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!

Strictly Gone Bonkers

Oooh, that hit a nerve.

I've just heard that Arlene Phillips (super talented choreographer and all round dance wizzard) has been axed from the judging panel on Strictly Come Dancing, to be replaced by... Alicia Dixon.

Has the world gone mad?

Sure, singer Alicia Dixon can shake her booty fabulously and was a very popular ex-winner of the show, but she's no Arlene Phillips. It looks like a clear-cut case of beauty and youth trumping age and experience, no doubt in a greedy attempt to boost ratings by stealing a few more younger viewers from the X-factor. What a shallow world we live in! And blow me down, it doesn't really seem to affect men, does it? What's Brucey got that Arlene doesn't? OK don't answer that!

And while I'm having a rant, call me a fuddy-duddy (pass the Werthers), but is anyone else as perplexed as I am by our national obsession with CELEBS? You can't even get your hair cut without them invading your personal space these days. ENOUGH! I wish Kerry Katona would just take a one-way ticket to Iceland and be done with it, that Posh and Becks would split if only so we wouldn't have to hear any more about the jealousy, sarongs, nannies, yadayadayada. Becks is a great footballer - focus on that. Posh is a great coat hanger - fantastic! Kerry is...actually I've no idea what Kerry is, and I couldn't care less.

But I'm going to take an uncharacteristic break from my celebrity ennui and take a stand on this one:
Arlene Philips is a brilliant choreographer and judge on Strictly.
Leave her be!

And breathe...

Still there? Wondering what that rant has to do with my weight loss journey?

Simple. I rather like dancing. I used to do quite a lot of it when I was wee. And while I was far too troll-like to be good at ballet I still have my pre-Bronze medal in tap dancing, and have been known to shimmy around the living room, hairbrush in hand, with the best of 'em. So while I wait longingly for the next series, the Arlene debacle has inspired me to get off my lardy bum and seek out a salsa club. It'll help shift the pounds and, who knows, I might even get good at it.

Watch your back Alicia!

I'm on the rebound

Ha! Got you! You thought I was going to confess that I'd messed up already, didn't you?

No sireee, it's day 3 and I'm eating Weetabix like a pro, have broken with previously ingrained protocol by giving FRUIT a look-in before noon, and I'm learning to love tap water.

And Mr Slimma's still here, so I'm not on that kind of rebound either.

No, today I'm talking 'rebounding'. That's mini-trampolining to you and me. I bought one when dinosaurs last roamed the earth and after an initial burst of enthusiasic bouncing it's been fossilizing in the garage ever since.

But according to NASA I really can burn 'gazillions' of calories by attempting to defy gravity on one of these babies. So this morning I dusted it down and was preparing for launch... you know, doing all the usual stuff like...

1. Prepare suitable indoor launchpad (you didn't really think I was going to let anyone watch did you?) with high enough ceiling. Check.

2. Strap into a boulder-holder sturdy enough to prevent eye injuries. Check.

3. Dig out some inspirational music for lift off. Check.

4. Notify next of kin. Check.

So I climbed aboard, found my balance and was just about to 'go-for-launch' when a little voice inside screamed: 'Abort! Abort!'

Perhaps best let the Weetabix and fruit digest first, eh?