrow to get my shiny sticker and certificate - but if I've lost more then hopefully I will be well on my way to the 4 stone shiny sticker!! I wonder what colour that is?! Liz will know, she'll tell me. Although I sort of like the surprise of finding out when I get the shiny stickers. "Oooh! A green one!! Shiny!!" I mean, you know. It's pathetic but it's a thing. Just go with it.
There's nothing more to see here. I think this probably qualifies as my shortest blog post ever. I bet you didn't even get time for a little swig of tea, did you?!
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?!
Wednesday, 20 June 2012
Dude, I Feel So Gnarly
I'm pretty sure only one person on earth will get that particular reference.
My apologies for a lack of update on Monday. I've been poorly. I've felt, well... gnarly. Just unnaturally exhausted, all the time. And dizzy. So flippin' dizzy. Kind of like I'm coming down with something but nothing's actually happening. You know those really annoying vague illnesses that make you feel like all hell but you can't exactly say what's wrong with you. So tired my fingertips hurt, frequently dizzy and nauseous, weird headaches that feel like my head's trapped in a vice... and I feel a right numpty going to the doctors and saying "I feel lousy, what the chuff's up with me?!"
Nevertheless, I did. Two days off work and I still felt rubbish. There was nothing else for it. Understandably, the doc was as stumped as I was and sent me for blood tests just to make sure my body isn't being taken over by aliens (because that's guaranteed to make anyone feel under the weather) or anything.
I've dragged myself back into work today and typically I feel even worse today than I did yesterday and Monday combined. What's a girl to do? If my boss provided sick pay I'd have taken the week off and actually managed to get some proper rest. Never mind. I'll live. I don't think it's possible to actually die of tiredness. Although if I'm wrong I want Fire by the Crazy World of Arthur Brown to be played at my cremation...
My plan this week is to lose 1 1/2 lbs. I dunno if I'll do it because, due to the fact I've felt like someone's pulled the plug out on me and replaced all my limbs with lead-lined cement blocks, I've been rather sedentary the last couple of days. Still, I've been pretty good on the lack of Synning front. I've been drinking heaps more water than usual and eaten loads of fruit and stuff. So I should be okay. I mean 1 1/2 lbs isn't exactly attempting to reach the unreachable. I mean if I'm being mammothly aspirational I'd like to have lost 8 1/2 lbs by my weigh in on July 5th, which will be my six-monthiversary of starting Slimming World and it will be great to say I've lost 4 stone in six months. But if it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen, I'll lose it eventually. I've got just over 4 months before I go to see Michael Nesmith in concert and I should be almost there by then. At least, I hope so.
Join me again on Friday when I'll bring you all the gossip from Slimming World, including how mum got on during her first week and hopefully news that I've reached my half-way point at last. The llamas should be on fine form. Miguel is still tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle, groaning slightly every now and again for effect, but Ricardo's friend Diego said that he'd happily stand in this week while Miguel's recouperating. I just hope Enrique can teach him the dance routine in time...!!
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...!!
Monday, 11 June 2012
Harmony Constant
I don't think this will really get it out of my system, but here it is anyway:
29 OCTOBER!! SOMEWHERE IN MANCHESTER!!! ROBERT MICHAEL NESMITH!!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I found out the news via Milton Keynes' finest export first thing this morning. Normally I'm a miserable old sod of a morning. I don't do conversation, I don't do eye contact and I certainly cannot smile before at least my second coffee. But this morning was different. The overcast drizzly British summertime morning seemed bright and breezy. A song filled my heart, my eyes brightened, the smile on my face spread from ear to ear.
Needless to say, the first thing I did when I arrived in work was book the time off. It's happening. It's finally happening. Me. Nesmith. Same airspace. In the words of Dusty Springfield - I just don't know what to do with myself. I'm so excited it's beyond ridiculous. I'm already trying to decide what to wear and realising that I might just be at my target size by October and I don't know how well I can cope with the dual excitement of Nesmith AND skinniness...
I need to link my excitement over the forthcoming Nesmith gig to a recant of my adventures at the weekend. And I can't do that in a particularly smooth manner. So... er... I won't.
I went to see Westlife on Saturday with my pal Sue. She's a huge fan and was so upset that they'd announced they were splitting up before she'd had chance to see them live in concert that she thought 'to hell with it' and ordered two tickets, she didn't care where they were. They weren't together, but they were on the same row - and I, in an unselfish act of kindness *removes tongue from cheek*, agreed to go with her to save her husband the trauma of spending the evening in a room with 16,000 screaming women. Which is understandable.
They were actually very good. Of course, I've liked them since they won the Smash Hits! Pollwinners Best New Act as Westside in 1998, and I used to be absolutely mad about them until around about their third album when I just became far too 60s for anything modern at all. It also sort of coincided with the time they started to be marketed as a sort of Housewives' Choice act and, well, I'm not a housewife so I suppose I'm not the target audience any more. I went to see them on their first arena tour back in 1999 (I think), when they were just another boy band as the boy band trend was dying out - and 90% of the audience was made up of 13 year old girls, and they were pretty good then, but naturally, over the years they've just gone from strength to strength and are genuinely a very good live act. Vocally they're all absolutely spot on and their crowd interaction was brilliant.
Everyone had a good night. It was pretty emotional for them, it was their last gig as a group in Manchester. I suppose it must be a bit weird if you've been doing the same job since you were 18/19 and then you get to 32 and decide it's time for a change - this tour is sort of them working their notice period. Must be really bizarre for them.
They did, however, at one point do a cover of 'Don't Cha' by The Pussycat Dolls. I think the phrase "least said, soonest mended" would apply here. I don't think the reaction they were after was hysterical laughter, and I'm not proud of myself for it, but it was hilarious in all the wrong ways. Just... no. Really. Just. No. Someone will have put it on YouTube by now, and I'd recommend you take a look just for the comedy factor. Which I have a feeling wasn't quite intentional.
All in all, though, it was a great night, they did very well. It's strange that it's all over. It's like they were the last of the great boy bands of the 90s (anyone who is of the mindset 'there were no great boy bands of the 90s' is simply wrong - the 90s were the decade of the boy band, it's like saying there were no great beat groups of the 60s!!). There's quite a large chapter of my teenage years that's been closed by their breakup. I'm not sad or upset or anything, it's just a bit sort of... strange. Still. Onwards and upwards. They'll probably get back together for a reunion tour in five years anyway!!
I have no news on the weight loss front. I'm pretty much back on it now - I discovered yesterday that I'm drinking far too much diet coke and it's made me a bit poorly, so I've quit that. Herbal teas and water all the way it is, then. Serves me right, of course. If I'd only been sensible in my eating and drinking habits in the first place I wouldn't be in this situation now. Still, if I didn't need to lose weight, I wouldn't have started this blog and what would you have to while 10-15 minutes of your day away with?! Exactly. You're welcome!!
Join me again on Wednesday when I might've calmed down slightly from the Most Awesome News Ever In My Life. But don't count on it...!
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...!
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
The Blog Entry With No Name
It's all right, I didn't kill myself on Sunday as envisaged. I hit the 29 mark, I survived, I made it through, I'm going to continue with living for a little while longer. After all, I've lost three stone, it'd be a shame to waste it. I'll just have to be old and deal with it like normal people.
To combat the ageing blues, I've started a new (not 'new', exactly, more 'revisited' as I've loved this actor for years anyway) and more than likely short-lived cinematic obsession, it'll probably only last a few weeks. I can't even remember how many Stewart Granger films I've watched over the last three days. At least six. I've had a jolly good time doing it, too!! Did you know - and I certainly didn't, but I love him even more now I do know - his real name is James Stewart, but he had to change his name (he chose a mixture of his surname and his mum's maiden name) to stop him being mixed up with... well... James Stewart, aka my absolute favourite actor of all time! I mean, there is a resemblence, I suppose, they're both tall and a bit gormless-looking!! Good ol' Granger - he's like the David Bowie of cinema, but without heterochromia!! Scaramouche. Get it watched. It's a classic.
I went to a party on Friday night and I wore a dress that I bought from a high street shop. That's right. I walked into Dorothy Perkins. I saw a red dress (it's a constant source of disappointment to my Dad that, although I've been raised a true Evertonian, I love wearing red!). I thought "Oooh, that's pretty!" I saw it was very reasonably priced. I bought it. I tried it on. IT. FITTED. PERFECTLY. Seriously. It's such an achievement I really can't describe how chuffed I was. I might've still looked a mess, but at least I know that I can buy nice clothes on the high street now. I still have a long way to go, I know I do - but it was such a great feeling to go out in public wearing clothing that wasn't from the plus-size range!!
However, having said all that - I've decided to have a week off the diet. Not a going mad and turning into Miss Pacman type week off, but just a week off. It all started on Saturday. My lovely friend Clayre-Louyse and her husband, Adam, have moved near me. This is brilliant. Clayre and I have been friends for about eight years but we've always lived miles and miles away from each other - now she lives a ten minute walk away!! Hooraaayyy!! Anyway, I'd been in work all morning, then gone grocery shopping straight from work and by the time I got to Clayre's at half three, I hadn't eaten anything. I brought her a packet of biscuits (they always help with unpacking), really nice chocolatey ones, and she offered me one with my brew. Normally I'd've said no and been strong, but I hadn't eaten anything all day and I hadn't had a biscuit all year, so I accepted. I instantly thought "Gah, that's it now..." and decided to have a day off. In fact, I had a monumental day off. I went to the pub with my sister, had burger and chips and a pint of beer, followed by a chocolate ice-cream sundae, which had huge chunks of brownies in - and the brownies were still warm!! Oh my goodness! It was indescribably incredible!!
I really haven't had a huge day off like that yet, so I didn't feel too bad. But bank holidays are funny things, and I haven't been able to reign it back in as normal. I've not been spectacularly naughty, I've just not been nearly so strict with myself. So I'm not going to weigh-in tomorrow. A week off won't kill me. I'm still going to get there eventually. It feels like I've taken a bit of pressure off myself, which has to be a good thing. I'll get back on it properly and with a vengeance in the next day or so, I promise. I'm even strongly toying with the idea of joining a gym. Yes, you read that right. A gym. Cross-trainers, rowing machines, all that type of thing. A real live gym!
For those of you who are huge fans of the llamas - fear not! They will be out in fine style on Friday anyway, dancing away like things possessed, as I will be dedicating Friday's blog to a review of Nathan's album, which I received on Saturday morning. I'll tell you all about it then!!
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!!
Wednesday, 23 May 2012
Continuing
Title © Robert Michael Nesmith, from the 1973 album Pretty Much Your Standard Ranch Stash.
OOF!
It's been a hectic few days to say the least. I think I've driven around the world and back in the last 48 hours. I've been driving in my sleep! Not literally, folks - it's dangerous and definitely not recommended practice for anyone to try at home. Or even on the road.
You probably have heard me lament about the fact I don't have a car any more, but circumstances dictated the need for me to get one quick sharp yesterday. Apparently trying to squeeze 8 people into a 5-seater car is a bit too much to ask of any vehicle. So I hired a car for the day. It was gorgeous. Even before I closed the door and got my seat belt on, I was in love. I called him Stirling (yes, all my cars are boys, and yes, I name them all. What of it? I had a gay Kia Picanto called Buttercup once!), after Craig Stirling from The Champions. I'm in a bit of a Champions phase at the moment, and although I'm a Richard Barrett girl, Craig is pretty easy on the eye and a bit smooth - plus the fact the car was silver, so it sort of had to be Stirling. He suited it. I gave him back this morning. I nearly cried.
I think I've alluded to the fact something big has happened in the Wainwright family over the last couple of weeks but I haven't actually explained myself. However, to bring you all up to speed - my cousin, David, sadly passed away after a very short illness a couple of weeks ago. It came as a huge shock to the entire family. From what I understand, he was right as rain on the Saturday, felt a little poorly on Sunday, felt a little worse on Monday, was in the Critical Care Unit on Tuesday and died on the Friday. I mean - really. Shock. It was his funeral yesterday and two of my cousins came up from London for the event. It's always lovely to spend time with Gill and Angela, especially with the big sister too - we're all more than relatives, we're really good friends and we have such a great laugh together, it's just a shame the circumstances were so horrid this time.
I don't want to dwell on the day, although it was lovely to see so many family members, there's never anything nice about funerals and you don't really want to know the ins and outs of the day's events. However, there was a huge turnout for him - there were well over 100 people there, and even though we're a huge family (more than a family - a clan. Maybe even a country. Wainwrightia!), there were a lot of friends and former colleagues etc that turned up too.
I thought that was a really lovely testament to David's life. Everyone who ever came into contact with him during his life couldn't help but love him. He was a sweet, gentle soul, who adored his wife and his two gorgeous girls more than anything else. Some people come into this world and invent things, or develop ideas, or write something or draw something or create the most exquisite music or most thought-provoking, life-changing film that becomes timeless - but when those people die, people remember the things they achieved with great fondness, but remember the person with significant coolness, disdain or even hatred. David might not have re-invented the wheel or anything so grand as that, but he made people happier just for knowing him, and there's really no greater legacy any of us can leave than to have people say about us, "That person was one of the nicest people I ever knew," or "I'm really going to miss their smile/hugs/laugh." We'll all miss those things about David.
Incidentally, and now on another note entirely, my apologies for not posting on Monday. It had been a rather eventful weekend due to my sister's altercation with a bottle of hair dye - and although I was really looking forward to dramatising the whole sorry affair for you all, sadly I had about five trillion tapes to type up at work so that I could have yesterday off so I just didn't get time. But I'm back now, and please don't think my lack of posting on Monday was a lack of dedication to the blogging/dieting cause. Oh no. Far from it, my eyes are firmly fixed on the prize and I'm back on the straight and narrow with a vengeance. Admittedly, I did go slightly over my Syns limit on Saturday but I've been very good the rest of the time and have had far fewer Syns than the recommended 15 so I think it'll balance out. I might maintain this week or possibly even lose a tiny bit of weight. I'm hoping for 2lbs. Dunno if I'll get it but so long as I don't put any on it'll be all right!
Join me again on Friday, after The Big Weigh-In, when hopefully the llamas will have all come up with a lovely new dance routine for you all to join in with the dancing and shake your maracas while shimmying around the living room/office/kitchen/bedroom/wherever you read this from!!
In the immortal words of Bill & Ted - Be Excellent to Each Other.
OOF!
It's been a hectic few days to say the least. I think I've driven around the world and back in the last 48 hours. I've been driving in my sleep! Not literally, folks - it's dangerous and definitely not recommended practice for anyone to try at home. Or even on the road.
You probably have heard me lament about the fact I don't have a car any more, but circumstances dictated the need for me to get one quick sharp yesterday. Apparently trying to squeeze 8 people into a 5-seater car is a bit too much to ask of any vehicle. So I hired a car for the day. It was gorgeous. Even before I closed the door and got my seat belt on, I was in love. I called him Stirling (yes, all my cars are boys, and yes, I name them all. What of it? I had a gay Kia Picanto called Buttercup once!), after Craig Stirling from The Champions. I'm in a bit of a Champions phase at the moment, and although I'm a Richard Barrett girl, Craig is pretty easy on the eye and a bit smooth - plus the fact the car was silver, so it sort of had to be Stirling. He suited it. I gave him back this morning. I nearly cried.
I think I've alluded to the fact something big has happened in the Wainwright family over the last couple of weeks but I haven't actually explained myself. However, to bring you all up to speed - my cousin, David, sadly passed away after a very short illness a couple of weeks ago. It came as a huge shock to the entire family. From what I understand, he was right as rain on the Saturday, felt a little poorly on Sunday, felt a little worse on Monday, was in the Critical Care Unit on Tuesday and died on the Friday. I mean - really. Shock. It was his funeral yesterday and two of my cousins came up from London for the event. It's always lovely to spend time with Gill and Angela, especially with the big sister too - we're all more than relatives, we're really good friends and we have such a great laugh together, it's just a shame the circumstances were so horrid this time.
I don't want to dwell on the day, although it was lovely to see so many family members, there's never anything nice about funerals and you don't really want to know the ins and outs of the day's events. However, there was a huge turnout for him - there were well over 100 people there, and even though we're a huge family (more than a family - a clan. Maybe even a country. Wainwrightia!), there were a lot of friends and former colleagues etc that turned up too.
I thought that was a really lovely testament to David's life. Everyone who ever came into contact with him during his life couldn't help but love him. He was a sweet, gentle soul, who adored his wife and his two gorgeous girls more than anything else. Some people come into this world and invent things, or develop ideas, or write something or draw something or create the most exquisite music or most thought-provoking, life-changing film that becomes timeless - but when those people die, people remember the things they achieved with great fondness, but remember the person with significant coolness, disdain or even hatred. David might not have re-invented the wheel or anything so grand as that, but he made people happier just for knowing him, and there's really no greater legacy any of us can leave than to have people say about us, "That person was one of the nicest people I ever knew," or "I'm really going to miss their smile/hugs/laugh." We'll all miss those things about David.
Incidentally, and now on another note entirely, my apologies for not posting on Monday. It had been a rather eventful weekend due to my sister's altercation with a bottle of hair dye - and although I was really looking forward to dramatising the whole sorry affair for you all, sadly I had about five trillion tapes to type up at work so that I could have yesterday off so I just didn't get time. But I'm back now, and please don't think my lack of posting on Monday was a lack of dedication to the blogging/dieting cause. Oh no. Far from it, my eyes are firmly fixed on the prize and I'm back on the straight and narrow with a vengeance. Admittedly, I did go slightly over my Syns limit on Saturday but I've been very good the rest of the time and have had far fewer Syns than the recommended 15 so I think it'll balance out. I might maintain this week or possibly even lose a tiny bit of weight. I'm hoping for 2lbs. Dunno if I'll get it but so long as I don't put any on it'll be all right!
Join me again on Friday, after The Big Weigh-In, when hopefully the llamas will have all come up with a lovely new dance routine for you all to join in with the dancing and shake your maracas while shimmying around the living room/office/kitchen/bedroom/wherever you read this from!!
In the immortal words of Bill & Ted - Be Excellent to Each Other.
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