Slimma's Xmas Hamper recommendations

I have become quite the little mirror-glancer recently. Me, yes, the one whose sexiest black number this time last year looked more like a burka than a frock, has turned the corner and is rather amazed at the transformation that's occurred. 1.5 stones since July and not a whiff of the D word. REALLY! Not a squidely, diddly iota of calorie counting has rained on my parade, and many, many a hearty meal has been troughed. I haven't given up lattes, muffins, chocolate (though it has been cut down and is at least beginning to resemble a normal human being's annual consumption) or, in fact, anything.

Food is just no longer my Linus blanky. Yes, dear readers, I can now face the mirror, stick out my marracas with pride, and face the day sans burka.

So forgive me sisters if I sound a bit smug and preachy here for a moment, but I'm now such a card carrying member of the anti-diet movement that I can't help myself. Cue Xmas rant...

"If you REALLY want to lose weight, gals, PLEASE sort your heads out first. Dieting is bad for your mojo. I mean, come on. It is not normal to talk about points, calories, fat ounces, being 'good' or being 'bad'. This is just eating. It's part of life. Let's prove the intelligence of our sex once and for all and put a stop to all this garbage. I promise, if you do that and use your head, you WILL lose the lard, slowly and surely and forever.

There, now that I've got that off my still sizeable chest, I'm going to give another big Christmas plug to 2 of my most useful little helpers.

The Weight Less Mind - book and cds by my favourite hypnotherapist, Georgia Foster. Listen to these relaxing recordings, read the book and I guarantee you'll start thinking about your relationship with food in a whole new way. Persevere. You'll never dream of dieting again once you've read Georgia's book. It'll just seem, well, SILLY!

and

The Ultimate Unwind - another blissful hypnotherapy mp3, this time from the inspiring Space to Be brand. But guess what, Georgia's also working her magic here! Great for sleepless nights or when you just need 20 mins me-time. And this one's not aimed at slimmers. It's a fab Xmas pressie idea for the stress-head in your house!

Right, must dash, there's a giant coronation sub with my name on it...mmm, lunch!

Xx

"Christmas is coming...

...and I'm not getting fat-ter!" (I couldn't give a fois-gras about the goose)

Anyhoo, my mantra is now 'make it to mid Jan no more than 2lb heavier'.

Have you noticed that come December every year, women's mags barrage us with a shed load of confusing messages? On the one hand you'll get an article aimed at the weight conscious telling us how easy it is to stay slim if we only 'stay away from the crisps and dips', limit ourselves to one spritzer at the office party and substitute low fat semolina for Xmas pud, whilst a few pages further on they'll wheel out Delia (do they only let her out at Xmas?) and encourage us to give our suet-splashed bird a damned good full-fat stuffing.

Stuff semolina, I'm with Delia!

So, dear readers, all bets are off till I get back from skiing in Austria mid Jan (for there lies schnitzel, goulash soup and weissbier with my name on it). Don't get me wrong, I still want to get to a size 14, but I have had an epiphany of sorts. Speed is not the issue. It took me a decade to gain this extra 3 stone of lard. If it comes off in a year I should be bloomin' delighted!

Sure enough, this revellation alone did seem to help me lose a pound this week. And I've even survived my self imposed Curly Wurly cold turkey.

Cause for celebration indeed.

PS. ANd did I mention I bought a frock in a size 16? Oh I did...well, it is something worth crowing about!

ANd while I like beef too, I'm not quite as obsessed as these cool cats. Enjoy! And don't forget to check out www.rathergood.com where this clip originated.

OOPS, I did it again!

You may have noticed I didn't quite make my target. Actually I'm a whole 6lb off it. But you know what? I don't really care! I'm a whole lot slimmer! Even Mr S has noticed (no mean feat!)

In fact I just bought a frock in a size 16, so to quote a patronising old ciggy ad, 'I've come a long way, baby!'

Inner Bitch: What are you talking about Tubs? You failed, fair and square.

Inner Goddess: Oh, leave it out. When are you ever going to get with the programme and give her a break. Didn't you hear her, she's got into a size 16. She's winning! She's not dieting, she's not even breaking into a sweat and she's disappearing before our very eyes. If that's your idea of failure, you need new specs.

Me: THanks IG! I feel GOOOOOOD. However, I feel like I've been coasting a while now and it's time to shake things up a little..give the old system a boost. So without further ado, I hearby commit to my next challege...

A bit more excercise.

Inner BItch: A bit? What exactly does that look like? Bending down and tying your shoelaces, stretching up for a tin of beans, what?

Me: NO, smarty pants, I'm returning to an old favourite. So old you only seem to get it on video tape, not DVD, these days - CALLANETICS. I'm going to hit the floor and do some serious clenching!

Inner Bitch: ha ha ha! Just as I thought, not REAL exercise at all then. God forbid you break a sweat.

Me: Scoff if you like, but I happen to know it's a deceptively tough workout.

IB: So what can we expect to see from you by 1 January then, oh, bendy flexy goddess?

Me: Considerably more toned arms will do for starters. Callan's also promised me a peachy bum and a washboard stomach, but even I think that might be a miracle too far in a month.

Let operation BINGO WING BLASTER commence!

PS> It's been a while since I did Callanetics. I hope 1980s poodle hair is not an obligatory side effect!

Fat lass returns with amnesia

Aliens?

Cream cakes?

SAD?

A wild party that required considerable recuperation time?

Yes, yes, yes! I have succumbed to all of the above over the past 3 weeks BIG TIME. Apart from the aliens, that is. (Unless you can count folk dressed as boats, Egyptian obelisks or cinemas as aliens? Jury's out on that one.)

Anyway, it's about time I took my little blog a bit more seriously again. And it's also high time I stepped away from the Waitrose New York cheesecake (cold turkey is to be expected), beer, G&T and dresssing-up box and tip-toe meekly back onto the scales. But I think that can wait till tomorrow.

You'll know when I've done it. You'll be able to hear the screams in Antarctica.

All I will say is this. I've enjoyed my wild reprieve so thanks for your patience! I'm slowly clambering back onto the Slimma Express now.

Hey, where did that tyre come from?

Scotland from your armchair

It's not often that my job reminds me how unfit I am, but this week I'm guest proofreading a magazine about healthy people doing energetic outdoorsy stuff and, I have to say, it's making me feel like a real towny, latte-swilling slug.

There are people out there who actually carry mountain bikes up hills for kicks. There are Munro-baggers who doggedly brave weather suitable only for Arctic geese, and there are intrepid volunteers who risk getting their ears blasted by Navy sonar in the name of dolphin conservation.

Talk about feeling inadequate. I really must get out more.

But I'll need to start gently. I haven't had an adventure for a while (no, let's not count the man in the train loo episode!) Fortunately, this magazine is not just for the superfit or extreme weather buff. There really is something for everyone - yes, even the lazy likes of me!

So what caught my fancy?

Stargazing! I was completely hooked by an article about how to read the winter sky and I'm now quite fired up about taking a trip to the Observatory. Just think, soon I might even be able to Star-Nav my way to Sainsbury's - how exciting is that?!

Yeah, I know, I don't think it'll burn too many calories either! But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Baby steps.

What are you waiting for? Get into Scotland Outdoors - I promise, you won't need your thermals to enjoy a good read! Find out where to grab a copy here.

My name is Slimma and I am an addict

You should never listen to me. I am but a fragile slimming experiment.

You see I had this cunning strategy for continuing to eat chocolate while losing weight. I thought that by buying kiddy-sized Curly Wurlys instead of family-sized bars of Dairy Milk - the logic being that I am not addicted to Curly Wurlys and could 'take them or leave them' - was pretty darn smart. It worked for a while too.

But that was then.

Now I have something to confess:

My name is Slimma and I am a Curly Wurly addict.

Fortunately Inner Goddess has staged an intervention and, as I write, two deliciously caramely unopened CWs lie abandoned at the bottom of the bin. IG even took the precaution of pouring mushed up cereal over them 'just in case' I hit rock bottom later on and go scavenging. She said it had something to do with 'protecting my dignity'.

For the record, handing over my remaining stash was not easy. Charlton Heston would have been impressed...

Me: You'll have to prize these Curly Wurlys 'OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS!'

IG: If you insist!

Man, she's got a mean half Nelson.

And where's Inner Bitch when you need her?

Be a pet, remember, remember!

I wonder why more vets don't use Guy Fawkes in their advertising. They ought to. Because 5th Nov doesn't just cause a seasonal spike in firework sales, I hear it also seriously boosts sales of pet sedatives.

So if the dogs in your local park seem a bit lazy tomorrow, remember, the poor wee buggers are probably still trippin'.

Ball, what ball, man?


Seriously though, the RSPC has issued a wee reminder for pet owners and I'm sure has a few better suggestions.

Yoga pose of the day

Quick, check out Yoga Pose of the Day! (Corpse pose)

I'm curious about the strategically placed groin cloth thingame.

And since when did levitation become a basic yoga pose?

What? You do it all the time?

Typical. I'm always the last to know.

(Get a little bendier every day with 'Yoga Pose of the Day' - see widget below blog posts - it's a great way to fit a little extra stretching into your day. However, be advised, people do look at you funny if you do it at the bus stop.)

Fame! I'm gonna live...to regret this!

If I told you I was at a BBQ on a November Saturday night in Scotland, you'd think I was fibbing, right?

Well thanks to the bonkers weather we're getting these days, we were actually living that dream. It was a great chance to meet more of the neighbours, sink a few mulled wines and, so I'm told, 'freak out' with Mr Slimma to some good tunes.

We're a bit out of practice, but fortunately my neighbour 'two down' is quite keen on throwing a few shapes and before long we were all convinced we could 'J-set' better than Beyonce.

It was all going fabulously...until I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat with a very troublesome thought.

Did I really agree to go with my twinkle-toed neighbour to a 'real' dance class on Tuesday night? Oh boy, I think I did.

What was I thinking?!

Apart from my pathalogical fear of lycra, the words 'at the end of the class we do balletic jumps in pairs' keep returning to haunt me.

So I've now got a 'Kids from Fame' scenario spinning round in my head - the only difference being the Kids from Fame weren't totally off their tits on mulled wine when they were dancing.

Suddenly I fully grasp what their teacher meant when she said...

'Right here's where you start paying!'

Gruesome goings on

The bath has leaked through the lounge ceiling, I'm a fairly scary sight in my fat pants and the milk I poured on my cereal this morning had turned.

It MUST be Halloween.


MOOooooowahhhhhhhhaaaahhhhaaaaahhhhaaaaa!

The 'slack' route to Slimville

To blog every day or not to blog every day, that has been the question on my mind lately.

If you're a regular, you'll have noticed I've not been blogging every weekday recently.

I haven't really felt like it and as this weight loss campaign is as much about being a little nicer to myself and taking some time to smell the roses as it is about losing weight, I've decided to take a little pressure off - for now anyway.

It might have something to do with The Big Peace. I've been following Suzy's programme for a few weeks now, and it's been making me feel calmer, happier and much more chilled in general, but particularly about my weight loss mission. Inner Bitch has definitely been a lot quieter too.

Don't worry. I haven't had an epiphany up a mountain, nor have I been chewing any strange mushrooms, it's just become increasingly clear that it matters more 'how' I get to Slimville than when.

Blogging makes me smile and gives me momentum - and I committed to blogging till I reach a size 14 - so I will - but if enjoying the ride means 2-3 posts a week instead of 5, 2-3 posts it shall be! I fully expect the world will keep turning in the meantime.

Inner Bitch: Slacker!

Did somebody say something? Nah, didn't think so. Must just have been the wind.

The 'other' voices in my head

I've mentioned being a fan of hypnotherapy before. I love it. I use it to help me lose weight, stay positive and also for bouts of insomnia. When I sleep well I sleep really well, but sometimes I get into a pattern where I just can't switch off the daft thoughts in my head. That's when I reach for the ipod.

I have a couple of favourites...

At the moment, Ultimate Unwind a recording created by renowned clinical hypnotherapist Georgia Foster for space to be is the absolute best of the bunch for those nights when I'm far too busy rabbiting on at myself in bed to shut off and sleep. I've tried polishing shoes (My doctor's advice. He must live a wild, exciting life!) and the hot glass of milk thing but nothing takes me to the land of nod as fast as Georgia's antipodean commands. Even better, she doesn't insist I wake up at the end of the recording either. Not that I ever make it to the end anymore. Mr Slimma reckons I manage max 10 mins before I'm doing a sleeping beauty (read snoring and drooling on the pillow).

I've been taking Georgia to bed for a while now actually. Mr Slimma's probably getting jealous. But I credit her book and CD The Weight Less Mind big time for helping me ditch dieting forever.

So today I'm delighted to award Georgia 'a Slimma' for 'Services to Over-alert Lardy Folk'. I hope she likes it. It's far more prestigious than an Oscar - and you don't need to kiss ass or make a tearful speech to get one!

What did you see?

Anyone else watching Flashforward?
It's made by the same folk who made Lost, a series that showed promise but seemed to get rather, well, 'lost'. I never made it past series 1. I'm hoping Flashforward will be a better investment of my Monday evening telly quota. We're only a few episodes in but already it's got me wondering...

What if a blackout happened and you were..

* A man taking a leak in a busy public urinal. It'd be like garden sprinklers!

* Doing 'it' - Talk about an anti-climax!

* Getting a tooth filled - Are you wincing yet?

And as if that's not bad enough, what if your future's a pile of pants too.

Just as well this is fiction. I'm coming out in a rash just thinking about it.

Anyway, I don't need to black out to see the future...

I'm going to be a (UK)size 14 by Easter 2010!

Inner Bitch: I didn't think your feet could possibly get any bigger.

Me: Very funny. Did I mention there was no sign of your ugly mug in my flashforward either?

The bear necessities of life...

When I need a bit of exercise I take a walk in the park.

In Alaska they have a slightly more extreme way of buring calories...

It's a conspiracy I tell you!

There's nothing like a big steaming bowl of soup now that it's getting colder. I reckon it's probably a slimmer's best friend. Shame the process of making it is so darn dangerous.

I'm fairly safe with courgettes and carrots but I now suspect that some seemily innocent looking veg is, em, how can I say this without inviting a visit from the men in white coats, ... out to get me.

It's no joke. Take butternut squash - I love its sweet taste and fleshy texture, but I've yet to peel and chop one without it escaping my grip and flying torpedo-like across the kitchen. I don't remember rugby tackling being flagged up as a required culinary skill in Home Ec class, but my bruises say otherwise.

Then there's the humble onion, the veg that can at the best of times reduce a grown man or woman to tears - or total hysterics if you stupidly wipe your streaming eyes with your arm having just leant on some chilli.

AAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Oh yeah, you gotta watch the chilli and its sneaky guerrilla tactics, let me tell you.

This isn't cooking. This is WAR!

Trick or treat?

It's not even Halloween yet and we're being invited to think about Christmas. Lights, cards, and even adverts for 'Christmasy fragranced candles' (Do you suppose Mary and Joseph found them absolutely essential too?) are bombarding our subconsciouses with the message 'thou shalt soon be required to be jolly and fritter thy money on stuff that'll doubtless end up in a charity shop come January'.

Bah humbug! This old Scrooge is going to enjoy Halloween before she inevitably succumbs to any of that. After all, I've got a party to dress up for and no idea yet what to wear. So I've been weighing up the options...

Theme: historical character or monument.

The Michelin 'wo'man: Every fatty's preferred metaphor. Hmm, maybe not historical enough.

Henry VIII: Pros: License to eat anything that moves and make my bingo wings work for me. Cons: tights, beard, licence to eat anything...

Kate Moss: Just kidding!

Maryln Monroe: Pros: I've got curves. Cons: I've got curves not even magic knickers can completely contain.

The Eiffel Tower: Stand in an A-frame with a croissant in my gob! Ooh la-la! Tempting!

What would you suggest?...

Back to the grindstone

Now that I've recovered from my whopping autumn cold, I'm declaring right here and now that I refuse to accept another one till next year. All that daytime telly, dozing everywhere and a week long Lemsip high doesn't half take its toll. I seriously lost the will to slim.

So after allowing myself one last delirious cheesecake-eating frenzy last night during Flashforward it's back to weekday blogging, healthy meals, and a little bit of anything that approximates to exercise.

Inner Goddess is doing her darndest to get me out of my scratcher in the dark mornings too. Inner Sloth isn't convinced, though, and neither am I.

Inner Sloth: Your body is telling you it needs more sleep. So allow yourself to sleep!'

IG: Your body is also telling you to shift your blacmangey bum round the park too, but I don't see you listening to that bit of advice. Funny that.

Me: (Yawning) All in good time. Just a few more z's and I'll be skipping through the leaves and shedding pounds again before you can say zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Looks like it's going to be a tough week in Slimville.

Excuses excuses...

Have I been ill?
Yup. I complained so heartily a casual observer might have mistaken my symptoms for 'man flu'.

Did my good habits go to pot while I was coughing and spluttering for Scotland?
You bet they did! I've eaten more cake this week than I care to think about. It didn't matter that I couldn't taste anything which kind of defeats the purpose. It's what you do when you're ill, right?


Will I be back to normal lard busting blogging again soon?
Oh yes, tomorrow probably. But first I need to go do some healthy food shopping.

Mmmm, cabbage. Can't wait!

ugh...

Blasted cold...back when no longer attached to mansize box of tissues....

In the meantime, give it up for the amazing, the fabulous Cubby from You Tube giving Beyonce a run for her money. Oh yes, I think a star is born!

She's back!

Me: Where have you been? I need you!

Inner Goddess: On my hols. Even I need to cut loose and let myself go. It's not easy being perfect, y'know.

Me: No, I don't know, but it's a good thing you're back. You cutting loose for three whole weeks is not at all good for my mission. Things have been slipping, and I aint talking about my waistband.

IG: Slipping? You mean Curly Wurly consumption is on the rise, you're bored of all your new recipes AGAIN, and you're letting Inner Bitch get the better of you?

Me: Yeah, kinda. I'm still losing it, but it's getting awfully slow.

IG: What do you expect, miracles? For the last time, YOU ARE NOT ON A DIET, you are changing your habits. It TAKES TIME, but it IS working! And as for Inner Bitch, you KNOW she can't stand positivity, so stop whining and put on your happy face! Don't make me have to go and put on my Wonder Woman suit and crack my whip at you - even I couldn't get into it this week!

Me: But I want RESULTS and I want them FASTER. I want to lose more than one measly pound a week!

IG: Spoiled brat. If you really wanted faster results you could have them. But you'd need to get a whole lot more disciplined, strict... and we both know what happens then. You go great guns for 2 weeks, then give up and trough the entire contents of your fridge, then beat yourself up for another three weeks and gain a stone. Been there, done that, got the giant-sized T-shirt. When are you gonna learn? For you, SLOW AND STEADY WILL WIN THE RACE!

Me: OK, OK! You're right, as always.

IG: Of course I'm right. Now, quit with the moaning and let me see you do the 'I-lost-a-pound-and-I'm-gonna-shake-ma-bootie-celebration' dance!' Yeah, that's more like it!


Don't worry, there's no video footage, but boy I'm glad IG's back.

Strictly Catty

Dashing out early today, so I'm leaving these two bickering Strictly fans to guest blog instead...

Talking Cats! - Click here for funny video clips

Don't speak cat?
OK, quick translation...

Moggy 1: Alesha's rubbish. They should sack her.

Moggy 2: No she's not, give her a chance!

Moggy 1: No way, bring back Arlene! It's just not the same without her baiting Craig and oggling the male celbrities' hip action.

Moggy 2: I think Alesha's ok!

Moggy 1: No, she's rubbish! And as for that snorting thing she does...

Moggy 2: She's fab!

Moggy 1: You're just so undiscerning, that's your trouble.

Moggy 2: Undiscerning? Undiscerning? What makes you so qualified to judge, then. You're hardly Billy Elliot. I saw you headbut yourself on the cat flap yesterday...

Moggy 1: Not the point, I'm not on the Strictly panel!

Moggy 2: Thank the great kitten in the sky for that!

Moggy 1: Well I don't care, I still think they should sack her.

Moggy 2: Well I don't!

Moggy 1: I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree then.

Moggy 2: Guess so. Oi, I've got that bleedin' itch again....give us a hand will you...

Much ado about doggie do

I have just seen a woman scoop her dog's poo off the path and put it in a plastic bag.

So?

Well, rather than then putting it straight into the wheelie bin right next to her, she has em, just put it into her designer handbag.

Yes, really!

Am I missing something? I mean I'm delighted she's keeping the path tidy - it used to be a bit of a dog poo minefield - but would somebody please explain what's going on here?

Is she perhaps the curator of a new 'Edinburgh Dog Poo Museum'? Do her dog's logs hold the secret ingredient that will cure mankind of all known diseases? Do you think she freezes it when she gets home? Is dog poo the latest handbag accessory. (I missed all coverage of London Fashion Week). Hell, maybe everyone's got poo in their bag except me... dammit I'm so uncool.

You see my problem? How can I possibly be expected to get any serious writing done until these pressing questions are answered?

Your theories welcome....

Thriller?

When you watch a makeover show on telly, do you ever think it's the new hair-do that makes the biggest difference? I do. Sure you can do wonders for a flabby belly with magic pants, and elongate hobbit legs with heels, but a good haircut really can knock years off you.

But it is a scary procedure. Scarier than going to the dentist in my book. My hairdresser has no idea that I seriously consider Valium before each visit and she probably wonders where the large knucle indentations in the chair come from. It's been that way ever since the purple and orange Mohawk hair modelling fiasco of 1984 - the only time I seriously flirted with expulsion.

I mean these people have way too much power!

Fortunately, thanks to dailymakeover.com, you can now experiment with a new hair-do in the comfort of your own living room, for free and without the need for sedatives. Simply upload your photo and get to work on your virtual barnet. Whether you ever go to the hairdresser again is entirely up to you!

Right, where's that Michael Jackson Thriller 'do'.

Cha'mone!

Say cheese!

Did you see this story?...

Pregnant woman had to lie to buy cheese

What's next? Are the orange bods at Sainsbury's now going to accost me at the till with the news that I'm too fat to eat chocolate, or force me to eat oily fish so I get enough Omega 3 and 6? Please tell me I imagined this whole debacle, that I'm hallucinating, that it's April Fool's Day and I've just fallen for the joke! Somebody, anybody, please?

If not, I'm going to really have to excercise my fibbing muscles.
"Well, you see, I NEED the chocolate to survive. If I don't get at least 100g a day, I get terribly violent and attack people wearing orange. It can get messy. What's that? Yes, of course you can see my note from the doctor..."

The Origin of Morons?

A rerun of Frasier with breakfast is a particularly cracking way to start the day. But this morning's episode, where Frasier dates a PE teacher and gets flashbacks of being useless at gym at school, had me choking on my cereal...

It was 1981, I was 13 and I too was flailing around at the bottom of a gym rope. I can still hear my peers giggling behind my back...

Me: It's no use, Miss P, I just can't do it!

Gym teacher: Nonsense, you simply aren't trying! Try harder. Right, nobody goes to lunch till she climbs that rope.

Other girls (no longer giggling) : Awwwwww Miiisssssss!

15 eternal mins later, and at least 2 inches off the floor...

Gym teacher: Useless, utterly useless. Right off you go, the lot of you.

Oh yes, those were the days. If the big green industrial-strength gym pants didn't give you a complex, a spot of public humiliation would certainly 'build character' and do wonders for your popularity.

Looking back, it probably was quite funny to watch my puffy red face and big green arse swinging perilously like a shabby Christmas tree bauble, but to this day I maintain that gyms remain the habitat of sadists who have forgotten we are supposed to have evolved.

I mean, what would Mr Darwin have said if he'd been ordered to climb a rope, let alone in unflattering green pants...

'What the **** for? One can buy perfectly good fruit at the shops!'

A small portion of advice for fellow lardies…

When cravings strike, say to yourself: ‘I want to be slim more than I want that biscuit/chocolate bar. You won’t always win that battle, but after a while you might find yourself actually believing it. (Yes, might!)

Buy a stash of chocs or sweets you like and always have some in the house. But NEVER buy your favourites. Only some ninja-disciplined superwoman could resist their favourite craving. But this sweet little bit of reverse psychology is clever enough to fool me if I buy something that does the job, but which I can take or leave. I ate my first Curly Wurly in 35 years the other day. Apart from being a third of the size they used to be, they aren’t as magic as I remember but if they prevent me from committing murder on the grounds of chocolate deprivation, I guess they’ll do.

Use your hands to measure out portions. There’s nothing like groping your pasta and rice and pouting like Nigella to make cooking dinner more interesting, and your spouse even more worried. If you have boxer-sized mitts, don’t be a dough ball, put some back!

Make a least half or more of your dinner veggies. Tough it out. There’s a million and one ways to disguise the veg you’re not mad about. Except brussel sprouts, which ARE the devil’s own vegetable and should be exorcised from all kitchens.

Use smaller plates. It’s no wonder I got fat – you could mince a whole cow into mine.

But it’s the weekend, this is no time to talk portion control. Quick, pass the Dairy Milk!

Survival of the fastest

Inner Goddess: Slow down, for heavens sake, your Weetabix does not have legs!

I’ve read about it, Paul McKenna advocates it and I try my best to do it, but I find eating slowly really, really hard.

I don’t even have the excuse of being one of those so-rushed-off-my-feet people. I could eat at snail’s pace if I wanted to but, oh no, put a bowl of chow in front of me and before you can say ‘was it a bird, was it a plane?’ my plate will be cleaner than your brightest Daz whites.

I used to be quite proud of this finely honed skill. I went through some of the toughest survival training on the planet to acquire it. Not the SAS, not MI6, no, I went to the big mama of all survival training...

...a girl’s boarding school.

Let me just briefly sum up dinnertime etiquette…

“Hold on to your ugly green gym pants girls and prepare to toughen up! You’re not here to enjoy your meals. No ladies, you’re here to learn to fight or starve. Don’t like it? Lump it! Trust me, a month from now you’ll be begging for more of that snot coloured, nutritionally void cabbage. Now, let’s say grace…”

You laugh, you think, yeah right, it can’t always be this bad - our parents are paying good money for this educational incarceration. But sure enough, by week three I could have taken out Muhammed Ali to stake my claim to that cabbage.

Revolting chow made sure I never got fat at boarding school – that came later - but devouring my dinner in seconds lest the vultures attack sure did turn out to be a tough habit to break.

Creating your strongest life

Instead of rabbiting on about the perils of VPL or my stubbornly large bum, today I thought I'd share something else I'm rabidly passionate about. Because, when I think about it, it's all ultimately related.

If you feel great about how you look/feel but don't do what you love or even work to your strengths, you probably aren't as happy as you could be. You might even dread going to work every day. Equally, no matter how much you enjoy what you do, if you don't feel good about how you look or feel, you may find it hard to achieve your potential.

I've experienced both scenarios over the years. A few years ago I decided to do some work on discovering my strengths. It was time and effort well spent. Now I'm working on feeling better about how I look and feel. Then I figured it made sense to use a couple of my strengths (creating and communicating) to help me battle the bulge - and so the blog was born and, more importantly, seems to be working!

So do you know where your strengths lie?

If not, I heartily recommend Gallup's updated Strenghsfinder 2.0 online quiz and any books by Marcus Buckingham.

But before you do, I noticed today that Buckingham has also just launched The Strong Life Test for Women. Used in conjunction with its accompaanying book, the Strong Life Test is 'a tool to enable women to tap into their best selves and find their strongest lives'.

I haven't tried it yet but I'm guessing it will be worth a look.

Here you go....

Hello waist!

Slimming really is weird.

As I bent down to gather up a pile of laundry this morning, I couldn't believe it. There she was. A little older, a little worse for wear, but still recognisable. It was my long lost friend - my waist!

Me: Well, hello there! Nice to see you. It sure has been a while.

Waist: Well, if you insist on obscuring my view with that enormous tyre, what do you expect? No point hanging around for that kind of shoddy treatment, is there?

Me: OK, I guess that’s fair, but now that you’re back, I hope you’re planning on sticking around. You’re gonna make clothes shopping a whole lot easier.

Waist: I’d love to stay, but it does kind of depend on what you shove into that large cakehole of yours, doesn’t it?

Me: Don’t you worry about that you lovely little inch-tape, you, I’m going to take good care of you, I promise. In fact, how does a spot of trampolining sound? You like that, don’t you?

Waist: Yeah, but do you think you could just move a bit more. Get down and boogie sister, loosen up, gimme some more twist action. The jogging on the spot thing’s really tedious and those fatpants don’t half make you look like a large tub of…

So it really is true. Everyone’s a critic…

Nobody puts Baby in a corner! (unless she's got VPL)

Last night I decided to pay my own wee tribute to the late Patrick Swayze and Keith Floyd by enjoying Dirty Dancing with a few generous glasses of wine - all in all, a pretty perfect way to spend the last night of my hols.

Mr Slimma promptly disappeared upstairs. Can’t imagine why. It’s not as though I’d ever get so carried away at the last dance scene that I’d launch myself off the sofa and expect him to catch me. I’ve still got the bruises from last time...

Anyway, enough mucking about. It’s nice to be back at the blog and today I have at least two giant reasons to celebrate.

My first trip to the scales in 2 weeks reveals I haven’t gained any weight on my hols. Haven’t lost any either but considering what I’ve been troughing, that’s what I call a result!

Even better, I can now squeeze into some of my size 16s. I’d love to say there’s no VPL but close examination of my butt in the mirror says otherwise. Still, my size 18s now hang off me so much they make me look like Charlie Chaplin, so it looks like its tight troos and long tops for me until I get the VPL situation sorted. It’s a heinous crime, VPL. If Baby had had it, I bet she’d still be in that corner.

Or maybe she had magic knickers? Now there's an idea...

The accidental pervert

Mr Slimma: Have a great time in London and don’t get into any scrapes!

Me: Scrapes? Me? Whatever do you mean?

Mr Slimma: You know fine well. Like that time in Jakarta when you wouldn’t pay the parking man so he chased you down the street with a machete. Or the punching incident with the black marketeer in China, or how you came to be invited to a fetish….

Me: O-kay, nuff said, take your point! Moving on…

Anyway, this was completely different. I was only going to London, on the train, first class no less thanks to a newspaper deal that made first class cheaper than standard. How could I possibly get into a scrape in a train on first class? All I was going to do was sit back, relax, stare aimlessly out the window, catch up with a bit of reading and generally mind my own business.

Or so I thought.

I’d have been fine if it wasn’t for those silly new space-age loos.

All I did was press the OPEN button because a light indicated the loo was vacant. I take no responsibility for what happened next.

The massive sliding red door drew back slowly like a grand West End curtain and the show began...

Aghast at his untimely debut, Unsuspecting Man leapt off the throne and lunged Lee Majors-like towards the CLOSE button. It was a very brave attempt and he might even have pulled it off elegantly had he not forgotten his Calvins were still round his ankles, tripped, and crashed head first into the wall.

As the big red curtain fell, so to speak, I just stood there gawping. Should I knock? What if he’s concussed?

Of course what I really wanted to do was give him a standing ovation. It’s certainly the quickest my heart’s raced for a while - and they say that’s good exercise. But common decency got the better of me, so I skulked round the corner to wait my turn and let him leave the loo with as much dignity as a head wound and a bruised willy will allow.

So, what was that you were saying about scrapes again, hon? Me? No siree, I’ll just sit back, relax, stare aimlessly out the window, catch up with a bit of reading and generally mind my own business.

I mean how hard can it be?

Hmmm, well let’s just say this. If you happen to unwittingly catch a man with his pants down in a train loo, you're probably gonna find out.

Finding some BIG PEACE

Still on hols till 25 Sept so not blogging daily, but just had to drop in and tell you about...


Well, this is turning out to be one hell of a holiday. I've been working, doing DIY, cooking for relatives and basically doing a whole load of chores that I can't find listed anywhere in the dictionary under 'holiday'.

So it's a good thing I've started reading Suzy Greaves' new book, The Big Peace (how to find yourself without going anywhere).

If you don't know Suzy already, she's one of the UK's top life coaches - and no, I'm not just saying that. She's been coaching me for a couple of years as I make a Big Leap. I'm still a work in progress of course, and the thud of her new book landing on my doorstep this morning couldn't have been better timed.

See, I've been bitching and moaning to Inner Goddess all morning about the fact that I'm not off anywhere exotic. Then I was whining that I've probably gained weight since this so-called holiday started and about how unfair that is (I'm not visiting the scales this week, by the way!). So I shouldn't really have been surprised when the universe promptly delivered a dose of food poisoning that had me confined to the loo at Sainsbury's for about 40 minutes. The universe must REALLY hate whiners - have you ever been in a loo at Sainsbury's?

Anyway, I'm only a few pages in, but I'm pleased to report that this read is already making me feel a whole lot lighter, calmer, sunnier - and no, there's not a Dairy Milk in sight, either! Suzy has simply reminded me that happiness is not to be found at the end of a rainbow. It's here, it's NOW, and I'd better get busy noticing or I'll bloomin' well miss it.

So here I am. Noticing it, blogging, smiling, and even beginning to feel perversely thankful that I lost that lunch (must have been at least 3lb!). So thanks Suzy once again - you're an absolute star, and your book's a real winner.

If you could do with finding your BIG PEACE, why not sign up to Suzy's BIG PEACE LIVE programme which starts early October. Find out how to revel in being flawed AND fabulous. Hemp shirts entirely optional, SOH a must.

We're sort of going on a summer holiday...

It starts tomorrow...the nearest thing to a holiday that I'm gonna get this year. 2 weeks of making tea for visiting rellies, MORE DIY, followed by a 4 day solo trip down to London to ambush some friends. I hope the capital is prepared because I can feel myself going off the rails with excitement already. (hmmm, should probably rephrase that - I'm going by train)

Anyway, this means daily blogs are suspended until Friday 25th Sept. But I'll not be far away and I'll still blog a few times during the break, so do check in from time to time...

For me I guess this will be my first real experience of 'blogger's cold turkey'.

But time flies, so I'll be back before you can say 'how many cream cakes?!'

And because no British summer holiday is complete without Cliff ...

The Attractor Factor?

I am one very happy Hobbit.

Yesterday I managed to find 3 pairs of hobbit-sized shoes for £25 in a closing down sale.

It’s such a rare occurrence that I can’t help wondering if the universe is giving me a hand. I blog about needing a pair of shoes and I get three. I blog to lose weight and it seems to work. It’s making me wonder if maybe there isn’t something in this Law of Attraction stuff after all.

It’s been pretty hard to miss all the publicity surrounding the Law of Attraction over the last few years. But just in case you managed to miss it, here’s a quick link to get you up to speed: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Law_of_Attraction

I love the personal development, psychology and mind, body, spirit sections in bookstores but while I like to think I’m at least open to new ideas, I don’t always find it easy to take the leap of faith that seems necessary with some of the more alternative stuff. I expect it’s got something to do with being born Scottish - for Scottish read sceptical. I need to see some proof!

That said, it’s definitely still worth taking a peep at the plethora alternatives that have popped up to try and help us lead more fulfilling lives. So I figure as long as I’m not required to wear hemp or dance naked around a maypole every full moon, I’ll keep on exploring.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? You say, nah, that’s not for me. Or as my grandfather so eloquently used to put it: “Achhh, rrrrrrubish!”

The Brain Game

I’m taking issue with the Stress Relief Tip Of The Day gadget down below. Normally I think the tips are pretty good but last week there was one recommending the use of positive affirmations. You know, when you feel like you’ve been run over by a train, but you say to yourself, ‘I’m feeling relaxed and in control’.

Oh PU-LEASE!

Here’s what happens when you do that. . .

The reality: You feel like you’ve been run over by a train.

You say: ‘I’m feeling relaxed and confident’.

Your brain replies: ‘Yeah, right! You’re a gibbering wreck, pull the other one!

You try again: ‘No, I AM feeling relaxed and confident!’

Your brain persists: ‘And I’m feeling Daniel Craig’s chest hair. C’mon, get over yourself. You’re a head case!’

So you can affirm your little heart away if you want to, but your brain wasn’t born yesterday. If you want to get your noggin on side you have to be a bit cannier with the words you use.

Sidle up to your brain and whisper: “I’m now allowing myself to feel more and more relaxed and confident.’

Hear that?

Yeah baby, the sound of silence. Now that's what I'm talking about!

See, your brain can’t actually deny that you are ‘now allowing yourself’ to relax and feel more confident. You’re not fibbing, so she’ll (yes she, you didn't think something as clever as a brain could possibly be male, did you?) at least give you the benefit of the doubt.

Me? Every day I tell myself, ‘I’m allowing myself to lose weight by blogging.’
And while ‘the grey one upstairs’ still sends Inner Bitch to test my commitment from time to time, even she has to admit that the scales don’t lie!

Minus another 1lb and counting…

Here's another way of looking at it...

Paint yourself slim?

It’s Friday and I’ve got to make it quick today. I’ve got a hot date with a paint brush. One more day of grovelling around skirting boards and I’ll be able to get piles of stuff that has been cluttering up the house into its proper place – whatever that means.

I must be getting a bit more zen in my old age because lately the clutter has really been getting to me. Have to say, though, as I'm pathologically untidy and Mr Slimma's a hoarder I expect my fantasy of achieving a zen-like home is probably doomed.

Inner Goddess has got other ideas though. She’s got her overalls on and she’s beginning to sound suspiciously like my mum...

"C’mon, it’s good exercise, you know. I lost so much weight from bending and stretching when I was painting last year that I bought a clean roller and now use it as a piece of exercise equipment. Like this - bend and stretch, bend and stretch!”

Me: O-kay! If you say so, Mum!

I don't believe it of course. My last big stint of painting certainly didn’t do my figure any favours. Admittedly the bending and stretching was somewhat compromised by Mr Slimma's and my attempt to break the world record for consecutively eating carry out meals. By the time the lounge had its first coat, the poor woman at the Chinese round the corner feared we were going to OD on Beef and Blackbean Sauce. By the second, China faced a rice and prawn cracker shortage.

Anyway, I'll give it another go, for research purposes. If it can shift last night's chicken shish and bottle of Merlot I might be persuaded.

Bend and stretch, bend and stretch. . .


See you Monday!

Gimme shoes! My preciousssss!

I’m going to a ‘do’ next week and am wondering what on earth to wear. Actually, my biggest problem this time isn’t even finding clothes that fit – it’s finding shoes.

For as my darling husband loves to point out, I have Hobbit feet.

It’s true. I don’t know what mum and dad put in my baby formula but today I walk the Shire in substantial size 9s in what must be a treble Z fitting, and finding shoes that fit, let alone that I like, is torture.

OK, it’s got a wee bit easier over the years since a few retailers took pity and introduced special hobbit sections (usually in a dark corner at the back of the store, presumably where we won’t scare the other customers) but we are still poorly catered for when it comes to shoes with a bit of pizzazz or colour.

Being a practical lass, I cope with my condition – known in Hobbit circles as ‘crippling shoe deficiency’ - fairly well. If I find a nice pair that fits I get quite giddy. I've even been known to hug shop assistants who find me shoes that don’t make me look like a hospital orderly! But it's dressier occasions like the one I’m going to next week that are the real nightmare.

So if you see reports of Bigfoot sightings at Edinburgh Castle next week, spare a kind thought!

Life after 40

Now that I’ve turned 41 I feel I’m about to be let into a secret. Because as of today, I’ll be one of those people who talks about ‘life after 40’ and actually knows what it means. Pretty exciting, huh?

Actually, I’ll be pretty disappointed if I don’t receive a big envelope containing the mysteries of the universe according to 40 somethings from somebody today. It’s 9.30 am already and I still don’t feel any older or in the loop.

Admittedly there are tiny signs that change is in the air. Last weekend I found myself ‘lingering’ at the skin care counter and ‘seriously’ considering if the time had come to purchase a cream for ‘a more mature skin’. You know, one of those expensive ones with an unpronounceable pseudo-scientific name and ads that promise ‘lift’ that only a scaffold could ever really provide.

But it was only a momentary lapse of reason. I soon came to my senses. If there really is something different about life after 40, I’m pretty sure posh face cream does not play a life or death role.

So what is this mysterious phase, this ‘life after 40’, about to reveal?

Personally I’ll be happy if life just gets a whole lot more mellow...

Oh, and that there will be cake!

Can anyone please confirm that?


Nobody gave this Panda a manual either...

The Battle of Little Big Blog

Have I already mentioned the concept of wagon trapezing? It’s when you don’t fall off the wagon (in my case, the weight loss express) but you get a deviant thrill from leaning just far enough over the edge to put yourself in jeopardy.

For me, wagon trapezing involves a fairly generous weekly quota of dietary derring-do(latte, muffin, wine, meals out, pudding), but this weekend I got a little more of a thrill than I bargained for…

Inner Bitch and one of her best mates, Madame P, a monthly saboteur who always arrives bearing cramps, moodiness and shed loads of chocolate - and who is probably responsible for far more murders and accidents than ever hit the headlines - wagon-napped me and held me at Dairy-Milk-point for at least 3 hours.

Inner Bitch: Ha ha! Thought you'd got rid of us, did you, Inner Goddess? Well we’re in charge now. Don’t you know at this time of the month she NEEDS a generous chocolate injection? Look at her, torturing herself eating all that fruit she loathes. She’s a natural heifer. We’ll soon feed her up and get her back to her old troughing ways!

Inner Goddess: Slimma, you’ve got to fight those two evil wenches, drop the chocolate and get back on this wagon right now, do you hear me? You haven’t even got a clue how many of those things you’ve eaten!”

Me: I, I, I’m not sure I can, IG. This Dairy Milk is SOOOOO darn good! Must have MOORRREEEE!

IB: It’s too late. She’s ours now! (evil laugh)

Inner Goddess: “Don’t listen to them, I beg you. If it’s potassium you need, I’ll give you a banana, two even, but step away from the multipack. I swear, that trapeze is gonna go, you’re going to blow the whole mission, and you’re not going to be able to look your readers in the eye when you step on the scales next week. Is that what you want?

IB: That silly little blog? Forget it! Have another bar of…

Me: N,N,N, No, wait, she’s right…my blog! I forgot.

IG: Yes, that’s it. Remember now? You promised yourself and you did it in public. And you’ve been doing so well! Don’t let that squinty-faced cow and a moody monthly interloper with bad skin get the better of you. Rally, girl, rally!

Me: Quick, take my hand and help me back on the wagon IG.
And get me some ibuprofen NOW! I’m AM going to beat those bitches!


Meanwhile, how's about a little singalong...

Monday holiday

On holiday...back tomorrow!

Dream cuisine

Friday fever has kidnapped me again. I’ve been bouncing around like Tigger since 6am. Not sure why as it’s not like I’ve got anything wildly exciting planned for the weekend. No, there's nothing else for it, this weekend I must do a bit more experimentation in the kitchen.

I’ve discovered that cooking laziness is this slimmer’s biggest enemy. Last week I found myself making bean tacos once too often, only because it was fast. But it’s definitely not a good idea. Apart from the fact that the ice caps can’t cope with that, not eating a varied enough diet really does seem to slow down the weight loss. It’s like your gut downs tools and says, ‘Enough already, if you don’t give me something different to eat, I’m going to sabotage your entire mission!’

So it’s time to try out some new quick and easy recipes to get me through the week. That means I'll no doubt spend hours drooling over recipe pictures, pick one I like and then get mightily annoyed when I read: Preparation 50 mins, cooking time 4 hours. I mean, come on, I'll be a pensioner before I get dinner on the table!

Oh how I'd love to be Captain Janeway on Star Trek Voyager. All she has to do is bellow, “Beef Wellington, hot!” into her ‘replicator’ and hey presto it appears out of thin air complete with vegetable sculpture and a nice glass of red!

Forget bagless hoovers, when are the boffins going to put me out of my misery and invent the replicator?

So how EXACTLY do you do it?

I keep being asked ‘EXACTLY HOW’ I’m losing weight. And it’s funny because if you don’t respond with the ‘name’ of a well known fad diet, slimming club or strange underground cult, people look at you like you're short-changing them!

‘Oh, you know, just cutting down the old portion sizes, eating less cakes and choccies, drinking less beer, and learning to cook more healthy meals,’ just sounds so, well, AMATEUR.

It doesn’t matter if it’s working, it’s obviously just not sexy enough for some people. Inner Bitch keeps egging me on to respond with a dead pan ‘Oh, you know, half a pint of newts blood for breakfast, for protein you understand, a light snack of sauted chickens feet midmorning, and one of my favourites like boiled bat balls for lunch. You?’

But that’d just be unkind. Anyway, I’m kind of proud to be doing it the old fashioned way. So here, for the record, is my master plan.

1. Eat three healthy balanced meals and two fruit snacks a day. I just choose healthy recipes and get stuck in.
2. Drink lots of water. Tap's fine by me.
3. Cook healthily and mainly from scratch so I know what I’m eating.
4. Get a grip on my portion sizes. No more Daddy Bear bowls of chow for me!

Combined with:

1. The discipline of this blog. It really, really helps!
2. Move more! Otherwise I’ll keep writing and lose the use of my legs!
3. Going easy on myself. Expecting to have off days and not bothering too much if I do because it’ll all balance itself out by the time I get back on the scales next week anyway.
4. Staying positive about it, not rising to Inner Bitch’s (or anyone else’s) negativity if possible, and focusing on the end result: a new wardrobe of clothes I actually LIKE in a size 14.
5. Saying: "I want to be a size 14 more than I want that cake, chocolate" every time I'm about to fall off the wagon! Of course, I do 'allow' for a bit of wagon trapezing now and again. I am human.
5. Hynotherapy/relaxation cds – I am the epitome of a ‘chilled’ slimmer. Oum!

And that’s it. There’s really nothing sexy about it at all. I’d love to say there is, but there just isn’t. And while I’m busting to invent something else like,

6. Eat one’s cereal off Brad Pitt’s six-pack…

… that would just be fibbing!

Talk about the tears of a clown...

Because I’m about as flexible as the tin man, I’ve always been impressed by bendy people. So at the weekend I joined the queue of kids high on candy floss and got ready to ooh and ahh at the Moscow State Circus. http://www.moscowstatecircus.com (there are half price ticket vouchers lying around cafes all over Edinburgh if you’re interested!)

And I was not disappointed. Sure it seemed a little bit retro here and there, but the show's theme based around the infamous and mysterious life of Rasputin, the Black Monk, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grigori_Rasputin quickly caught my attention. Like the bit at the start when Rasputin was apparently ‘escaping into his dreams’ just as two lycra-clad temptresses appeared and promptly draped themselves over him.

So that’s what monks dream about! Glad they cleared that up!

Anyway, Rasputin dotted in and out of the show, accompanied by an awkwardly translated voiceover delivered in a thick Russian accent which kept making me think of John Cleese in a Fish Called Wanda, but his main role was as ringmaster. One after the other he presented a fantastic troupe of super-bendy, bouncy and unspeakably coordinated performers.

I mean, even the clowns were bendy, for heaven's sake!

So when I bent down to pick up my brolly at the end of the show and felt my back ‘go’ the irony was not lost on me. ‘No, not now, not here of all places!’

Time to roll out the yoga mat methinks.

Fat blind terrorist cows and other stories...

Yesterday was a funny old day in the news. Beyond the Lockerbie furore, there was the story about the terrifying trend of ramblers being trampled to death by… cows! (The cynic in me just can't help wondering if that was a plant of a story - Forget Lockerbie, folks, cows are the new terrorists!)

But the story that really caught my eye was the one declaring that we are now officially the second fattest nation on earth. No prizes for guessing who takes the gold!

But wait, it gets even better because apparently we are not just a nation of fatties, we are a nation of ‘blind fatties’ that aren’t even aware we are fat!
http://thescotsman.scotsman.com/uk/39Fat-blind39-Brits-told-they.5580417.jp

Blind? I don't think so. We may only be a little devolved nation these days, but when it comes to stubbornness, we are world leaders.

If we aint going to let anyone tell us what to do with our legal process, we certainly aint going to let any begger tell us to stop eating deep fried mars bars either. So there!

But maybe I will cut down, just a tad!

The Chip-pendales?

I just had to tell you a wee yarn I heard in the pub on Friday….
I don’t even care if it’s just another one of those urban myths that make Edinburgh so much fun at Festival time, it just really tickled me...

Apparently, one of the Chippendales was seen lugging a big plastic bag out of a well known frozen food store the other day.

Am I missing something in my zealous campaign to eat more healthily? Should we sod the spinach, ditch the carrot peeler and bring on the pasties and chips instead?

Because if they can look that good on a sack load of beige, processed food, Mr Slimma, honey, from now on you are definitely having what they’re having!

Sausage roll, anyone?

Oh yes, yes, yes!

Bonfire of the insanities

That's it! I'm going to do it. I'm going to throw out ALL my size 20 clothes today.

Inner Bitch: Ooohh, do you really think that's such a good idea, Tubs?

Me: What do you mean? I've no intention of losing all this weight to put it all back on again. That's the whole point of the blog for a start. I have said it's my LAST EVER weight loss mission, and I kinda like to think I'm a woman of my word!

IB: Yeah, not saying you don't believe you'll do it, but what does that have to do with reality? You're a big girl, you like eating a lot, why can't you just accept your porcine destiny?"

Me: Destiny? Are you kidding? I wasn't always a big girl. One upon a time I even got a bit too thin. Anyway, why am I even talking to you? You're just a miserable voice in my head. I told you to take a hike 3 weeks ago, so hop it!

IB (skulking back into the wardrobe): Fine, but don't come crawling to me next year when you've nothing to wear!

Me: Right, where was I? OK, better make two piles. Some stuff's ok for the charity shop, and the rest should go in the bin. No, wait, this is a big deal, this is farewell size 20 forever! Binning just seems like such an anti-climax.

Inner Goddess: Nothing says forever like a bonfire!

Me: Oooh, I'm liking your thinking, girlfriend. Let's go!

Don't worry, Edinburgh, there will be no drumming, wooping or naked cavorting to lower the tone.

See you Monday!

My kitchen hall of shame

I’m no chef, but when we moved to a house with a smaller kitchen recently we discovered we had quite a lot of kitchen gadgets gathering dust.

So before they are recycled or consigned to the garage, I thought I’d wheel them out for a little ‘blog exhibition’.

So… in date of purchase order, without further ado, may I present…

The fondue set: Cast your mind back to the 80s, when shoulder pads were in and eating a gallon of melted cheese in one sitting seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Ah the memories! Like the time I singed my beautifully crimped hair on the burner and gave all my guests food poisoning.

Moving on a decade now, here we have…

The juicer: A really practical ‘objet de cuisine’ if you really like juice. And I mean really. This particular model was purchased at the height of my insane lose-weight-by-drinking-fresh-juice campaign, and comes complete with a recipe book written by a strange little man in shorts who probably mainlines the stuff. Like so many of its kind, this model was abandoned approximately 1 month after purchase - when I discovered that is how long it takes to clean it.

Ah, the breadmaker: Nothing beats the smell of freshly baked bread in the morning! But it does help if you remember to turn it on the night before. Because this cheap, early model simply could not be rushed. Even if you did remember to turn it on you’d be lucky to get one slice of toast out of it. The moral of this story? You get what you pay for!

And mama mia, last but not least, we have this fine 20th century example of a pasta maker: A Mr Slimma purchase inspired by a trip to Rome and his sadly short-lived fad for cooking ‘real’ Italian food (or any food for that matter!). Abandoned shortly after I came home from town one day to find he’d almost been devoured by a triffid-like invasion of 20ft long spaghetti strands.


Got anything you’d like to exibit?

And now for the science part...

Since I started this blog I've been watching how other people eat. You see I've had a theory for some time that goes something like this…

Women out dining with other women (especially groups of female friends) eat bigger portions and less healthily than women who are eating with men – especially couples.

What on earth is that about? Is it evolution? Is it some kind of ancient unspoken female bonding ritual? Does the phenomenon apply to all women? Are we just greedy but don't want men to think we are?

Or is there something fishier going on? Do men actually have the power to make women lose their appetites? And if they do, why hasn't someone made a mint out of that idea! (I'll stick my TM on it now if that's ok!)

What a breakthrough! Imagine the ads...

"WOMEN, SOLVE YOUR WEIGHT PROBLEMS INSTANTLY. EAT WITH A MAN!"

The merchandising opportunities could be interesting too. Blow up male dolls might even become acceptable in polite company. 'Him? Good heavens no, we're not dating! He's just helping me lose these last few stubborn pounds!'

Anyway, flights of fancy aside, all this lurking behind laptops and snooping behind newspapers might eventually get me thrown out of my favourite local cafe, so I decided to see if there was any real research going on to substantiate my theory...

And would you believe it, there is!…

See http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/08/090805114616.htm

It's one of 'those' days...

Well, I made it to the page, I mean screen. Was beginning to wonder if I'd ever get here as I'm definitely having 'one of those days'. From stubbing my toe getting out the shower to pouring coffee on my Weetabix instead of milk, I'm clearly on a roll.

And I can't even put this wave of clumsiness down to 'my cycle'. But when Inner Sloth suggested that a few more hours kip would do me the world of good, I was more than ready to believe her. After all, I'm sure I heard someone on a bus last week say clumisness is an early sign swine flu. Can't be too careful...

But oh no, Inner Goddess wasn't having any of it…

IG: What do you mean you're too tired to blog? It's a blog, how hard can it be? It's not like you're revising the Magna Carta!

So here I am folks, but let me state for the record that I am here under duress! IG is now blocking the doorway and trying to intimidate me with a Paddington Bear hard stare. I'm sure Amnesty International would have something to say about this.

IG: And when you're done, a few laps round the park wouldn't go amiss, either. I let you enjoy your steak and chips every week and I'm prepared to overlook the extra glass or three of wine you didn't think I saw you consume on Friday night, but don't think you can slack off now just because you've lost your first stone. You've got a long way to go lady, and I'm going to make sure you get there!

Me: Damn you, imagination, damn you! Where the hell is the 'off' switch?

IG: I heard that!

He's a lady, oh yes, he's a lady

It’s hard to blog with one hand, but I’m doing my best. I still can’t use the other one - because I need it to prevent my jaw from hitting the floor.

I’ve been in this rather inconvenient state since Friday night when I went to see ‘The Ladyboys of Bangkok’ at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

What a show! Sequens, lights, music, dance, comedy and a whole load of gender confusion. Fantastic!

All the same, TBF and I did find ourselves grumbling afterwards that it seems particularly unfair that a group of ‘men’ even manage to look better than us in bikinis. (OK, to be fair they wouldn’t thank us for calling them men – for a more accurate definition, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathoey). But they really did look so good that if ever the Pussycat Dolls get sick, they know who to call!

Anyway, I may still pass for a beached whale in my swimmers, and I’m not quite ready for my own show in Vegas, but I am a slightly smaller Orca now having lost my first stone!

Which leads me to announce my next target:


I WILL LOSE ANOTHER STONE by 19 October (yes, this year!).

Stick with me – that’s a lot of blogging!

SCROLL ON DOWN FOR THE STATS AND FOR SOME EXCELLENT DISPLACEMENT ACTIVITY…