It's all right, I didn't kill myself on Sunday as envisaged. I hit the 29 mark, I survived, I made it through, I'm going to continue with living for a little while longer. After all, I've lost three stone, it'd be a shame to waste it. I'll just have to be old and deal with it like normal people.
To combat the ageing blues, I've started a new (not 'new', exactly, more 'revisited' as I've loved this actor for years anyway) and more than likely short-lived cinematic obsession, it'll probably only last a few weeks. I can't even remember how many Stewart Granger films I've watched over the last three days. At least six. I've had a jolly good time doing it, too!! Did you know - and I certainly didn't, but I love him even more now I do know - his real name is James Stewart, but he had to change his name (he chose a mixture of his surname and his mum's maiden name) to stop him being mixed up with... well... James Stewart, aka my absolute favourite actor of all time! I mean, there is a resemblence, I suppose, they're both tall and a bit gormless-looking!! Good ol' Granger - he's like the David Bowie of cinema, but without heterochromia!! Scaramouche. Get it watched. It's a classic.
I went to a party on Friday night and I wore a dress that I bought from a high street shop. That's right. I walked into Dorothy Perkins. I saw a red dress (it's a constant source of disappointment to my Dad that, although I've been raised a true Evertonian, I love wearing red!). I thought "Oooh, that's pretty!" I saw it was very reasonably priced. I bought it. I tried it on. IT. FITTED. PERFECTLY. Seriously. It's such an achievement I really can't describe how chuffed I was. I might've still looked a mess, but at least I know that I can buy nice clothes on the high street now. I still have a long way to go, I know I do - but it was such a great feeling to go out in public wearing clothing that wasn't from the plus-size range!!
However, having said all that - I've decided to have a week off the diet. Not a going mad and turning into Miss Pacman type week off, but just a week off. It all started on Saturday. My lovely friend Clayre-Louyse and her husband, Adam, have moved near me. This is brilliant. Clayre and I have been friends for about eight years but we've always lived miles and miles away from each other - now she lives a ten minute walk away!! Hooraaayyy!! Anyway, I'd been in work all morning, then gone grocery shopping straight from work and by the time I got to Clayre's at half three, I hadn't eaten anything. I brought her a packet of biscuits (they always help with unpacking), really nice chocolatey ones, and she offered me one with my brew. Normally I'd've said no and been strong, but I hadn't eaten anything all day and I hadn't had a biscuit all year, so I accepted. I instantly thought "Gah, that's it now..." and decided to have a day off. In fact, I had a monumental day off. I went to the pub with my sister, had burger and chips and a pint of beer, followed by a chocolate ice-cream sundae, which had huge chunks of brownies in - and the brownies were still warm!! Oh my goodness! It was indescribably incredible!!
I really haven't had a huge day off like that yet, so I didn't feel too bad. But bank holidays are funny things, and I haven't been able to reign it back in as normal. I've not been spectacularly naughty, I've just not been nearly so strict with myself. So I'm not going to weigh-in tomorrow. A week off won't kill me. I'm still going to get there eventually. It feels like I've taken a bit of pressure off myself, which has to be a good thing. I'll get back on it properly and with a vengeance in the next day or so, I promise. I'm even strongly toying with the idea of joining a gym. Yes, you read that right. A gym. Cross-trainers, rowing machines, all that type of thing. A real live gym!
For those of you who are huge fans of the llamas - fear not! They will be out in fine style on Friday anyway, dancing away like things possessed, as I will be dedicating Friday's blog to a review of Nathan's album, which I received on Saturday morning. I'll tell you all about it then!!
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
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*
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Writer's Block
It's driving me IN-FLIPPIN'-SANE!!
For anyone who's had any contact with me over the last few weeks and I've seemed a little distracted and non-conversational, or you've wondered where my three hundred word text messages had gone to and why I haven't spoken to anyone unless it's been completely necessary - I CAN'T WRITE!! My brain can't even process enough thought to hold a proper conversation at the moment, let alone actually write anything. This may seem like a really trivial thing to you, and I apologise if you're bored already - especially because I can't even explain why it's so important that I do write. That's not a pretentious, pseudo-artistic 'if you don't write, you wouldn't understand' type excuse, it's true. I can articulate most things, but just not why I need to write.
It isn't that I haven't got any ideas at all. I've got vague thoughts for stories, books, scripts, sketches - you name it - in spades. But I don't have full ideas. I don't have enough of any one idea to be able to write one word. The floodgates of the imagination are simply groaning with the effort of keeping the plethora of sentences that are stored up in my brain - if only I could hold onto ONE sentence long enough for it to blossom into a fully formed idea, rather than simply remaining stagnant as the beginning of a maybe.
ARGH!!! It's the most frustrating thing ever.
Having ideas, being able to write, writing itself is probably one of the most liberating things ever. That really irritating moment (everyone who writes must have gone through this at some stage) of waking up at two o'clock in the morning and HAVING to get all those ideas down before your brain explodes under the weight of them - yes, it's a pain when your body needs sleep but your brain won't stop whirring into overdrive. Still, nothing makes me feel more alive than my fingertips flying across the keyboard, the eyes almost glazed over as the old imagination completely takes over body and soul, and before I know it I've actually created something, a person, a world and an adventure and I look back at it and think, "Woah, when did I write that?!"
When I read it back again in the morning, I might wince and think "Oh dear, when did I write that?!" but the fact is, I wrote something and the idea got out into the open.
It's like part of my brain has totally switched off. This year started out so creatively, I wrote loads in The Phantom Winger, Adam and I wrote Slim Chance (hey, top 10% out of over 800 entrants is no mean feat!), I've written the liner notes for Nathan's album (released officially on 4th June, physical copies are already in circulation and are available at the album launch on 2nd June). But then it's all sort of stopped.
There are things I really want to write, but I can't. I want to write more in The Phantom Winger - Alex's adventure hasn't even begun yet and I'm only about five paragraphs away from breaking the block on it!! I want to rewrite Slim Chance but I know that's pretty much on hold till Mr Leslie comes back from his sojourn to the colonies - which is fine because it's probably still a bit too fresh in my mind for me to be objective enough for a rewrite just yet.
I really want to write a Western. I've wanted to write one for years, for my Dad. We've always watched Westerns together and he loves stories about cowboys and I thought it would really make him happy if I wrote him a story - but it's taken me forever to get an idea. Now, I've sort of almost got a plot together, I've got an idea about what I might call my main character, and I've got a basic theme for the story... but that's it, I've not got anything definite, I've not had that light-bulb flash, Eureka style moment to spur me on (no pun intended) to write something that'd make Big Aitch proud. I know Westerns are probably the most difficult things to write because there are so many rules with a Western, and they require years of detailed research before you even settle down to writing anything in it. All of those obstacles, coupled with the fact I've grown up in Central Lancashire and as much as I turn into a pile of mush at the very thought of a Southern State accent, I simply don't know if I would ever be fluent enough in the Southern vernacular to make my dialogue convincing. I don't think I'm cut out to write it - but that's the thing my brain keeps telling me needs to be written. Even though I still haven't got enough of anything to start writing it yet.
You know what I need? I need a month or two in Texas. On an entirely academic, research-driven basis, and not just because I've been desperate to go to Texas since forever. Certainly not because it's the home of barbecue sauce. Or because it's filled with the sounds of the most incredible accent ever. Gosh, no. Whatever'd give you that idea?!
Basically, all my ideas are just too vague to even think about formulating a sentence with - let alone trying to eke them out into a story/script/whatever.
I'm sorry this has turned into such a big rant. I know people have real problems out there and that I shouldn't really whinge so much about it - but it's seriously doing my head in. Perhaps ranting about it will help it shift. I flippin' hope so.
Please join me on Friday, when I'll give you a report from Fat Club and take an excited look towards four whole days off work for the Jubilee weekend. Wasn't it nice of Her Majesty to know that I'd be so depressed about my birthday on Sunday that I wouldn't want to do any work for a couple of days - and subsequently arrange her Jubilee celebrations accordingly?!
For anyone who's had any contact with me over the last few weeks and I've seemed a little distracted and non-conversational, or you've wondered where my three hundred word text messages had gone to and why I haven't spoken to anyone unless it's been completely necessary - I CAN'T WRITE!! My brain can't even process enough thought to hold a proper conversation at the moment, let alone actually write anything. This may seem like a really trivial thing to you, and I apologise if you're bored already - especially because I can't even explain why it's so important that I do write. That's not a pretentious, pseudo-artistic 'if you don't write, you wouldn't understand' type excuse, it's true. I can articulate most things, but just not why I need to write.
It isn't that I haven't got any ideas at all. I've got vague thoughts for stories, books, scripts, sketches - you name it - in spades. But I don't have full ideas. I don't have enough of any one idea to be able to write one word. The floodgates of the imagination are simply groaning with the effort of keeping the plethora of sentences that are stored up in my brain - if only I could hold onto ONE sentence long enough for it to blossom into a fully formed idea, rather than simply remaining stagnant as the beginning of a maybe.
ARGH!!! It's the most frustrating thing ever.
Having ideas, being able to write, writing itself is probably one of the most liberating things ever. That really irritating moment (everyone who writes must have gone through this at some stage) of waking up at two o'clock in the morning and HAVING to get all those ideas down before your brain explodes under the weight of them - yes, it's a pain when your body needs sleep but your brain won't stop whirring into overdrive. Still, nothing makes me feel more alive than my fingertips flying across the keyboard, the eyes almost glazed over as the old imagination completely takes over body and soul, and before I know it I've actually created something, a person, a world and an adventure and I look back at it and think, "Woah, when did I write that?!"
When I read it back again in the morning, I might wince and think "Oh dear, when did I write that?!" but the fact is, I wrote something and the idea got out into the open.
It's like part of my brain has totally switched off. This year started out so creatively, I wrote loads in The Phantom Winger, Adam and I wrote Slim Chance (hey, top 10% out of over 800 entrants is no mean feat!), I've written the liner notes for Nathan's album (released officially on 4th June, physical copies are already in circulation and are available at the album launch on 2nd June). But then it's all sort of stopped.
There are things I really want to write, but I can't. I want to write more in The Phantom Winger - Alex's adventure hasn't even begun yet and I'm only about five paragraphs away from breaking the block on it!! I want to rewrite Slim Chance but I know that's pretty much on hold till Mr Leslie comes back from his sojourn to the colonies - which is fine because it's probably still a bit too fresh in my mind for me to be objective enough for a rewrite just yet.
I really want to write a Western. I've wanted to write one for years, for my Dad. We've always watched Westerns together and he loves stories about cowboys and I thought it would really make him happy if I wrote him a story - but it's taken me forever to get an idea. Now, I've sort of almost got a plot together, I've got an idea about what I might call my main character, and I've got a basic theme for the story... but that's it, I've not got anything definite, I've not had that light-bulb flash, Eureka style moment to spur me on (no pun intended) to write something that'd make Big Aitch proud. I know Westerns are probably the most difficult things to write because there are so many rules with a Western, and they require years of detailed research before you even settle down to writing anything in it. All of those obstacles, coupled with the fact I've grown up in Central Lancashire and as much as I turn into a pile of mush at the very thought of a Southern State accent, I simply don't know if I would ever be fluent enough in the Southern vernacular to make my dialogue convincing. I don't think I'm cut out to write it - but that's the thing my brain keeps telling me needs to be written. Even though I still haven't got enough of anything to start writing it yet.
You know what I need? I need a month or two in Texas. On an entirely academic, research-driven basis, and not just because I've been desperate to go to Texas since forever. Certainly not because it's the home of barbecue sauce. Or because it's filled with the sounds of the most incredible accent ever. Gosh, no. Whatever'd give you that idea?!
Basically, all my ideas are just too vague to even think about formulating a sentence with - let alone trying to eke them out into a story/script/whatever.
I'm sorry this has turned into such a big rant. I know people have real problems out there and that I shouldn't really whinge so much about it - but it's seriously doing my head in. Perhaps ranting about it will help it shift. I flippin' hope so.
Please join me on Friday, when I'll give you a report from Fat Club and take an excited look towards four whole days off work for the Jubilee weekend. Wasn't it nice of Her Majesty to know that I'd be so depressed about my birthday on Sunday that I wouldn't want to do any work for a couple of days - and subsequently arrange her Jubilee celebrations accordingly?!
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...!!
Sunday, 25 March 2012
Ou est tu allez en vacance?
Oddly, that's one of the first phrases I ever really picked up in French. Which is a bit of a silly thing to say to a complete stranger when you're on your holidays. Although if anyone wants to know how old I am, it's all right, I've got it covered - j'ai onze ans.
So anyway, I'm actually in actual France. I'm not too sure what I expected from this country. I expected French people, definitely. I expected it to be a bit bigger than the UK. So, thus far in the list, all my expectations have been met - and, to a certain extent, exceeded, due to the fact it's huge.
I'm staying with my sister, who has owned two houses out here for the last ten years and lived here for the last four years. This is my first time in France and yes, that does make me a terrible sister. Luckily for me, I have baked brownies and lemon drizzle cake today so I'm possibly nearly on my way to being forgiven by both the sister and The Brother-in-Law (capitalisation is, in this instance, correct, due to him being the definitive article of brothers-in-law and generally one of the most amazing chaps you could ever wish to meet) for having avoided their house like the plague for so many years.
I have often described their abode (as I have been able to piece certain aspects of their life out here together by means of stories from everyone else who's been out here) as 'halfway up a mountain in the middle of nowhere'. To be honest, it was a rather accurate description. I mean, in fairness, you cannot fault the scenery, it's rather incredible. Seven whole days of chilling out surrounded by people I love and something akin to the most beautiful parts of British countryside (think of Pitlochry and the Ribble Valley and the Lake District and Snowdonia all mixed into one and timesed by a hundred) but on a much bigger scale - I mean, it's not a bad life, is it!
I must say, before I go any further, that I am in love with Paris. I briefly passed through the city on my way from one train station to another, but I felt that same tingle of excitement run down my spine and the same, almost overwhelming urge to leap out of the taxi and go off on an adventure as I did the first time I went to London. I must return one day for a proper adventure. Anyone who wishes to volunteer as my partner in crime can apply to the usual address. Seriously. Let's go. It'll be ace.
Speaking of taxis - we made a bit of a faux-pas (see, I'm fluent already) in Paris when getting into a taxi. Those familiar with Paris will probably have already guessed and are laughing at our idiocy, but let me tell you - it was the highlight of my journey!! We had already been on four different trains since 8a.m. (it was 4p.m. French time by the time we got off the train in Paris) and Jo had had a couple of little panic attacks, and we'd shared a table from London to Paris with a pair of hippies who gave hippies a bad name - and not only that, took all the leg room - so by the time we arrived in Paris, my head was done in, Jo's nerves were a wreck, and all I wanted to do was get on the last blasted train and get to Michelle's house. That was the plan.
My very rusty French was the only thing that we had been reliant on, and I was convinced that even I could manage to say to a taxi driver "Le gare Bercy, s'il vous plait." Ha!
I had been pre-warned by Michelle that occasionally, there might be an obnoxious Parisian taxi-driver who would pretend not to understand me as I'd probably still be speaking with an English accent, so imagine my surprise when a silver fox strode purposefully towards the sister and I and asked where we needed to go - in English! You know one of those people who are strikingly good-looking and even though you don't fancy them you feel a bit intimidated by them? He was like that, he looked like a film star. I told him we needed to go to Paris Bercy. He said he'd take us. We agreed a sum of money and off we went. He was possibly THE most polite person I have ever met. He opened the car doors for us, wouldn't let us handle our own bags, I mean, the works. 'Piggin' 'ell, dunno what our Shell's going on about, he's a very nice chap!' I stupidly thought to myself.
It wasn't until we got in we realised we'd actually hired a limo..................
Still. Complimentary drinks and snacks AND soft trad jazz the whole journey - it was worth it. But for future reference, apparently it should only cost between 15 and 20 Euros to get from Paris Nord to Paris Bercy in a taxi. Not 80.
For those of you worried about how I'm coping on The Diet in France, I'm pleased to inform you that everything is still going swimmingly and I've been very good indeed. Apart from yesterday, which was the actual date of Mum and Dad's anniversary. We went to a restaurant for a... I dunno... seventy-six course meal - or at least that's what it still feels like. I noshed like a good'un. And they were so lovely. The next to last course was the cheese course and they brought a trolley laden with all sorts of cheeses - and trust me, it stank to high heaven. I hate cheese, and I couldn't bring myself to even attempt it just to be polite, the sight of it makes me feel a bit poorly - so they brought me a huge fruit platter. I've never liked strawberries until yesterday - they were incredible. I would've munched my way through the lot if it hadn't been for the fact I knew there was one more course to go...
Finally, the dessert trolley arrived. Oh, and I made up there for any cheese I didn't eat earlier on! I really did! Three desserts!! A tarte au citron, which was melt-in-the-mouth fabulous, some sort of caramelly nutty... thing... that I could happily have eaten for the rest of my life - until the chocolate mousse. Holy moly. I can still taste it. Hell's teeth. It was the most amazing thing I've ever had in my life.
I've been very very good apart from that though, and in fact, I'm still quite full from yesterday, although I did manage a mushroom omelette for lunch today. I've been for one monumental walk, and have had huge plans of more, but they just haven't come to fruition yet. Still - I'm not going home until Wednesday so I've got plenty of time for all that sort of thing!!
I shall tell you more about my adventures when I get back. I might be able to update again while I'm over here but don't hold me to that!! There's still tonnes to tell you, such as my amazing discovery in the video cabinet, the discovery of Reggie Perrin and my new Superhero Psychology textbook!!
I got a postcard from the llamas, by the way. They're all having a lovely time and Ricardo thinks he's found a new recruit for the dance troupe... more on that next time!!
So anyway, I'm actually in actual France. I'm not too sure what I expected from this country. I expected French people, definitely. I expected it to be a bit bigger than the UK. So, thus far in the list, all my expectations have been met - and, to a certain extent, exceeded, due to the fact it's huge.
I'm staying with my sister, who has owned two houses out here for the last ten years and lived here for the last four years. This is my first time in France and yes, that does make me a terrible sister. Luckily for me, I have baked brownies and lemon drizzle cake today so I'm possibly nearly on my way to being forgiven by both the sister and The Brother-in-Law (capitalisation is, in this instance, correct, due to him being the definitive article of brothers-in-law and generally one of the most amazing chaps you could ever wish to meet) for having avoided their house like the plague for so many years.
I have often described their abode (as I have been able to piece certain aspects of their life out here together by means of stories from everyone else who's been out here) as 'halfway up a mountain in the middle of nowhere'. To be honest, it was a rather accurate description. I mean, in fairness, you cannot fault the scenery, it's rather incredible. Seven whole days of chilling out surrounded by people I love and something akin to the most beautiful parts of British countryside (think of Pitlochry and the Ribble Valley and the Lake District and Snowdonia all mixed into one and timesed by a hundred) but on a much bigger scale - I mean, it's not a bad life, is it!
I must say, before I go any further, that I am in love with Paris. I briefly passed through the city on my way from one train station to another, but I felt that same tingle of excitement run down my spine and the same, almost overwhelming urge to leap out of the taxi and go off on an adventure as I did the first time I went to London. I must return one day for a proper adventure. Anyone who wishes to volunteer as my partner in crime can apply to the usual address. Seriously. Let's go. It'll be ace.
Speaking of taxis - we made a bit of a faux-pas (see, I'm fluent already) in Paris when getting into a taxi. Those familiar with Paris will probably have already guessed and are laughing at our idiocy, but let me tell you - it was the highlight of my journey!! We had already been on four different trains since 8a.m. (it was 4p.m. French time by the time we got off the train in Paris) and Jo had had a couple of little panic attacks, and we'd shared a table from London to Paris with a pair of hippies who gave hippies a bad name - and not only that, took all the leg room - so by the time we arrived in Paris, my head was done in, Jo's nerves were a wreck, and all I wanted to do was get on the last blasted train and get to Michelle's house. That was the plan.
My very rusty French was the only thing that we had been reliant on, and I was convinced that even I could manage to say to a taxi driver "Le gare Bercy, s'il vous plait." Ha!
I had been pre-warned by Michelle that occasionally, there might be an obnoxious Parisian taxi-driver who would pretend not to understand me as I'd probably still be speaking with an English accent, so imagine my surprise when a silver fox strode purposefully towards the sister and I and asked where we needed to go - in English! You know one of those people who are strikingly good-looking and even though you don't fancy them you feel a bit intimidated by them? He was like that, he looked like a film star. I told him we needed to go to Paris Bercy. He said he'd take us. We agreed a sum of money and off we went. He was possibly THE most polite person I have ever met. He opened the car doors for us, wouldn't let us handle our own bags, I mean, the works. 'Piggin' 'ell, dunno what our Shell's going on about, he's a very nice chap!' I stupidly thought to myself.
It wasn't until we got in we realised we'd actually hired a limo..................
Still. Complimentary drinks and snacks AND soft trad jazz the whole journey - it was worth it. But for future reference, apparently it should only cost between 15 and 20 Euros to get from Paris Nord to Paris Bercy in a taxi. Not 80.
For those of you worried about how I'm coping on The Diet in France, I'm pleased to inform you that everything is still going swimmingly and I've been very good indeed. Apart from yesterday, which was the actual date of Mum and Dad's anniversary. We went to a restaurant for a... I dunno... seventy-six course meal - or at least that's what it still feels like. I noshed like a good'un. And they were so lovely. The next to last course was the cheese course and they brought a trolley laden with all sorts of cheeses - and trust me, it stank to high heaven. I hate cheese, and I couldn't bring myself to even attempt it just to be polite, the sight of it makes me feel a bit poorly - so they brought me a huge fruit platter. I've never liked strawberries until yesterday - they were incredible. I would've munched my way through the lot if it hadn't been for the fact I knew there was one more course to go...
Finally, the dessert trolley arrived. Oh, and I made up there for any cheese I didn't eat earlier on! I really did! Three desserts!! A tarte au citron, which was melt-in-the-mouth fabulous, some sort of caramelly nutty... thing... that I could happily have eaten for the rest of my life - until the chocolate mousse. Holy moly. I can still taste it. Hell's teeth. It was the most amazing thing I've ever had in my life.
I've been very very good apart from that though, and in fact, I'm still quite full from yesterday, although I did manage a mushroom omelette for lunch today. I've been for one monumental walk, and have had huge plans of more, but they just haven't come to fruition yet. Still - I'm not going home until Wednesday so I've got plenty of time for all that sort of thing!!
I shall tell you more about my adventures when I get back. I might be able to update again while I'm over here but don't hold me to that!! There's still tonnes to tell you, such as my amazing discovery in the video cabinet, the discovery of Reggie Perrin and my new Superhero Psychology textbook!!
I got a postcard from the llamas, by the way. They're all having a lovely time and Ricardo thinks he's found a new recruit for the dance troupe... more on that next time!!
Monday, 19 March 2012
Leaving On A Jet Plane
Yes, I know, I'm leaving on a series of trains, but you get the general idea.
The last time I left the UK was in 2006, I think. My friend Clayre-Louyse and I went to Norway for 24 hours. We wanted to do something a bit different and Ryanair had flights going for £1.99 per person each way. It would've been rude to not take advantage of that! I think the last real live actual holiday I went on that didn't involve being somewhere because I had something to do and somewhere to go was in 2003 when I went to America for a fortnight that turned into three weeks because of the snow. So... yeah. I think a holiday is somewhat overdue!
I know you're probably all a bit worried about the llamas. After all, they do work very hard all week training for the Big Fiesta of a Friday, and if I leave them for a week with no food and drink they might waste away. Well. Fear not. The boys are off on their holidays too. Tomorrow, they are all jetting off to Magaluf for a week of well-earned R&R. Ricardo has packed his shocking pink leg-warmers for nights out and fluorescent green ones for lounging by the pool with a pina colada. Miguel can't wait to buy himself a new sombrero after one of the twins, Pedro, accidentally ate his old one. Enrique is, frankly, on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he has made checklists of checklists for all the things they need to remember. He must have checked all the llama passports at least five times already this morning. No wonder he's so short - it's all the stress, it must have stunted his growth.
When they get back though, they'll be straight back in training!! As will I! I've still got a shedload of weight to lose, and I don't see why being on holiday should necessarily mean that I have to undo all the hard work I've done over the last ten weeks. I mean I'll definitely have a few more drinkypoops than usual (I am particularly excited about having my first beer of 2012 while I'm away - I can almost taste the Kronenburg already!) and it'd be unfair not to have a smidgen of something yummy from the patisserie - but there's still no need to go crazy and reprise my previous role in life as Miss Pacman just because I'm not going to Fat Club on Thursday. I'm aiming to lose a minimum of 3lbs but I'm hoping to get as close to losing 6lbs over the next two weeks as I can (which isn't impossible and I have done it before). August is getting closer by the day and I don't want to let the side down by ruining things for myself when I've really only just started. I've just got things to do. Big things. Food can't get in the way of my plans - I've made too many of them!!
I can't promise any blog entries while I'm away - although I can promise that I'll try to update at least once. I'm really looking forward to France now. I was unsure about it at first, but now I'm longing to take some lovely long walks in the countryside, taking in the view, hopefully getting inspired to do a bit of writing - the landscape of Leyland really isn't conduicive to a great deal of inspiration, I won't lie.
That's right, France. I'm ready for you. Just hope the feeling's mutual!!
I have no news to report of the weekend's activities. The big sister and I were so pooped after a long and stressful week that we were reduced to gibbering wrecks by Friday and did pretty much chuff all over the weekend, despite our valiant plans of cleaning and packing. However, Jo did teach me how to make a proper spaghetti bolognese last night. I was quite proud of myself. It was actually edible. It's weird that, although I can bake one hell of a cake - I find cooking savoury food to be completely baffling, unless it's a full English breakfast. Which is most unfortunate because it turns out that you can't actually live on cake and full English breakfasts. Trust me. I've tried!!
So, this is it - the penultimate English blog of the month. Jo and I will be catching the eight o'clock train from Leyland on Wednesday morning. We should just be arriving in London this time in 48 hours. Whatever you're all up to over the next ten days, I hope you all have a lovely time. Be good - and if you can't be good, be careful. I will miss you all very much indeed - but don't worry, I shall be back with Ricardo and the boys a week on Friday, hopefully with some good news from Fat Club. If not, it won't be from a lack of trying, that's for sure!
The last time I left the UK was in 2006, I think. My friend Clayre-Louyse and I went to Norway for 24 hours. We wanted to do something a bit different and Ryanair had flights going for £1.99 per person each way. It would've been rude to not take advantage of that! I think the last real live actual holiday I went on that didn't involve being somewhere because I had something to do and somewhere to go was in 2003 when I went to America for a fortnight that turned into three weeks because of the snow. So... yeah. I think a holiday is somewhat overdue!
I know you're probably all a bit worried about the llamas. After all, they do work very hard all week training for the Big Fiesta of a Friday, and if I leave them for a week with no food and drink they might waste away. Well. Fear not. The boys are off on their holidays too. Tomorrow, they are all jetting off to Magaluf for a week of well-earned R&R. Ricardo has packed his shocking pink leg-warmers for nights out and fluorescent green ones for lounging by the pool with a pina colada. Miguel can't wait to buy himself a new sombrero after one of the twins, Pedro, accidentally ate his old one. Enrique is, frankly, on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he has made checklists of checklists for all the things they need to remember. He must have checked all the llama passports at least five times already this morning. No wonder he's so short - it's all the stress, it must have stunted his growth.
When they get back though, they'll be straight back in training!! As will I! I've still got a shedload of weight to lose, and I don't see why being on holiday should necessarily mean that I have to undo all the hard work I've done over the last ten weeks. I mean I'll definitely have a few more drinkypoops than usual (I am particularly excited about having my first beer of 2012 while I'm away - I can almost taste the Kronenburg already!) and it'd be unfair not to have a smidgen of something yummy from the patisserie - but there's still no need to go crazy and reprise my previous role in life as Miss Pacman just because I'm not going to Fat Club on Thursday. I'm aiming to lose a minimum of 3lbs but I'm hoping to get as close to losing 6lbs over the next two weeks as I can (which isn't impossible and I have done it before). August is getting closer by the day and I don't want to let the side down by ruining things for myself when I've really only just started. I've just got things to do. Big things. Food can't get in the way of my plans - I've made too many of them!!
I can't promise any blog entries while I'm away - although I can promise that I'll try to update at least once. I'm really looking forward to France now. I was unsure about it at first, but now I'm longing to take some lovely long walks in the countryside, taking in the view, hopefully getting inspired to do a bit of writing - the landscape of Leyland really isn't conduicive to a great deal of inspiration, I won't lie.
That's right, France. I'm ready for you. Just hope the feeling's mutual!!
I have no news to report of the weekend's activities. The big sister and I were so pooped after a long and stressful week that we were reduced to gibbering wrecks by Friday and did pretty much chuff all over the weekend, despite our valiant plans of cleaning and packing. However, Jo did teach me how to make a proper spaghetti bolognese last night. I was quite proud of myself. It was actually edible. It's weird that, although I can bake one hell of a cake - I find cooking savoury food to be completely baffling, unless it's a full English breakfast. Which is most unfortunate because it turns out that you can't actually live on cake and full English breakfasts. Trust me. I've tried!!
So, this is it - the penultimate English blog of the month. Jo and I will be catching the eight o'clock train from Leyland on Wednesday morning. We should just be arriving in London this time in 48 hours. Whatever you're all up to over the next ten days, I hope you all have a lovely time. Be good - and if you can't be good, be careful. I will miss you all very much indeed - but don't worry, I shall be back with Ricardo and the boys a week on Friday, hopefully with some good news from Fat Club. If not, it won't be from a lack of trying, that's for sure!
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
The Last Time
Welcome, one and all, to the final Wednesday blog of the month!!
I'm travelling to France next Wednesday for a family shindig - and yes, it will take all day. We're going by train, so it'll take between ten and eleven hours. Sheesh. The following Wednesday, I will be travelling home. I will probably be able to update the blog while I'm in France, maybe, possibly - but after Monday's blog I can't guarantee much on the updating front until 30 March.
So, as it is the last Wednesday blog of the month, I suppose I'd best find something monumental to tell you.
Erm.
........ Umm.........
... Nah, I got nuthin'.
Good progress has been made on the script. Which is quite fortunate considering that the deadline is a week today. Luckily I have a genius and all-round good egg looking over it and contributing greatly to the content and layout - so I think between us we will make a writing team as strong as Spike Milligan and Eric Sykes, or Terry Jones and Michael Palin, or Caroline Quentin and.... that other fella... Don't worry, folks, when we're famous, we'll still remember you. Whoever you are.
I'm feeling much more chipper today - I thought I would do. I think a large part of it is to do with the fact I did manage to complete my first re-write of the script. I think after hearing about Davy Jones, stupid as it sounds, my head was a bit screwed up. Not in an 'I need therapy' type way or anything nearly so drastic, just in a 'Oh. Right. Well. I don't know if I remember how to be funny, now' type way. Just, y'know. Well. It came as a shock to everyone, didn't it? But I did have visions of the deadline passing me by and me just beating myself up endlessly over it. Even though the Beeb are always on the lookout for unsolicited sitcom scripts and I could feasibly have sent it to them any time - I think the Dawn French factor in this particular competition really made me want to make an extra effort. So, even though I know it isn't finished yet, I'm a lot more confident that it will be finished by the deadline and we can still enter the competition together. It feels like an achievement already.
Dieting is still going the same way as before. I haven't done much walking this week, partly because I got a bit put off the idea on Sunday and partly because I'm just shattered this week, it's been ungodly stressful at work and my head's a bit mashed - the last thing I feel like I've got the energy for is a 7a.m. stroll to and from the little Tesco at the bottom of the hill!! I'll work something out, though. I'll get back on it. I don't feel remotely thinner this week and I feel as though I might've put a little weight on but I know why and I'm not too worried. I'm not going to fat club next week so I've got two weeks to sort myself out and hopefully get even closer to my 2 stone certificate and my Club 10 certificate, which are only 3lbs apart. I want it to be Shiny Stickers A Go-Go when I get back into that slimming club!!!
Join me again on Friday, when hopefully the llamas will be out in full force and having a good old boogie in celebration of me losing some sort of weight... but don't hold your breath - I certainly won't be!!
I'm travelling to France next Wednesday for a family shindig - and yes, it will take all day. We're going by train, so it'll take between ten and eleven hours. Sheesh. The following Wednesday, I will be travelling home. I will probably be able to update the blog while I'm in France, maybe, possibly - but after Monday's blog I can't guarantee much on the updating front until 30 March.
So, as it is the last Wednesday blog of the month, I suppose I'd best find something monumental to tell you.
Erm.
........ Umm.........
... Nah, I got nuthin'.
Good progress has been made on the script. Which is quite fortunate considering that the deadline is a week today. Luckily I have a genius and all-round good egg looking over it and contributing greatly to the content and layout - so I think between us we will make a writing team as strong as Spike Milligan and Eric Sykes, or Terry Jones and Michael Palin, or Caroline Quentin and.... that other fella... Don't worry, folks, when we're famous, we'll still remember you. Whoever you are.
I'm feeling much more chipper today - I thought I would do. I think a large part of it is to do with the fact I did manage to complete my first re-write of the script. I think after hearing about Davy Jones, stupid as it sounds, my head was a bit screwed up. Not in an 'I need therapy' type way or anything nearly so drastic, just in a 'Oh. Right. Well. I don't know if I remember how to be funny, now' type way. Just, y'know. Well. It came as a shock to everyone, didn't it? But I did have visions of the deadline passing me by and me just beating myself up endlessly over it. Even though the Beeb are always on the lookout for unsolicited sitcom scripts and I could feasibly have sent it to them any time - I think the Dawn French factor in this particular competition really made me want to make an extra effort. So, even though I know it isn't finished yet, I'm a lot more confident that it will be finished by the deadline and we can still enter the competition together. It feels like an achievement already.
Dieting is still going the same way as before. I haven't done much walking this week, partly because I got a bit put off the idea on Sunday and partly because I'm just shattered this week, it's been ungodly stressful at work and my head's a bit mashed - the last thing I feel like I've got the energy for is a 7a.m. stroll to and from the little Tesco at the bottom of the hill!! I'll work something out, though. I'll get back on it. I don't feel remotely thinner this week and I feel as though I might've put a little weight on but I know why and I'm not too worried. I'm not going to fat club next week so I've got two weeks to sort myself out and hopefully get even closer to my 2 stone certificate and my Club 10 certificate, which are only 3lbs apart. I want it to be Shiny Stickers A Go-Go when I get back into that slimming club!!!
Join me again on Friday, when hopefully the llamas will be out in full force and having a good old boogie in celebration of me losing some sort of weight... but don't hold your breath - I certainly won't be!!
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