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...