Priorities

Image by National Media Museum via Flickr

Three more lbs and I'll be RICH! RICH I tell you!

I'm flagging.
It's this change of season you see. The leaves falling, the diminishing hours of daylight, the cold and rain and the inevitable giant gas bill that goes with it. Pardon me if I just can't get thrilled about it.

Some good news would be grand. But no, it's just one big diet of cuts, despair and shite weather. I was half way through my Shreddies yesterday morning when Bill Turnbull announced I was now inhabiting the fifth fattest nation in the world, and the fattest in Europe.

So what's the solution, Bill?

Well, apparently, one of the big giant heads on the BBC sofa thinks it'd be a great wheeze if the taxpayer paid the nation's tubbies to lose weight. You know, like cash incentives.

Fantastic! I'm going to set out my stall right now...

"Roll up, roll up, get your lard here. A bargain at only £100/lb! Can't say fairer than that. This is well matured lard we're talking about, not your common or garden spare tyre."

If it goes well, I'll be able to fit into my not so teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini and high tail it to the Bahamas before the clocks change. Ahhhh, bliss.

Yes, maybe I had this government all wrong. Maybe there is something to be said for our 'let's not take any responsibility for ourselves' culture after all.

What? They're not going to roll this out in Scotland? Meanies.

Cake, hope and charity.

Image by HowardLake via Flickr

Did you know that when you eat cake for charity it has no calories?

That's right, none at all. 

So the yummy slice of chocolate cake I gobbled this morning in aid of Macmillan Cancer Support was particularly enjoyable.

What a cracking fundraising idea too. 


Can't believe I haven't been along to one sooner. 


Thanks to Fay at Leith Open Space for tipping me off!

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If aliens landed...

 Saw this product on a facebook ad today.
It's a babygrow you sleep in so your fake tan doesn't get all over your sheets.

WTF?!!!

Come get me when the spaceship lands. I want to be there to explain the subtleties of human absurdity to our extraterrestrial guests.

"No Zorg, they are not children. They are adults in babygrows. Streaky, tangerine-stained adults. And as for why some of us are lardier than others, well I can recommend this blog..."

Jenny Craig, you've got to be kidding?

Image by OwenBlacker via Flickr

Thinning hair, Jenny Craig diet?
Oh dear Cheryl, what's it going to be next? Piles?

I'm gobsmacked. Apparently some fatties really do sign up for the Jenny Craig diet. 

The telly ad's a psychological masterpiece too. Cue Cheryl Baker complaining that x months ago she looked like a pudding (or was it a sausage?) but now thanks to the Jenny Craig programme, she's lost gazillions of pounds. Yipee, good for you Cheryl. (Just please don't sing.)

So Cheryl, tell me, how is it working for you? Do tell!

"Well, it's simple, I don't have to do or think about anything. I just get meals on wheels." 

What? Are you out of your plastic-wrapped, calorie-controlled F***s Fizzed mind?

I know we all have our own weird and wonderful reasons for putting on weight, I do, really I do.  But until Tesco is nuked and the Star Trek replicator becomes the norm, I'll hold vice-like to the view that taking just the tiniest bit of responsibility for what I shove down my cakehole is the grown up thing to do. 


I hate food shopping. It's dull and lethal when you're hungry, but I'd rather guerrilla-fight my way down the chocolate aisle and take my chances than be condemned, yes CONDEMNED to an existence of pre-packed budgie food that even the couriers must be embarrassed to deliver.


Am I being too harsh?  Perhaps Cheryl Baker is just the glamorous, mumsy advertising face of Jenny Craig, and not in any way representative of their real clientele? That must be it. Because unless you are a poor soul who needs a winch to hoist you from the sofa to the kitchen, why on Gandalf's green earth would you do a diet like this? 


But let's just suppose you do decide to chuck in your last shred of self respect and sign up.  What happens when you reach your goal weight? When you've GPS'd the last quinoa grain on the last environmentally evil plastic platter, and you're wrenched from the bosom of mother Jenny to fend for yourself. What then? 


Yes, that's right, slim one, it's only a matter of time.


Temptation is patient. 


MOOOHHHHWWWWWHHHHAAAAAAAHHHAAA! 




Bon weekend!

Cake - the ultimate cure?

Image via Wikipedia

Your time will come George.
Just wait till I finish this cake...

I've got wicked neck pain and a persistent headache. It's not how I wanted to start the week. It'd be worth it if I'd earned it fighting ninja turtles or baiting George Osborne but I'm apparently suffering for no good reason at all. Bummer.


What's more, it's making me want to scoff comfort food like there's no tomorrow. Cake, chocolate, you name it, if it's stodgy, I want it. I've already had some toast washed down with tea and some mega ibuprofen and I've been hovering vulture-like in the kitchen on and off all morning. 
Geneen Roth, if I read her book right, encourages the 'emotional eaters' who attend her Breaking Free workshops to eat what they want when they want it, even if it means gaining weight in the short term. Ultimately, she believes, this lead to successful long term weight loss and control.  
Sounds eminently sensible to me (having just scoffed a giant wedge of sponge cake).


However, if the fridge is empty by 5pm, I'll be having words with Ms Roth. I'm all for a bit of research but...


PS. It's National Cupcake Week too. What terrific timing. ;-)

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Facing up to it

Last week I had my face hoovered.

OK, so face-hoovering isn't the technical term. The beauty elves call it a microdermabrasion facial, but I'm not fooled. (I always suspected Dyson were up to something when they moved their factory to Malaysia.) 

Anyway, TBF gave me a voucher to try it for my birthday. She came along too and, having survived one before, gamely offered to go in first.

I sat outside waiting for the screams, taking note of all available exits. 'Why didn't I wear trainers?'

But for half an hour all I heard was a low buzzing suctiony sound and an occasional giggle so I figured she would probably pull through.

TBF finally emerged - relaxed and radiant!

So it was my turn. First a nice cooling gel, and then.... 

Wooooosh, woosh, wooooosh!

I could feel the wee crystals blasting away the dead skin cells, sooking them up, and returning my face to the baby-bottomed softness of its youth.  As it was all going so well, I figured I might as well ask...

"Any chance you could adios my double chin while you're at it?' 

Unable to see her reaction with my eye mask on, I assume the nervous giggle was Beauty-Elf-ese for:  "It's a facial, not a miracle, you daft old bat".

But you know what, it was pretty darn effective. I'd even go so far as to say it was worth it. In fact the scariest thing about the whole experience turned out to be reading Heat magazine while I was waiting. 
So perhaps I will yet be persuaded to embrace my inner girly girl. For I may be lardy, and there is no escaping the fact that I am 42, but goddamn it if I haven't got the best hoovered face this side of the River Forth. 

Bite me Britney!

A dose of the midlifes

Image via Wikipedia

I'm 42 tomorrow.

How did that happen? Just yesterday I was 28.

Anyway, I'm worried that the treacle-like cloak of blah-ness that's clinging to me this week might just be the cusp of a mid-life crisis.

So by way of exorcism, here are the facts:

1. I can't stop dreaming about running off to exotic locations. Two nights ago it was trekking in Peru, and last night I was cruising down the Nile with Mr Slimma on a feluka... until I woke up with a rather pressing urge to pee. (Darn that 10pm cup of tea!).

2. I am increasingly indecisive about the stupidest stuff, and no, not just once a month. Gormlessly gaping into cupboards, I agonise: Shreddies or Bran Flakes? Black socks or blue? 

3. I shout at the news - a lot.

But on a more positive note:

1. This rise in grumpy old woman tendencies seems quite fitting for a bespectacled, comfortable shoe and anorak wearing soul like myself. Perhaps I'm just getting comfortable in my skin. Perhaps this is really who I am?  Anyway, I am for the first time ever IN FASHION. Yes, hem watchers, geek fashion is where it's at this season!

2. Indecisiveness may be paralysing, but my frustration at the same old same old has begun to open up a whole new world of possibilities. If not Shreddies, what? Dammit, the whole cereal aisle is my oyster!  And just think what might happen if I wore red socks today!

3. The news does not answer back, which is terrifically empowering.

So....mid-life crisis? Nah, I don't think the label fits.

And it's not the only label that doesn't fit. Remind me, why did I jubilantly chuck out my fat pants earlier this year?

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Blogging (and therefore slimming!)  will recommence no doubt after I've eaten my way out of the birthday blues - See you next week!