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 deflated. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deflated. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
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, 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, 29 June 2012
Two Steps Behind
Thank you to Def Leppard for providing the title to today's blog post. It's in reference to the fact that at the moment I seem to be two steps behind the step forward I'd taken at last week's Fat Club.
I'm sending the llamas to Madrid for the weekend. It's the Euro 2012 final on Sunday and they're supporting Spain. They're all so excited it's been pandemonium round here, what with them flinging their sombreros in the air with jubilation, Enrique doing back flips all over the place, Ricardo getting busy making red and yellow leg warmers for the occasion and Miguel finally getting up from his sick bed to look for his passport. He's still only on three legs at the moment but the cast is due to come off next week, and he can start training again in a couple of weeks.
You know what that means, of course, and they're so busy celebrating the fact that they're going on holiday that they've failed to notice that there will be no fiesta this week. They only get upset when I don't lose weight, and have you ever seen an unhappy llama face? It'd melt a heart of lead, I'm telling you. Look:
Imagine twenty of those. I simply couldn't do it to them.
After a week of hard slog, self-deprivation, a will of cast iron and Synning like a Puritan in an attempt to lose half a goddam sodding pound - I somehow inexplicably managed to put ON half a pound!!
I was gutted. And really really narked. Those blooming scales haven't been on my side since Andrea the Consultant bought them!!
So, I felt the only thing to do under the circumstances was to come home, pour out a few large glasses of something interesting and have my first pizza of the year. Let's face it, if I put half a pound on by being majorly strict, I may as well eat yummy food and have a good time putting weight on!!
Of course, I'm back on it today. I do think having nights where you think "Soddit!" is an important part of the whole process. I'm not going to put 3 1/2 stone back on by eating half a pizza and a enjoying a couple of drinks while I'm watching the football once in six months. So long as it's just ONE night of forgetting about it out of seven or fourteen or thirty or however often you officially come to the end of your tether, rather than every night, it's not going to do you any harm and it does keep you going on the straight and narrow for a lot longer. Constantly saying 'no' to food and drink that you're dying to say 'yes' to just depresses you, especially when you feel like you're constantly saying 'no' and not seeing any results from it. Like me, at the moment.
Although I was genuinely buoyed when one of the ladies at Fat Club who hadn't been for the last couple of weeks turned to me and said, "Bloomin' 'eck, you haven't half gone skinny! You can really see it in your face! You're doing brilliant!" I mean, I was so pleased that I didn't even think about correcting her grammar!!
I know half a pound isn't the end of the world, but it's just so annoying. I honestly feel at the moment that I will never ever get there. Ever. So I'm not going to think about it for the next few days, it's just too depressing.
Besides, I've started reading again. You know the biggest tip writers get? READ. As much as you can. Just give it a whirl. Get reading. Open a book, sit down for an hour and let your eyes dance across the pages. Not literally. I have to say, when I was younger I was known to (my friend Emily will testify to this) read at least two books in one night. Of late, I've totally got out of the habit of reading. It's sheer laziness. I've had the best of intentions of reading and just never got round to actually doing it in ages and ages. Not properly. Not in that 'I am actually so into this book that I have utterly lost my grip on reality' manner that made me fall in love with books and reading and writing in the first place type fashion. Until yesterday when I started reading The Prisoner of Zenda. I have a feeling that even though I've only read the first three chapters, if anyone wants me for the next week or so, I'll be in Ruritania.
The reason I'm telling you this is because I think I've discovered the real cause of my writer's block. I vaguely realised it yesterday afternoon when I read a snippet of Suzie Tullet's current work in progress, and couldn't stop thinking about all the different directions the story could have come from and might go to. The realisation was cemented when I started reading Zenda. I haven't read anything - and so it naturally follows that I can't write anything.
I don't even know how this works. It's some sort of magic. I had worried for a while that writing after reading would be viewed by others as a type of plaigarism. This, however, is a stupid line of reasoning because - as everyone knows - there are only seven stories, therefore there are no original ideas, there are only variations on themes. But reading actually doesn't have the effect of making someone write a carbon copy of what they've read. It does more than that. It somehow manages to realign your brain into thinking creatively, so that you can form your own plots and subplots and tangents from what you're writing - no story ever really finishes because everyone can add to it or put their own spin on it. It brings characters and worlds to life and it shows you the way you need to construct sentences, paragraphs and dialogue in order to do it. They're How-To manuals for the Muse. It makes the Muse think 'hang on a minute, I can do better than that!' and then before you know it you've written something, most of the time completely different to the thing you've been reading. I simply haven't had anything to work from. That's my problem.
I really wish I'd made this glaringly obvious discovery a lot sooner. I might need to go off-grid while I get some heavy duty reading done over the next few weeks. I have ideas and hopefully this will help me to realise them.
So, all in all, the utter devastation I felt last night has somewhat dissipated (I think the pizza and brandy helped massively, in fairness) and I'm really rather looking forward to the weekend. Hopefully I'll get a lot of reading and some other rather important things done and when I report back on Monday I can tell you all about The Prisoner of Zenda and what happened to Rudolf Rassendyll at the coronation... I hope that Michael fella keeps out of it. Never trust a fictional character who has been played onscreen by James Mason - that's my advice!!
Whatever you're up to this weekend, have a lovely time, and thank you so much for sitting through this torturously long blog entry!!
I'm sending the llamas to Madrid for the weekend. It's the Euro 2012 final on Sunday and they're supporting Spain. They're all so excited it's been pandemonium round here, what with them flinging their sombreros in the air with jubilation, Enrique doing back flips all over the place, Ricardo getting busy making red and yellow leg warmers for the occasion and Miguel finally getting up from his sick bed to look for his passport. He's still only on three legs at the moment but the cast is due to come off next week, and he can start training again in a couple of weeks.
You know what that means, of course, and they're so busy celebrating the fact that they're going on holiday that they've failed to notice that there will be no fiesta this week. They only get upset when I don't lose weight, and have you ever seen an unhappy llama face? It'd melt a heart of lead, I'm telling you. Look:
Imagine twenty of those. I simply couldn't do it to them.
After a week of hard slog, self-deprivation, a will of cast iron and Synning like a Puritan in an attempt to lose half a goddam sodding pound - I somehow inexplicably managed to put ON half a pound!!
I was gutted. And really really narked. Those blooming scales haven't been on my side since Andrea the Consultant bought them!!
So, I felt the only thing to do under the circumstances was to come home, pour out a few large glasses of something interesting and have my first pizza of the year. Let's face it, if I put half a pound on by being majorly strict, I may as well eat yummy food and have a good time putting weight on!!
Of course, I'm back on it today. I do think having nights where you think "Soddit!" is an important part of the whole process. I'm not going to put 3 1/2 stone back on by eating half a pizza and a enjoying a couple of drinks while I'm watching the football once in six months. So long as it's just ONE night of forgetting about it out of seven or fourteen or thirty or however often you officially come to the end of your tether, rather than every night, it's not going to do you any harm and it does keep you going on the straight and narrow for a lot longer. Constantly saying 'no' to food and drink that you're dying to say 'yes' to just depresses you, especially when you feel like you're constantly saying 'no' and not seeing any results from it. Like me, at the moment.
Although I was genuinely buoyed when one of the ladies at Fat Club who hadn't been for the last couple of weeks turned to me and said, "Bloomin' 'eck, you haven't half gone skinny! You can really see it in your face! You're doing brilliant!" I mean, I was so pleased that I didn't even think about correcting her grammar!!
I know half a pound isn't the end of the world, but it's just so annoying. I honestly feel at the moment that I will never ever get there. Ever. So I'm not going to think about it for the next few days, it's just too depressing.
Besides, I've started reading again. You know the biggest tip writers get? READ. As much as you can. Just give it a whirl. Get reading. Open a book, sit down for an hour and let your eyes dance across the pages. Not literally. I have to say, when I was younger I was known to (my friend Emily will testify to this) read at least two books in one night. Of late, I've totally got out of the habit of reading. It's sheer laziness. I've had the best of intentions of reading and just never got round to actually doing it in ages and ages. Not properly. Not in that 'I am actually so into this book that I have utterly lost my grip on reality' manner that made me fall in love with books and reading and writing in the first place type fashion. Until yesterday when I started reading The Prisoner of Zenda. I have a feeling that even though I've only read the first three chapters, if anyone wants me for the next week or so, I'll be in Ruritania.
The reason I'm telling you this is because I think I've discovered the real cause of my writer's block. I vaguely realised it yesterday afternoon when I read a snippet of Suzie Tullet's current work in progress, and couldn't stop thinking about all the different directions the story could have come from and might go to. The realisation was cemented when I started reading Zenda. I haven't read anything - and so it naturally follows that I can't write anything.
I don't even know how this works. It's some sort of magic. I had worried for a while that writing after reading would be viewed by others as a type of plaigarism. This, however, is a stupid line of reasoning because - as everyone knows - there are only seven stories, therefore there are no original ideas, there are only variations on themes. But reading actually doesn't have the effect of making someone write a carbon copy of what they've read. It does more than that. It somehow manages to realign your brain into thinking creatively, so that you can form your own plots and subplots and tangents from what you're writing - no story ever really finishes because everyone can add to it or put their own spin on it. It brings characters and worlds to life and it shows you the way you need to construct sentences, paragraphs and dialogue in order to do it. They're How-To manuals for the Muse. It makes the Muse think 'hang on a minute, I can do better than that!' and then before you know it you've written something, most of the time completely different to the thing you've been reading. I simply haven't had anything to work from. That's my problem.
I really wish I'd made this glaringly obvious discovery a lot sooner. I might need to go off-grid while I get some heavy duty reading done over the next few weeks. I have ideas and hopefully this will help me to realise them.
So, all in all, the utter devastation I felt last night has somewhat dissipated (I think the pizza and brandy helped massively, in fairness) and I'm really rather looking forward to the weekend. Hopefully I'll get a lot of reading and some other rather important things done and when I report back on Monday I can tell you all about The Prisoner of Zenda and what happened to Rudolf Rassendyll at the coronation... I hope that Michael fella keeps out of it. Never trust a fictional character who has been played onscreen by James Mason - that's my advice!!
Whatever you're up to this weekend, have a lovely time, and thank you so much for sitting through this torturously long blog entry!!
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?!
Friday, 1 June 2012
Land of Confusion
Ah, it's Friday! It means most of us in dear old Blighty will be looking forward to four whole days off work - with pay! However, it turns out I've got to work tomorrow, so I'll have three whole days off work, which is almost as good. And the weather has sorted itself out just in time for an epic bank holiday. Yes, that's right - gone are the sizzling tropical temperatures, the humid air, the old men traipsing round town just wearing a little pair of shorts and socks with sandals (why oh why?!) and the threat of a nice barbecue in the back garden. The air has regained the usual summertime nippiness we're used to, the skies are a sort of charcoal grey colour and the weather has been, as they call it in Spain (Joanna reliably tells me this, and she's very good at Spanish, so she should know) "El Pissi Downio". Ah, yes. British Summertime. It's back, and I love it.
So, things are going very well. I'd like to thank Anonymous for their lovely and very encouraging comment from Wednesday's blog. It turns out that my block lifted quite substantially after that lovely advice and some equally kind and helpful tips from Mr L. Although I've still not really got a plot together yet, I have indeed made a start on the Western (tentatively entitled The Western With No Name). Turns out it had no intention of ever being a book, it wanted to be a screenplay all along. Which in some ways is slightly easier, I'm much better with dialogue than narrative, but even though you only really need minimal narrative for a screenplay I still don't think I have enough. But I'll come back to it later when I've figured out more of a structure to the story. My biggest problem is that I want it to be instantly perfect, rather than just acknowledging that the first three or four rewrites are going to be ropey at best before I get it close to being right and writing it anyway. I bet Joss Whedon didn't write The Avengers perfectly on his first run-through!!
I know what you're thinking. 'She's avoiding the weight-loss topic'. Well, yes. I am.
I put half a pound on. I have no idea how. I was doing really well, I'd been dead good, I hadn't cheated (there's no point in cheating because the only person who suffers is me) - I was at least hoping for a couple of pounds' loss. Maybe even three. But putting half a pound on?! What the -?!?!!
Baffled. Stumped. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. Discombobulated. Narked. All appropriate adjectives to describe my reaction to the number on the scales yesterday.
Enrique was quite relieved I'd put weight on. He's still convinced he has athlete's hoof from when I sent them swimming last Friday and has taken to his bed with bandages from hoof to fetlock on all four of his little legs. The rest of the llamas were delighted to have another week off and have all gone on a coach holiday to Blackpool for the weekend. If you're in the Blackpool area and come across a collective of llamas in gold lamee leg warmers, go and join them, they're a great bunch of lads!!
I mean, things aren't all bad news. I'm getting smaller. If I'm honest with myself about my original starting size (i.e. Beyond Huge. If there was a dress size that could be renamed "AY CHIHUAHA!!" that'd probably be where I was!), I've actually lost three dress sizes already and I'm probably only another stone away from hitting the fourth. So actually I've not done at all badly. It's just one of those things. Maybe it was just the way I held my gob when I stood on the scales. Who knows. I'm lots thinner than I was, and that's a fact. I just need to be... you know. Thinner than this. And I will be. This time in three months I might've lost another two sizes and then I'll be very nearly almost there.
You know what it'll involve, of course. I've been threatening it and then putting it off since January, but I am actually going to have to... I can't even bring myself to say it. You know, though. And I know. It's got to be done, there's truly nothing else for it. I have plans and extremely good intentions, I just have no willpower!! I hate running, walking round an industrial estate is no fun, and I'm just not disciplined enough to attempt any form of E***cise at home!! Gah!! That blasted E word. Why is it never fun?! If I could do the E word and not notice I was doing it, that'd be brilliant!
Ho hum.
Join me next Wednesday, if you don't mind. I'll be taking Monday off due to the Bank Holiday and I'll probably still be in a very dark state of depression following my birthday on Sunday. I get SO depressed on my birthday, there's literally no point in even acknowledging my existence, you'll only end up similarly suicidal! I don't want to be old! Don't make me!! Nooooo!!! PETER PAN NEVER HAD TO DO IT!!!
I dread to even think how I'll cope next year when I hit the big Three-Oh...!! *shudder*
So, things are going very well. I'd like to thank Anonymous for their lovely and very encouraging comment from Wednesday's blog. It turns out that my block lifted quite substantially after that lovely advice and some equally kind and helpful tips from Mr L. Although I've still not really got a plot together yet, I have indeed made a start on the Western (tentatively entitled The Western With No Name). Turns out it had no intention of ever being a book, it wanted to be a screenplay all along. Which in some ways is slightly easier, I'm much better with dialogue than narrative, but even though you only really need minimal narrative for a screenplay I still don't think I have enough. But I'll come back to it later when I've figured out more of a structure to the story. My biggest problem is that I want it to be instantly perfect, rather than just acknowledging that the first three or four rewrites are going to be ropey at best before I get it close to being right and writing it anyway. I bet Joss Whedon didn't write The Avengers perfectly on his first run-through!!
I know what you're thinking. 'She's avoiding the weight-loss topic'. Well, yes. I am.
I put half a pound on. I have no idea how. I was doing really well, I'd been dead good, I hadn't cheated (there's no point in cheating because the only person who suffers is me) - I was at least hoping for a couple of pounds' loss. Maybe even three. But putting half a pound on?! What the -?!?!!
Baffled. Stumped. Bamboozled. Flabbergasted. Discombobulated. Narked. All appropriate adjectives to describe my reaction to the number on the scales yesterday.
Enrique was quite relieved I'd put weight on. He's still convinced he has athlete's hoof from when I sent them swimming last Friday and has taken to his bed with bandages from hoof to fetlock on all four of his little legs. The rest of the llamas were delighted to have another week off and have all gone on a coach holiday to Blackpool for the weekend. If you're in the Blackpool area and come across a collective of llamas in gold lamee leg warmers, go and join them, they're a great bunch of lads!!
I mean, things aren't all bad news. I'm getting smaller. If I'm honest with myself about my original starting size (i.e. Beyond Huge. If there was a dress size that could be renamed "AY CHIHUAHA!!" that'd probably be where I was!), I've actually lost three dress sizes already and I'm probably only another stone away from hitting the fourth. So actually I've not done at all badly. It's just one of those things. Maybe it was just the way I held my gob when I stood on the scales. Who knows. I'm lots thinner than I was, and that's a fact. I just need to be... you know. Thinner than this. And I will be. This time in three months I might've lost another two sizes and then I'll be very nearly almost there.
You know what it'll involve, of course. I've been threatening it and then putting it off since January, but I am actually going to have to... I can't even bring myself to say it. You know, though. And I know. It's got to be done, there's truly nothing else for it. I have plans and extremely good intentions, I just have no willpower!! I hate running, walking round an industrial estate is no fun, and I'm just not disciplined enough to attempt any form of E***cise at home!! Gah!! That blasted E word. Why is it never fun?! If I could do the E word and not notice I was doing it, that'd be brilliant!
Ho hum.
Join me next Wednesday, if you don't mind. I'll be taking Monday off due to the Bank Holiday and I'll probably still be in a very dark state of depression following my birthday on Sunday. I get SO depressed on my birthday, there's literally no point in even acknowledging my existence, you'll only end up similarly suicidal! I don't want to be old! Don't make me!! Nooooo!!! PETER PAN NEVER HAD TO DO IT!!!
I dread to even think how I'll cope next year when I hit the big Three-Oh...!! *shudder*
Monday, 14 May 2012
Guess Who's Back...
Hello, hello, hello!!
I'm sorry I failed on the blogging front last week. Last week was horrible. Please can we pretend it didn't happen? That would totally work for me. I know the whole purpose of the blog was to be some sort of personal therapy when times got tough as well as the chroncling of joys and euphoria when times were good - but there are reasonable limits to everything. My head is feeling really rather screwed up at the moment. Life with the Wainwrights just hasn't been the kind of thing anyone would want to blog about for the last seven days.
Aside from the stuff you don't want to know about, on Thursday's weigh-in it turned out that I had put half a pound on. The llamas were extremely disappointed. I didn't pack them off to Magaluf again this week, but Enrique did say that if I have a good result this week he'd choreograph an extra special fiesta for me. What more incentive do I need?!
My slimming mojo seems to have vanished since the Debacle of the Scales. It's ridiculous. I know it's only a little thing but it's really just thrown me off-balance - no pun intended. Just when I'd finally started to think I could really do this and I could finally start looking like a person rather than an orb with feet, it was a huge knock I wasn't prepared for. Andrea the Consultant has got a lot to answer for. I am seriously lacking in confidence now, and being slimmer now feels more like a pipe dream again than the achievable goal it had started to become.
I'm not going to get my target of reaching my half-way point by my birthday. Or at least, if I do, it'll be a miracle. I know that now, and I suppose knowing that has taken a bit of pressure off, but the best I can do is to try and get as close to it as possible by then. I've still got three weigh-ins to go. Who knows. It might happen. I'm being really tough this week. I've got 3 1/2 lbs to go before I get my 3 stone boxed off and if I don't do it this week - or certainly the week after, I'll be completely gutted.
On the plus side, everyone buy my best friend Nathan's album when it comes out in a couple of weeks. Not only is he incredibly talented, makes amazing music and is, indeed, my favourite man since creation - I wrote the liner notes!!! Wahoo! I knew I'd see my name in print somewhere this year. Now I just need to get rid of this fershlugginer Writer's Block on The Phantom Winger. I've been advised to write the end first. I don't know how I feel about this, I think it might be a bad idea. Although I might start from mid-way in the third chapter, I'm only about five or six paragraphs away from breaking the block.
Actually, you know what, first of all I think I just want the world to stop spinning so flipping quickly for five minutes and let me get my head together before I go any further with anything...!!
I'm sorry I failed on the blogging front last week. Last week was horrible. Please can we pretend it didn't happen? That would totally work for me. I know the whole purpose of the blog was to be some sort of personal therapy when times got tough as well as the chroncling of joys and euphoria when times were good - but there are reasonable limits to everything. My head is feeling really rather screwed up at the moment. Life with the Wainwrights just hasn't been the kind of thing anyone would want to blog about for the last seven days.
Aside from the stuff you don't want to know about, on Thursday's weigh-in it turned out that I had put half a pound on. The llamas were extremely disappointed. I didn't pack them off to Magaluf again this week, but Enrique did say that if I have a good result this week he'd choreograph an extra special fiesta for me. What more incentive do I need?!
My slimming mojo seems to have vanished since the Debacle of the Scales. It's ridiculous. I know it's only a little thing but it's really just thrown me off-balance - no pun intended. Just when I'd finally started to think I could really do this and I could finally start looking like a person rather than an orb with feet, it was a huge knock I wasn't prepared for. Andrea the Consultant has got a lot to answer for. I am seriously lacking in confidence now, and being slimmer now feels more like a pipe dream again than the achievable goal it had started to become.
I'm not going to get my target of reaching my half-way point by my birthday. Or at least, if I do, it'll be a miracle. I know that now, and I suppose knowing that has taken a bit of pressure off, but the best I can do is to try and get as close to it as possible by then. I've still got three weigh-ins to go. Who knows. It might happen. I'm being really tough this week. I've got 3 1/2 lbs to go before I get my 3 stone boxed off and if I don't do it this week - or certainly the week after, I'll be completely gutted.
On the plus side, everyone buy my best friend Nathan's album when it comes out in a couple of weeks. Not only is he incredibly talented, makes amazing music and is, indeed, my favourite man since creation - I wrote the liner notes!!! Wahoo! I knew I'd see my name in print somewhere this year. Now I just need to get rid of this fershlugginer Writer's Block on The Phantom Winger. I've been advised to write the end first. I don't know how I feel about this, I think it might be a bad idea. Although I might start from mid-way in the third chapter, I'm only about five or six paragraphs away from breaking the block.
Actually, you know what, first of all I think I just want the world to stop spinning so flipping quickly for five minutes and let me get my head together before I go any further with anything...!!
Friday, 27 April 2012
"...You Won't Like Me When I'm Angry..."
You do not know - you cannot possibly even begin to comprehend how much I was looking forward to yesterday, because I can't put that much excitement into words. I've been counting down the sleeps since about 60. I never thought that longed-for day would ever arrive, but then yesterday, it did.
The Avengers - Earth's Mightiest Heroes - finally Assembled. The sister and I went to the epicentre of small-town Lancashire, if not the universe (Preston), to see it. More on that later. I know I said I wouldn't turn into an hysterical wreck, but... to be honest, I had no other cause for celebration. There were plans for Southport but, despite me having such very high hopes for the day, not much turned out as planned.
I left work early so I could go to the 5:30p.m. weigh in and then go to Southport with Jo for a nice bit of a nosh-up at Nandos pre-film. But I hadn't reckoned on rush hour traffic on Golden Hill Lane in Leyland. My plans were ruined, so we decided that I'd get weighed early for the 7:30p.m. weigh in and we'd go to Preston instead and get KFC - it's the only savoury thing I've really craved and I haven't had it since last June when I went to see X-Men First Class. And as last week's plan of overindulging didn't go to plan, I thought I'd definitely be able to sin like mad with some well-deserved fast food.
I turned up at the Church Hall at about 7:20p.m. all full of hope - and was a bit peturbed to find that there was uproar in the group. Trouble at t'Mill, you might say. Everyone was angry. There was shouting, there was a lot of, "This is a [flipping] joke!" There was even a bit of, "That's it, I'm not wasting my time on this [nonsense] any more! Forget it! Shove your [blooming] weight loss regime!" It's a family-friendly blog, I had to censor the level of uproar!
I was, quite frankly, puzzled. Normally our group is very cheerful and happy and nobody's too grumpy at all. It's all really quite chilled out. Everyone usually has a bit of a giggle if they put weight on. Last night, however, was different. Quite, quite different. It looked like there was going to be a riot of some sort.
When I got to the weigh-in point, I asked the lady at the scales what was going on, and it turned out that Andrea the Consultant, in her infinite wisdom, had decided that the scales she's been using since time immemorial were weighing too light and so she'd bought new ones, which were weighing a bit heavy - so everyone had seemed to put weight on. The lady before me had apparently put 6 1/2 lbs on. There was fury. Real, proper anger.
I crossed my fingers, hoped for the best and got on the scales.
Apparently, despite the fact I'd done nothing differently during the past seven days and had eaten sensibly, done a bit of exercise and generally followed the same procedure that I have always done - I've put 3lbs on.
This is a nonsense. The red mist officially descended. I was livid. My blood pressure almost hit 200. I might've gone green, shot up in height and turned into an inarticulate rage monster. I very very nearly did. I ranted, I raved, I pointed out that we depend on the accuracy of the scales and we all spend good money each week on making sure that the equipment we need is there for us. Even if the scales themselves were inaccurate, the increments of weight loss should be reliable. Then I stormed out with some women who said they would never again darken the doorstep.
I just said I was going to the pictures and was quite noncommital about my proposed whereabouts for next week. I still don't know what to do.
Psychologically, she's done a really stupid thing to everyone. She has two classes and all members of both groups were furious with her - and I would feel sorry for her, but why would you do that to people? I mean, why? Seriously. But there's nothing we can do about it, she's not likely to change the scales back, and even if she did - next week wouldn't read right either because we've already been weighed on a different pair of scales. Basically - the thing not to do when you're a slimming consultant, I think, is to change from a pair of scales that allegdly 'weigh light' to a pair of scales that clearly 'weigh heavy' without giving anyone any prior warning. Just saying.
I know it only sounds like a little thing, but it isn't to me. I mean, I have worked really hard for this, and so's Jo with all her genius cooking, and so have all of you just by encouraging me to keep going and it really feels like the one person who shouldn't have pulled the rug from under me has done. It's like the goalposts have been moved on her whim, that whatever achievement I've celebrated I haven't been entitled to because the scales were wrong all along. I genuinely don't know what to think now. At this stage I'm really not sure if I want to go back to that group or not. It isn't just me she's let down, it's everybody. There will be a lot of grumpy fat people in Leyland today. More than usual.
Needless to say, I came home and immediately sent the llamas off for a well deserved break to Magaluf. Ricardo was very excited, Miguel decided he'd take fashion tips from Javier (the quiet one) and buy a bandana while he's out there, and Enrique had a panic attack because he didn't have time to do any practice packing. They'll need the rest. Perhaps they'll be back next week.
So, after bursting into tears and contemplating a longish trip to the roof of Argos followed by a short one down, we went to the cinema via KFC. I could practically feel my arteries hardening when I ordered! I didn't feel too bad. I had Diet Coke with it. Anyway. It was lovely and I really wasn't in the mood to think about my waistline.
The one thing I won't do is give away any spoilers for the film. Seriously. None. Not even non-plot related ones. All I'll say is this. I read practically every single article, watched every single interview, watched all the trailers, all the preview scenes, and generally obsessed like a loony over the film before it was released. When I did finally get to see it, nothing that I'd previously seen or read prepared me for it. It was absolutely incredible. There were thrills, spills, action, adventure, drama, some real belly laughs and a couple of really quite emotional moments. There were so many geeky comic book references, I was absolutely delighted. I developed an instant girl crush on Black Widow. She's just... Agh. I want to be her when I grow up. Or even just one tenth as kick-ass.
The one character I really wasn't looking forward to seeing was The Incredible Hulk. Not because I don't like him - I mean, a geeky scientific genius who happens to be notoriously grumpy, what's not to like about that?! But Edward Norton is my favourite actor of the modern age (James Stewart is my actual favourite actor of all time), and he has been for about 15 years, and it isn't because he's rather easy on the eye, it's because even though I haven't always liked all the films he's been in (take my advice, never watch a film called Down in the Valley. You won't get those two hours back!), I've always believed completely in every performance he's ever given. He's just an exceptionally talented man. I absolutely adored his performance as Bruce Banner in the last incarnation of The Incredible Hulk, and I was so gutted that he wasn't going to reprise that role in the Avengers that I really wasn't interested in whatever anyone else thought they might have to bring to the role. My attitude was very narrow-minded and sort of, "Huh! Mark Ruffalo? Who is he anyway? He's no Norton! He'll be rubbish. What the hell are Marvel playing at?!" etc etc. Well. I well and truly had my words forced back down my throat during the film. He was an absolute revalation, and, I have to admit it, he was actually far better than Edward Norton.
(If anyone was wondering when I was going to mention him - hell yes, it seriously is ALL about Hawkeye... *gazes off distractedly*)
Seriously, if you've been looking forward to it, forget absolutely all of your preconceptions and think bigger. It's like no superhero film you've ever seen before. I'm going to completely go out on a limb here and say it's my favourite ever superhero film, and by that I do include my beloved Spider-Man 2. It's more than just a great superhero film, it's simply a great film. There's something in it for everyone. It's amazing.
So, join me next week, when I should have calmed down from the hysteria of the film, and the red mist from the ridiculous weigh-in should have lifted by then too, when I'm sure I'll find something else to talk about...!!
The Avengers - Earth's Mightiest Heroes - finally Assembled. The sister and I went to the epicentre of small-town Lancashire, if not the universe (Preston), to see it. More on that later. I know I said I wouldn't turn into an hysterical wreck, but... to be honest, I had no other cause for celebration. There were plans for Southport but, despite me having such very high hopes for the day, not much turned out as planned.
I left work early so I could go to the 5:30p.m. weigh in and then go to Southport with Jo for a nice bit of a nosh-up at Nandos pre-film. But I hadn't reckoned on rush hour traffic on Golden Hill Lane in Leyland. My plans were ruined, so we decided that I'd get weighed early for the 7:30p.m. weigh in and we'd go to Preston instead and get KFC - it's the only savoury thing I've really craved and I haven't had it since last June when I went to see X-Men First Class. And as last week's plan of overindulging didn't go to plan, I thought I'd definitely be able to sin like mad with some well-deserved fast food.
I turned up at the Church Hall at about 7:20p.m. all full of hope - and was a bit peturbed to find that there was uproar in the group. Trouble at t'Mill, you might say. Everyone was angry. There was shouting, there was a lot of, "This is a [flipping] joke!" There was even a bit of, "That's it, I'm not wasting my time on this [nonsense] any more! Forget it! Shove your [blooming] weight loss regime!" It's a family-friendly blog, I had to censor the level of uproar!
I was, quite frankly, puzzled. Normally our group is very cheerful and happy and nobody's too grumpy at all. It's all really quite chilled out. Everyone usually has a bit of a giggle if they put weight on. Last night, however, was different. Quite, quite different. It looked like there was going to be a riot of some sort.
When I got to the weigh-in point, I asked the lady at the scales what was going on, and it turned out that Andrea the Consultant, in her infinite wisdom, had decided that the scales she's been using since time immemorial were weighing too light and so she'd bought new ones, which were weighing a bit heavy - so everyone had seemed to put weight on. The lady before me had apparently put 6 1/2 lbs on. There was fury. Real, proper anger.
I crossed my fingers, hoped for the best and got on the scales.
Apparently, despite the fact I'd done nothing differently during the past seven days and had eaten sensibly, done a bit of exercise and generally followed the same procedure that I have always done - I've put 3lbs on.
This is a nonsense. The red mist officially descended. I was livid. My blood pressure almost hit 200. I might've gone green, shot up in height and turned into an inarticulate rage monster. I very very nearly did. I ranted, I raved, I pointed out that we depend on the accuracy of the scales and we all spend good money each week on making sure that the equipment we need is there for us. Even if the scales themselves were inaccurate, the increments of weight loss should be reliable. Then I stormed out with some women who said they would never again darken the doorstep.
I just said I was going to the pictures and was quite noncommital about my proposed whereabouts for next week. I still don't know what to do.
Psychologically, she's done a really stupid thing to everyone. She has two classes and all members of both groups were furious with her - and I would feel sorry for her, but why would you do that to people? I mean, why? Seriously. But there's nothing we can do about it, she's not likely to change the scales back, and even if she did - next week wouldn't read right either because we've already been weighed on a different pair of scales. Basically - the thing not to do when you're a slimming consultant, I think, is to change from a pair of scales that allegdly 'weigh light' to a pair of scales that clearly 'weigh heavy' without giving anyone any prior warning. Just saying.
I know it only sounds like a little thing, but it isn't to me. I mean, I have worked really hard for this, and so's Jo with all her genius cooking, and so have all of you just by encouraging me to keep going and it really feels like the one person who shouldn't have pulled the rug from under me has done. It's like the goalposts have been moved on her whim, that whatever achievement I've celebrated I haven't been entitled to because the scales were wrong all along. I genuinely don't know what to think now. At this stage I'm really not sure if I want to go back to that group or not. It isn't just me she's let down, it's everybody. There will be a lot of grumpy fat people in Leyland today. More than usual.
Needless to say, I came home and immediately sent the llamas off for a well deserved break to Magaluf. Ricardo was very excited, Miguel decided he'd take fashion tips from Javier (the quiet one) and buy a bandana while he's out there, and Enrique had a panic attack because he didn't have time to do any practice packing. They'll need the rest. Perhaps they'll be back next week.
So, after bursting into tears and contemplating a longish trip to the roof of Argos followed by a short one down, we went to the cinema via KFC. I could practically feel my arteries hardening when I ordered! I didn't feel too bad. I had Diet Coke with it. Anyway. It was lovely and I really wasn't in the mood to think about my waistline.
The one thing I won't do is give away any spoilers for the film. Seriously. None. Not even non-plot related ones. All I'll say is this. I read practically every single article, watched every single interview, watched all the trailers, all the preview scenes, and generally obsessed like a loony over the film before it was released. When I did finally get to see it, nothing that I'd previously seen or read prepared me for it. It was absolutely incredible. There were thrills, spills, action, adventure, drama, some real belly laughs and a couple of really quite emotional moments. There were so many geeky comic book references, I was absolutely delighted. I developed an instant girl crush on Black Widow. She's just... Agh. I want to be her when I grow up. Or even just one tenth as kick-ass.
The one character I really wasn't looking forward to seeing was The Incredible Hulk. Not because I don't like him - I mean, a geeky scientific genius who happens to be notoriously grumpy, what's not to like about that?! But Edward Norton is my favourite actor of the modern age (James Stewart is my actual favourite actor of all time), and he has been for about 15 years, and it isn't because he's rather easy on the eye, it's because even though I haven't always liked all the films he's been in (take my advice, never watch a film called Down in the Valley. You won't get those two hours back!), I've always believed completely in every performance he's ever given. He's just an exceptionally talented man. I absolutely adored his performance as Bruce Banner in the last incarnation of The Incredible Hulk, and I was so gutted that he wasn't going to reprise that role in the Avengers that I really wasn't interested in whatever anyone else thought they might have to bring to the role. My attitude was very narrow-minded and sort of, "Huh! Mark Ruffalo? Who is he anyway? He's no Norton! He'll be rubbish. What the hell are Marvel playing at?!" etc etc. Well. I well and truly had my words forced back down my throat during the film. He was an absolute revalation, and, I have to admit it, he was actually far better than Edward Norton.
(If anyone was wondering when I was going to mention him - hell yes, it seriously is ALL about Hawkeye... *gazes off distractedly*)
Seriously, if you've been looking forward to it, forget absolutely all of your preconceptions and think bigger. It's like no superhero film you've ever seen before. I'm going to completely go out on a limb here and say it's my favourite ever superhero film, and by that I do include my beloved Spider-Man 2. It's more than just a great superhero film, it's simply a great film. There's something in it for everyone. It's amazing.
So, join me next week, when I should have calmed down from the hysteria of the film, and the red mist from the ridiculous weigh-in should have lifted by then too, when I'm sure I'll find something else to talk about...!!
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
I Wish I Had Something to Say
This is my problem, folks, and I would like to start by way of an apology for no blog on Monday. I'm just out of stuff to talk about at the moment. I've even got writer's block on my blog.
It's difficult to find new things to say when you're only really blogging about one thing. I had a few complaints when I wrote about the stuff I was writing, that nobody was actually interested in that - and that's fair enough, I completely understand that. The actual, physical, sitting-down-and-typing aspects of writing are extremely boring indeed. Writing only rates a 'meh' on the Rock'n'Roll Artistic Scale, after all. It isn't instantaneous enough. I bore myself about it, so I dread to think how many people I've sent to sleep over my updates on things I'm writing!
So, really, the whole purpose of this blog has been to keep me encouraged while I lose weight. Losing weight, it turns out, is probably the only thing more boring than writing.
This is my mindset on the weight loss front: I need to lose weight. I am losing weight. I am doing this by eating more healthy stuff and eating less rubbish. I have cut out full-sugar Coca-Cola and replaced it with sugar free stuff. I've cut down my alcohol intake massively. I do a bit of exercise where I can and when I can be bothered.
When it comes to chocolate and pizza and beer and crisps and all the things that make life worth living - I will have those things. I will. When I've lost the weight. If I get a craving for something, I think about something else. I'm very tough with myself and I don't mind that because I know *eventually* it will be worth it and any self-deprivation is only temporary. It comes down to this - I would rather be able to fit into lovely clothes than eat chocolate. When I'm thinner I'll be able to fit into lovely clothes AND eat chocolate - so if I have to miss out for 8-10 months, that's fine by me.
A lot of people have asked me if I'm proud of myself for nearly losing 2 1/2 stone. I'm not. I'll be happy when it's over and when I've done it. But at the moment I just want to get there. There's no point in being proud of myself when I haven't actually achieved anything yet. I haven't given up, which is good. But that's probably about it.
Having said that, I am so happy that so many people are proud of me, and that everyone's saying such lovely things about my progress so far. It helps to keep me going more than any of you realise. It isn't just me I'll be letting down if I don't do it this time - it's family, friends, complete strangers who have started reading the blog - and not forgetting the llamas! Ricardo will be heartbroken! It's pressure, but it's a nice pressure, and one that I'm very grateful for. I love that people care about me enough to talk to me about it and ask me questions about how I'm getting on and how I'm feeling. Focussed. That's how I'm feeling. I've still got my game face on for this thing. I'm going to do it. Even if it takes longer than I'd like, I'm going to do it. I've had enough of feeling physically sick every time I walk past a reflective surface and get a glimpse of myself.
So, nothing to worry about really. Everything's okay - but nothing's happened that requires reporting on. Everything's still the same, I'm still attempting to go forward in the war on obesity. I've got a bit of writer's block which is really annoying me, but it'll clear eventually. I'm not stuck to a deadline or anything. In short, and for a person with nothing to say, I do realise this blog entry's gone on for about a year - although I'm absolutely fine and there's nothing the matter and I'm not about to go out and consume my body weight in fried chicken, I'm just feeling a bit nothing-ish at the moment. But it's just a blip and I'll get over it.
I promise I'll be less miserable and grumpy next time - so please join me again on Friday. Hopefully I'll have got the 2 1/2 stone shiny sticker and certificate by then and the llamas will put on a fiesta that will blow your minds!!
It's difficult to find new things to say when you're only really blogging about one thing. I had a few complaints when I wrote about the stuff I was writing, that nobody was actually interested in that - and that's fair enough, I completely understand that. The actual, physical, sitting-down-and-typing aspects of writing are extremely boring indeed. Writing only rates a 'meh' on the Rock'n'Roll Artistic Scale, after all. It isn't instantaneous enough. I bore myself about it, so I dread to think how many people I've sent to sleep over my updates on things I'm writing!
So, really, the whole purpose of this blog has been to keep me encouraged while I lose weight. Losing weight, it turns out, is probably the only thing more boring than writing.
This is my mindset on the weight loss front: I need to lose weight. I am losing weight. I am doing this by eating more healthy stuff and eating less rubbish. I have cut out full-sugar Coca-Cola and replaced it with sugar free stuff. I've cut down my alcohol intake massively. I do a bit of exercise where I can and when I can be bothered.
When it comes to chocolate and pizza and beer and crisps and all the things that make life worth living - I will have those things. I will. When I've lost the weight. If I get a craving for something, I think about something else. I'm very tough with myself and I don't mind that because I know *eventually* it will be worth it and any self-deprivation is only temporary. It comes down to this - I would rather be able to fit into lovely clothes than eat chocolate. When I'm thinner I'll be able to fit into lovely clothes AND eat chocolate - so if I have to miss out for 8-10 months, that's fine by me.
A lot of people have asked me if I'm proud of myself for nearly losing 2 1/2 stone. I'm not. I'll be happy when it's over and when I've done it. But at the moment I just want to get there. There's no point in being proud of myself when I haven't actually achieved anything yet. I haven't given up, which is good. But that's probably about it.
Having said that, I am so happy that so many people are proud of me, and that everyone's saying such lovely things about my progress so far. It helps to keep me going more than any of you realise. It isn't just me I'll be letting down if I don't do it this time - it's family, friends, complete strangers who have started reading the blog - and not forgetting the llamas! Ricardo will be heartbroken! It's pressure, but it's a nice pressure, and one that I'm very grateful for. I love that people care about me enough to talk to me about it and ask me questions about how I'm getting on and how I'm feeling. Focussed. That's how I'm feeling. I've still got my game face on for this thing. I'm going to do it. Even if it takes longer than I'd like, I'm going to do it. I've had enough of feeling physically sick every time I walk past a reflective surface and get a glimpse of myself.
So, nothing to worry about really. Everything's okay - but nothing's happened that requires reporting on. Everything's still the same, I'm still attempting to go forward in the war on obesity. I've got a bit of writer's block which is really annoying me, but it'll clear eventually. I'm not stuck to a deadline or anything. In short, and for a person with nothing to say, I do realise this blog entry's gone on for about a year - although I'm absolutely fine and there's nothing the matter and I'm not about to go out and consume my body weight in fried chicken, I'm just feeling a bit nothing-ish at the moment. But it's just a blip and I'll get over it.
I promise I'll be less miserable and grumpy next time - so please join me again on Friday. Hopefully I'll have got the 2 1/2 stone shiny sticker and certificate by then and the llamas will put on a fiesta that will blow your minds!!
Monday, 12 March 2012
Crash! Boom! Bang!
Can't believe it's Monday again. Can't a girl get a break?! All I want is just one day off, just one, on my own, to get my little head straight, to get some things done that need doing and to just have a few hours of silence. God. Sounds like heaven. It's all too much. I need everything to stop for a while so my head stops spinning. I have a feeling it won't happen until at least Easter, though. Even then, I have my doubts!
Saturday was lovely. I haven't seen my niece and nephews (collectively still termed 'the kids' despite the fact they're all grown up and only a few years younger than I am) all year. Which is partly due to general bad auntie-dom, but also due to the fact Southport is a hell of a place to navigate into and out of on public transport - and the fact my niece now lives in Bristol. Which is quite a walk. Still, getting to spend time with any of them is on my favourite things to do in the whole world list - so spending time with all three of them at once made me ridiculously happy. It's my Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary at the end of March and the celebrations began on Saturday. Well. Technically I think they began last Wednesday when Mum invited some of my cousins over, but this was the first actual party for them, and there will be more celebrations as the month progresses. I mean, why not? If you're going to celebrate something so monumental, do it properly!!
I got really upset yesterday. I have never known an overweight person get heckled more than I do while minding their own business walking down the street. Honestly. It's ridiculous. I must be some sort of monster. People must visibly recoil in horror when they look at me and get a little bit sick in their mouths at the sight of the putrid mass that is me. Honestly. I was just walking to my pal's house, feeling quite proud of myself for not being knackered at the half-way point, when I saw three kids on the pavement a bit further up the road. I hate children (I say 'children', they were probably about 17, however, evidently still not old enough to have learned any people skills), as you know, so I thought rather than have to share the same airspace as them, I'd just cross the road. As I did, this happened:
BOY 1: Bloody hell, you're fat, aren't you?
ME: [thinking] Ignore him, ignore him, he may be talking to... someone else... even if you are the only other person on the street!
BOY 1: Erm, excuse me, didn't you hear me?
ME: [thinking] Holy hell! Vile people are getting braver! I wish I knew more people on this road so I could just call on them and hide till they went away!
BOY 2: I'm sorry, were you talking to me, I thought you were talking to the fat person who just crossed the road!
ME: [thinking] If only there was a convenient tall building I could throw myself off at this juncture - it'd be over quickly, I must have one hell of a gravitational pull!!
I mean - goodness only knows what they'd've said if they'd seen me walking down the street at the beginning of January, they'd've probably had a heart attack - as between all three of them they probably only have one heart.
I know. I know what you're all saying. They're idiots - and this is true. They were only showing off in front of their friends - and this is true too, because one of them was a girl. I am quite aware that their hostility and attempts to humiliate me in public was merely due to the fact that they likely have to compensate for inadequate-sized, ineffectual genetalia. And I do derive a smug sense of satisfaction that, if they ever read this blog entry, they wouldn't have a clue what the last sentence meant. But then you can't help that little voice in the back of your head saying, "They're only saying what everyone else is thinking because they don't know you so they're not worried about offending you." You'd think, the more it happened, the less it'd hurt, but to be honest, it doesn't hurt any less - if anything, especially after all the hard work I've put in over the last nine weeks, it hurts more.
I'm feeling very wobbly at the moment, I think that's what I'm saying. I keep having dreams about devouring the contents of a sweet shop and I wake up feeling really bloated and horrible, even though I know I haven't really eaten anything. I felt a bit of a failure on Thursday night and managed to talk myself round by Friday - but now I feel as though perhaps my initial self-loathing was possibly warranted. The thing is, I'm really doing my best and I feel like it isn't good enough but I've no idea what else I can possibly do to make it better. I know I'm a bit grumpy, but by and large I like to think I'm quite a nice person - I definitely wouldn't go out of my way to upset anyone, and I don't understand why complete strangers feel the need to inform me of how large I am when I am clearly already painfully aware of the fact. Really. Stop it. It's fine. I know. I'm doing something about it. It isn't a miracle cure, it's a long, hard slog - so it'll take time, but I'm doing it. Just... back off and stop heckling me! I wouldn't mind but they're not even funny like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show!!
So, all in all, I'm feeling far too Mondayish for my own good today. Still. There's only seven hours until I'm on the train on my way home. Sorry. Six hours and fifty nine minutes...
Join me again on Wednesday. The good thing about that will be the fact that as I'm already pretty much at rock bottom today, I can't hit a midweek slump by Wednesday - so with any luck I'll be feeling far more cheerful and positive about everything. Well. Perhaps!!
Saturday was lovely. I haven't seen my niece and nephews (collectively still termed 'the kids' despite the fact they're all grown up and only a few years younger than I am) all year. Which is partly due to general bad auntie-dom, but also due to the fact Southport is a hell of a place to navigate into and out of on public transport - and the fact my niece now lives in Bristol. Which is quite a walk. Still, getting to spend time with any of them is on my favourite things to do in the whole world list - so spending time with all three of them at once made me ridiculously happy. It's my Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary at the end of March and the celebrations began on Saturday. Well. Technically I think they began last Wednesday when Mum invited some of my cousins over, but this was the first actual party for them, and there will be more celebrations as the month progresses. I mean, why not? If you're going to celebrate something so monumental, do it properly!!
I got really upset yesterday. I have never known an overweight person get heckled more than I do while minding their own business walking down the street. Honestly. It's ridiculous. I must be some sort of monster. People must visibly recoil in horror when they look at me and get a little bit sick in their mouths at the sight of the putrid mass that is me. Honestly. I was just walking to my pal's house, feeling quite proud of myself for not being knackered at the half-way point, when I saw three kids on the pavement a bit further up the road. I hate children (I say 'children', they were probably about 17, however, evidently still not old enough to have learned any people skills), as you know, so I thought rather than have to share the same airspace as them, I'd just cross the road. As I did, this happened:
BOY 1: Bloody hell, you're fat, aren't you?
ME: [thinking] Ignore him, ignore him, he may be talking to... someone else... even if you are the only other person on the street!
BOY 1: Erm, excuse me, didn't you hear me?
ME: [thinking] Holy hell! Vile people are getting braver! I wish I knew more people on this road so I could just call on them and hide till they went away!
BOY 2: I'm sorry, were you talking to me, I thought you were talking to the fat person who just crossed the road!
ME: [thinking] If only there was a convenient tall building I could throw myself off at this juncture - it'd be over quickly, I must have one hell of a gravitational pull!!
I mean - goodness only knows what they'd've said if they'd seen me walking down the street at the beginning of January, they'd've probably had a heart attack - as between all three of them they probably only have one heart.
I know. I know what you're all saying. They're idiots - and this is true. They were only showing off in front of their friends - and this is true too, because one of them was a girl. I am quite aware that their hostility and attempts to humiliate me in public was merely due to the fact that they likely have to compensate for inadequate-sized, ineffectual genetalia. And I do derive a smug sense of satisfaction that, if they ever read this blog entry, they wouldn't have a clue what the last sentence meant. But then you can't help that little voice in the back of your head saying, "They're only saying what everyone else is thinking because they don't know you so they're not worried about offending you." You'd think, the more it happened, the less it'd hurt, but to be honest, it doesn't hurt any less - if anything, especially after all the hard work I've put in over the last nine weeks, it hurts more.
I'm feeling very wobbly at the moment, I think that's what I'm saying. I keep having dreams about devouring the contents of a sweet shop and I wake up feeling really bloated and horrible, even though I know I haven't really eaten anything. I felt a bit of a failure on Thursday night and managed to talk myself round by Friday - but now I feel as though perhaps my initial self-loathing was possibly warranted. The thing is, I'm really doing my best and I feel like it isn't good enough but I've no idea what else I can possibly do to make it better. I know I'm a bit grumpy, but by and large I like to think I'm quite a nice person - I definitely wouldn't go out of my way to upset anyone, and I don't understand why complete strangers feel the need to inform me of how large I am when I am clearly already painfully aware of the fact. Really. Stop it. It's fine. I know. I'm doing something about it. It isn't a miracle cure, it's a long, hard slog - so it'll take time, but I'm doing it. Just... back off and stop heckling me! I wouldn't mind but they're not even funny like Stadler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show!!
So, all in all, I'm feeling far too Mondayish for my own good today. Still. There's only seven hours until I'm on the train on my way home. Sorry. Six hours and fifty nine minutes...
Join me again on Wednesday. The good thing about that will be the fact that as I'm already pretty much at rock bottom today, I can't hit a midweek slump by Wednesday - so with any luck I'll be feeling far more cheerful and positive about everything. Well. Perhaps!!
Friday, 9 March 2012
I am Not a Number, I am a Free Woman!
You see, there's a reason for me updating my blog on a Friday rather than on a Thursday night. If I'd asked the llamas to dance for me last night, Ricardo would have looked derisively at me and replied, "La mitad de una libra? Eso no vale ni siquiera una sonrisa, la novia!" - or, as they say in Spanish, "Half a pound? That isn't even worth a smile, girlfriend!"
He'd have been right. I was gutted. There's no point in all of this 'any loss is a good loss' thing as soon as you get that news. It's very encouraging and motivating two or three hours later when you've finished beating yourself up and you're in the process of dusting yourself down and starting all over again - and admittedly it's more helpful than handing over a large slice of chocolate cake and saying "to hell with it, get this down you!" But at the time - when you'd been hoping and striving to lose a minimum of 2lbs and you only lose 1/2lb - trying to get any posititivity out of that feeling of abject failure is really tough.
However, I've slept on it. Not the llama - the bitter disappointment that after a week of sensible eating and walking like a true Wainwright, I only lost half a blasted pound. Now, after a fabulous night's sleep - now I can say the words we've all been waiting for all week:
Hit it, llamas!!!
*shimmys around the room shaking maracas*
Why the celebration?? Because, as I realised this morning, my focus had been dead wrong all week.
When I first started this weight loss thing, I wanted to lose five dress sizes. I had absolutely no idea how much I weighed because I'd been too scared to stand on a pair of scales for at least five years (even when I got weighed at the doctors I closed my eyes and told them not to tell me what the scales said!), and I had no idea how much I wanted or, indeed, needed to lose in pounds and ounces. That's still my aim. I didn't think I'd lost sight of that, particularly, but when people start bringing scales into the equation, naturally your focus gets shifted to how much you weigh now and how much you ideally should weigh.
Thankfully, Slimming World aren't interested particularly in focussing on BMIs and don't have that "if you're X feet and inches tall you should weigh X stone otherwise you're fat" mentality. You set your own target, you don't even need to tell them what it is if you don't want to, they'll just give you the right support until you get to wherever you want to be. Which is great. But, for practical and logistic reasons, they do need to focus on the pounds. Which is a very contagious focus, especially when you can't really see much difference but the scales tell you that you're definitely losing weight.
This week was completely the opposite. I can now see that I'm getting smaller. Even though it's only been a week I can see how the walking is helping to tone me up. I can tell by my clothes being a lot more loose-fitting that I'm getting smaller. I am still working towards being five sizes smaller. I've lost one dress size already. I've only got four to go by August. I'll still do it. It's all about the shape. I'm not going to be dicatated to by a set of numbers on a pair of scales. I'm still Being Skinny!! Even if I did only lose half a pound!!
So, to any of my pals or my other readers who are also on a weight-loss journey and have had similar blip, honestly - don't feel down. You've not failed, even though you might think it. You're still winning. It's the small battles that count. We can all do this. It'll happen. We just need to keep our focus in the right place. You will never wear a pair of scales but you will wear lovely clothes in smaller sizes. You will. It'll happen. Let's do this!!
Join me again on Monday, when I'll give you a full report of the weekend's activity - I'm really excited about seeing my beautiful niece and gorgeous nephews (biological and adopted!) this weekend for one of the early celebrations of Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary. It'll be a lovely weekend - and whatever it is you're up to over the next couple of days, have a fabulous time and I'll see you back here on Monday!!
He'd have been right. I was gutted. There's no point in all of this 'any loss is a good loss' thing as soon as you get that news. It's very encouraging and motivating two or three hours later when you've finished beating yourself up and you're in the process of dusting yourself down and starting all over again - and admittedly it's more helpful than handing over a large slice of chocolate cake and saying "to hell with it, get this down you!" But at the time - when you'd been hoping and striving to lose a minimum of 2lbs and you only lose 1/2lb - trying to get any posititivity out of that feeling of abject failure is really tough.
However, I've slept on it. Not the llama - the bitter disappointment that after a week of sensible eating and walking like a true Wainwright, I only lost half a blasted pound. Now, after a fabulous night's sleep - now I can say the words we've all been waiting for all week:
Hit it, llamas!!!
*shimmys around the room shaking maracas*
Why the celebration?? Because, as I realised this morning, my focus had been dead wrong all week.
When I first started this weight loss thing, I wanted to lose five dress sizes. I had absolutely no idea how much I weighed because I'd been too scared to stand on a pair of scales for at least five years (even when I got weighed at the doctors I closed my eyes and told them not to tell me what the scales said!), and I had no idea how much I wanted or, indeed, needed to lose in pounds and ounces. That's still my aim. I didn't think I'd lost sight of that, particularly, but when people start bringing scales into the equation, naturally your focus gets shifted to how much you weigh now and how much you ideally should weigh.
Thankfully, Slimming World aren't interested particularly in focussing on BMIs and don't have that "if you're X feet and inches tall you should weigh X stone otherwise you're fat" mentality. You set your own target, you don't even need to tell them what it is if you don't want to, they'll just give you the right support until you get to wherever you want to be. Which is great. But, for practical and logistic reasons, they do need to focus on the pounds. Which is a very contagious focus, especially when you can't really see much difference but the scales tell you that you're definitely losing weight.
This week was completely the opposite. I can now see that I'm getting smaller. Even though it's only been a week I can see how the walking is helping to tone me up. I can tell by my clothes being a lot more loose-fitting that I'm getting smaller. I am still working towards being five sizes smaller. I've lost one dress size already. I've only got four to go by August. I'll still do it. It's all about the shape. I'm not going to be dicatated to by a set of numbers on a pair of scales. I'm still Being Skinny!! Even if I did only lose half a pound!!
So, to any of my pals or my other readers who are also on a weight-loss journey and have had similar blip, honestly - don't feel down. You've not failed, even though you might think it. You're still winning. It's the small battles that count. We can all do this. It'll happen. We just need to keep our focus in the right place. You will never wear a pair of scales but you will wear lovely clothes in smaller sizes. You will. It'll happen. Let's do this!!
Join me again on Monday, when I'll give you a full report of the weekend's activity - I'm really excited about seeing my beautiful niece and gorgeous nephews (biological and adopted!) this weekend for one of the early celebrations of Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary. It'll be a lovely weekend - and whatever it is you're up to over the next couple of days, have a fabulous time and I'll see you back here on Monday!!
Thursday, 1 March 2012
The Lancashire Midget Greenie (1945-2012)
"7A."
"What number is this, Chip?"
"SEVEN - AY!"
"Okay, don't mean it, don't get excited man! It's cos I'm short, I know."
You all know what comes next. Daydream Believer is a timeless song that has touched the hearts of millions and been turned into football chants across the globe.
It's very difficult to sit here and try and pin down all the ways that The Monkees have influenced my life. After all, I wasn't even an idea back on September 16 1966 when The Monkees first aired in the US. I didn't buy Monkees Monthly or subscribe to the fan club. I didn't queue outside record shops to get my copy of Headquarters. I wasn't there on 3 December 1967 when they played the UK's first ever stadium gig. They were not, strictly speaking, of my time. Yet, it is a complete truth to say that if it hadn't been for The Monkees, I wouldn't be the person I am today.
10 April 1996. No idea why I remember the date. I was twelve years old and just starting that awkward, self-conscious, not fitting in stage (still in it!). Although, in fairness, I had never quite fitted in anywhere. I am ten and a half years younger than my closest sibling. My parents are old enough to be my grandparents and I've always described my situation as an only child with five parents. Because I was always with my parents and their friends who were all 40 or so years older than me, I never really had much in common with my peers - after all, what self-respecting adolescent really wants to be friends with a precocious, squeaky voiced, bespectacled, fat, ugly Jehovah's Witness kid with a 30,000 word vocabulary at the age of 12? I just felt as though I'd always been on the periphery of everything. I'm not saying I had an unhappy childhood because, hand on heart, I had the best childhood anyone could ask for - but I've never really been quite old enough or quite hip enough to fit in, or I've been too old and still not hip enough. I've never acted my age because I'm not sure how a person my age is supposed to act.
Channel 4 had been advertising the fact they were going to show re-runs of The Monkees on Sunday nights at six o'clock. I'd never heard of it before but it looked bright and fun and funny and my curiosity was piqued. I'd planned to watch it. I asked Mum and Dad if I could watch it on the little portable television in their room after tea and they'd agreed. Six o'clock came. The first thing I saw was a tiny fella, with longish, shiny brown hair, wearing the smallest pair of red shorts I had ever seen in my life.
"This is it. I love it!" I declared. Before a word of dialogue had been spoken.
By the time the opening scene was over, I was hooked. I can still remember vividly, being sat on the end of Mum and Dad's bed, the first time I saw those opening credits, and just knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. I still remember, week after week, being unable to breathe with laughter as Davy, Micky, Mike and Peter got into and out of all kinds of scrapes in the most hilarious and zany ways. I counted down the seconds from the end of one episode to the beginning of the next each week. They were my show, they were my boys, they were my music, they were my sense of humour entirely. They spoke to my soul on so many levels - I finally felt that I had something that could belong to me, that I could belong to. That, even though the show was 30 years old, being a bit different, being seen as being a bit weird, not fitting in didn't matter; just being who you are - that's all you need to be.
Through The Monkees, it naturally followed that, four or five years later, I broadened my 60s horizon and embraced other bands - starting with The Animals and then moving on to The Who-> and Hermans' Hermits... in fact, I'd discovered most of the 1960s before I even gave The Beatles a second thought. The Monkees are my Beatles. They're where it begins and ends for me. Not just musically. Although I've always loved writing stories, it wasn't until I became a Monkees fan that I ever even considered writing comedy of my own or putting it into a script. They broke so many boundaries and inspired so much creativity and were behind so much of modern popular culture - it's easy to just dismiss them out of hand as a kids' TV show. But they were so much more than that - and they still are. It wasn't until yesterday that I realised just how much they've affected so many people, and how much people still love them - especially the little one with the shiny hair and the tiny red shorts.
My brother broke the news to me yesterday that Davy Jones had passed away. It had only been a few weeks ago he'd said to me that he had been a Monkees fan right from the beginning and had watched their show while he was growing up, long before I was born - but now, whenever anyone mentioned The Monkees, he always thought of me. I must've had ten text messages all saying how sorry people were - one even said 'I'm sorry for your loss', which was so sweet - as though I'd really lost someone so close to me. Perhaps I have. I'd hoped that, when I finally heard the news about one of The Monkees - as I knew I'd have to one day - I'd be in a different position. I'd be settled down, probably married with kids, and that I'd have other things to concentrate on, that it would just be a sad piece of news but that I'd still get on with my life mostly unaffected. I hadn't expected to still be the oversized kid that didn't quite grow up and who still doesn't really fit in.
The tears haven't come too badly yet. But I have a feeling they will. I know I didn't know him. I know it was 'just' a show and they 'just' made some great music and he was 'just' a person. I know it's silly to feel his loss so deeply, as though he was really my friend, when I know he wasn't. It sounds melodramatic and ridiculous, I know - but the truth is, when I'm depressed, I watch The Monkees and they take my pain away. They never get the breaks and they never get the girls - but they always have each other and they never give up hope. They're my sunshine, my warmth and my heart. And a very, very special part of my life has gone.
I may be a Nez girl through and through - but the true Heart and Soul of The Monkees has gone. All my thoughts and best wishes are with his family and friends at this tragic time - and especially to his three brothers-in-arms, Mike, Peter and Micky. My boys. My music. My Monkees. And they always will be.
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
My Funny Valentine
Gah. As if Monday wasn't depressing enough, now it's Tuesday. I have no qualms with Tuesday on a normal basis. Tuesday is, by and large, a nothing day. However, this particular Tuesday also coincides with St Valentine's Day. It does make me wish I owned a copy of Some Like it Hot though. Best St Valentine's Day Massacre film ever.
I must say I often feel sorry for St Valentine. All of them. There were about a dozen of them altogether, who comprise the modern-day Valentine. All the original Valentinus wanted to do was get on with the day to day aspects of being a Christian in Ancient Rome. Get up in the morning, have a wash, eat breakfast, have a bit of a pray, fight a couple of lions in the afternoon, come home for tea, have a bit of a pray, go to bed - that sort of thing. But no, the blokes in charge wouldn't have it and got a bit narky about him believing in one God rather than all seventy eight billion gods that the Romans had. When he tried to explain things to them in a rational manner, they freaked out and attempted to stone him to death:
STONER 1: Woooahh... dude, that guy's talking about one God!
STONER 2: Dude! That's so narly, dude!
STONER 1: Totally bodacious!
STONER 2: Let's stone him!
STONER 1: Dude, we've not got any spare, and my dad'll totally freak if he knows we've taken his!
STONER 2: Dude, I mean, let's throw large rocks at him!
STONER 1: Oh...!
VALENTINUS: That's a little harsh, isn't it?
[VALENTINUS gets pelted with stones]
STONER 1: That'll teach him, dude!
STONER 2: Yeah!!
VALENTINUS: Hahaha!!! You missed me, you missed me!! I'm still alive!!
So then the stoners passed him onto the beheaders - and they didn't miss. Poor old Valentinus.
So, you may ask, what has that got to do with Valentine's Day as we know it?
Chuff knows. It's all about the media and marketing nowadays, in a ploy to fill the shelves with booze and chocolate in order to ruin everyone's diets. I mean, the original Valentinus might not have been married. He might not even have liked girls. Or boys! He might have just been all about the lion fighting!! I bet he would never have made anyone feel inadequate for being single, though. If Valentinus had any inkling that his name would be exploited in this manner nearly 2000 years after he died, I bet he'd be well narked.
So, no, today will not be a day of diet-breaking for me. I must say, during the weekend I did have a bit of a wobble, but didn't cave. There were sausages (Synful ones!) in the house. And white bread. And butter. I cannot tell you how much I craved buttery toast. God. I could almost taste it, all salty butter and crispy toast all fluffy on the inside...!! I feel like Homer Simpson...
No. I was strong. For all the good it'll do, I resisted temptation with the iron-like resolve of a girl who has seen lots of pretty dresses that she'd like to be able to fit into one day. I have to say I'd done rather well on the not-wobbling front up until this weekend, but I've been feeling very wobbly indeed over the last few days and just wanted to eat absolutely everything I've laid my eyes on. Whether or not it's edible. "EAT DRUMS, EAT CYMBALS!!!"
I'm going to have a day off on Saturday when Jo and I go to see Olly Murs in Manchester. I can last out until then. No. I have no idea what I'm going to wear. Everything I own is a bit old and battered and either slightly too big or slightly too small. Never mind. I'm sure I'll think of something.
I shall likely post again tomorrow. After all, Wednesdays are only slightly less miserable than Mondays and besides, I haven't really started panicking about my impending weigh-in yet. Knowing my luck I will have put weight on. Which is really depressing because we've had a rather skint week and I've hardly eaten anything at all anyway!! Ho hum. Just one pound. That's all. Just the one. Just one little pound. I'm not after much...!!
I must say I often feel sorry for St Valentine. All of them. There were about a dozen of them altogether, who comprise the modern-day Valentine. All the original Valentinus wanted to do was get on with the day to day aspects of being a Christian in Ancient Rome. Get up in the morning, have a wash, eat breakfast, have a bit of a pray, fight a couple of lions in the afternoon, come home for tea, have a bit of a pray, go to bed - that sort of thing. But no, the blokes in charge wouldn't have it and got a bit narky about him believing in one God rather than all seventy eight billion gods that the Romans had. When he tried to explain things to them in a rational manner, they freaked out and attempted to stone him to death:
STONER 1: Woooahh... dude, that guy's talking about one God!
STONER 2: Dude! That's so narly, dude!
STONER 1: Totally bodacious!
STONER 2: Let's stone him!
STONER 1: Dude, we've not got any spare, and my dad'll totally freak if he knows we've taken his!
STONER 2: Dude, I mean, let's throw large rocks at him!
STONER 1: Oh...!
VALENTINUS: That's a little harsh, isn't it?
[VALENTINUS gets pelted with stones]
STONER 1: That'll teach him, dude!
STONER 2: Yeah!!
VALENTINUS: Hahaha!!! You missed me, you missed me!! I'm still alive!!
So then the stoners passed him onto the beheaders - and they didn't miss. Poor old Valentinus.
So, you may ask, what has that got to do with Valentine's Day as we know it?
Chuff knows. It's all about the media and marketing nowadays, in a ploy to fill the shelves with booze and chocolate in order to ruin everyone's diets. I mean, the original Valentinus might not have been married. He might not even have liked girls. Or boys! He might have just been all about the lion fighting!! I bet he would never have made anyone feel inadequate for being single, though. If Valentinus had any inkling that his name would be exploited in this manner nearly 2000 years after he died, I bet he'd be well narked.
So, no, today will not be a day of diet-breaking for me. I must say, during the weekend I did have a bit of a wobble, but didn't cave. There were sausages (Synful ones!) in the house. And white bread. And butter. I cannot tell you how much I craved buttery toast. God. I could almost taste it, all salty butter and crispy toast all fluffy on the inside...!! I feel like Homer Simpson...
No. I was strong. For all the good it'll do, I resisted temptation with the iron-like resolve of a girl who has seen lots of pretty dresses that she'd like to be able to fit into one day. I have to say I'd done rather well on the not-wobbling front up until this weekend, but I've been feeling very wobbly indeed over the last few days and just wanted to eat absolutely everything I've laid my eyes on. Whether or not it's edible. "EAT DRUMS, EAT CYMBALS!!!"
I'm going to have a day off on Saturday when Jo and I go to see Olly Murs in Manchester. I can last out until then. No. I have no idea what I'm going to wear. Everything I own is a bit old and battered and either slightly too big or slightly too small. Never mind. I'm sure I'll think of something.
I shall likely post again tomorrow. After all, Wednesdays are only slightly less miserable than Mondays and besides, I haven't really started panicking about my impending weigh-in yet. Knowing my luck I will have put weight on. Which is really depressing because we've had a rather skint week and I've hardly eaten anything at all anyway!! Ho hum. Just one pound. That's all. Just the one. Just one little pound. I'm not after much...!!
Friday, 10 February 2012
I Don't Feel Like Dancing
Well. I may not - but the llamas have certainly managed to muster up a gentle soft shoe shuffle sway. Hit it, lads!!
If you've never seen a herd of llamas hoofing to jazz music while wearing sombreros and leg warmers, it really is a sight to behold.
I lost 1 1/2lbs. Gutted. One measly, stinking, rotten pound off my first stone. That's all! A pound! That's all I needed!! Seven whole days of extra deprivation and generally Being Good - and all it came to was 1 1/2lbs. I don't know if I'd've felt much worse if I'd stayed the same or put weight on.
I wasn't expecting to feel this way on the weight loss front. Logically, you would think that any weight loss is great, and legend has it that losing small amounts of weight every week is healthier than losing tonnes of weight every week because the small amounts of weight tend to stay off more than the large amounts. I know all of that. I do. And I'm delighted that it's only taken five weeks to drop nearly a stone. But that's also the problem. NEARLY. Not quite.
I might blame yesterday, though. I knew it was going to be worse than I imagined. My colleague came into the office first thing yesterday morning and conversation went thus:
JAMES: Heath, how long do you get for lunch?
ME: Half an hour.
JAMES: If we all go a bit early, do you want to go to the Italian for lunch? My treat!
ME: [without pausing for thought] Yes. Yes. Yes I do. Yes. Yes please. I am in. [thinks for a moment] Hell to the yes. Yes yes.
I perused the menu and finally selected something that sounded very healthy. It promised salmon (free!) and penne (free!) in a tomato sauce with cherry tomatoes (depending on what oil they use... also free!). I thought at the most it'd only be three or four Syns. Well. It would have been - if the whole thing hadn't been cooked in a very rich buttery, creamy sauce!! ARGH!!!
Tell you what though. It was bloomin' *amazing*.
To make up for it, I went Bacardi-less last night. I think I've gone three nights this week without an alcoholic beverage. Three nights of sobriety and I still only lost 1 1/2 lbs!! Epic fail.
Apparently, everyone seems to think that if I continue in the same vein this week I will lose more next week. And I hope so. I know it isn't a race and that if I just keep doing what I'm doing I'll get there in the end... I just can't help but feel I'm failing a little bit.
I do, however, have a lovely weekend to look forward to, which I know will cheer me up no end. By the time Monday rolls around I will probably feel much more like my usual perky self, and not like Grumpy McGrumpster from the clan McGrumpbag. Hoots, ma wee tatty bogle.
I hope all of you are also planning on doing some fabulous things over the weekend. Whatever you do, have a great time, be good, if you can't be good, be careful - and don't forget to vote Team Pete on The Magicians on Saturday night!
If you've never seen a herd of llamas hoofing to jazz music while wearing sombreros and leg warmers, it really is a sight to behold.
I lost 1 1/2lbs. Gutted. One measly, stinking, rotten pound off my first stone. That's all! A pound! That's all I needed!! Seven whole days of extra deprivation and generally Being Good - and all it came to was 1 1/2lbs. I don't know if I'd've felt much worse if I'd stayed the same or put weight on.
I wasn't expecting to feel this way on the weight loss front. Logically, you would think that any weight loss is great, and legend has it that losing small amounts of weight every week is healthier than losing tonnes of weight every week because the small amounts of weight tend to stay off more than the large amounts. I know all of that. I do. And I'm delighted that it's only taken five weeks to drop nearly a stone. But that's also the problem. NEARLY. Not quite.
I might blame yesterday, though. I knew it was going to be worse than I imagined. My colleague came into the office first thing yesterday morning and conversation went thus:
JAMES: Heath, how long do you get for lunch?
ME: Half an hour.
JAMES: If we all go a bit early, do you want to go to the Italian for lunch? My treat!
ME: [without pausing for thought] Yes. Yes. Yes I do. Yes. Yes please. I am in. [thinks for a moment] Hell to the yes. Yes yes.
I perused the menu and finally selected something that sounded very healthy. It promised salmon (free!) and penne (free!) in a tomato sauce with cherry tomatoes (depending on what oil they use... also free!). I thought at the most it'd only be three or four Syns. Well. It would have been - if the whole thing hadn't been cooked in a very rich buttery, creamy sauce!! ARGH!!!
Tell you what though. It was bloomin' *amazing*.
To make up for it, I went Bacardi-less last night. I think I've gone three nights this week without an alcoholic beverage. Three nights of sobriety and I still only lost 1 1/2 lbs!! Epic fail.
Apparently, everyone seems to think that if I continue in the same vein this week I will lose more next week. And I hope so. I know it isn't a race and that if I just keep doing what I'm doing I'll get there in the end... I just can't help but feel I'm failing a little bit.
I do, however, have a lovely weekend to look forward to, which I know will cheer me up no end. By the time Monday rolls around I will probably feel much more like my usual perky self, and not like Grumpy McGrumpster from the clan McGrumpbag. Hoots, ma wee tatty bogle.
I hope all of you are also planning on doing some fabulous things over the weekend. Whatever you do, have a great time, be good, if you can't be good, be careful - and don't forget to vote Team Pete on The Magicians on Saturday night!
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