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.