Ninja shopping

I went shopping yesterday.

I know, I know, you probably think I'm about to start moaning bitterly again. But you'd be wrong! I actually came home with some clothes!

That's because I wasn't looking for clothes - I was food shopping.

So it got me thinking. Are there some weird clothes shopping Universal Laws at work here?

Can anyone else relate to this? ...

1. You can only be successful at clothes shopping when you are not consciously clothes shopping, and
2. You are far more likely to find clothes you like when you are accompanying a friend who is desperately looking for something and can't find anything.

I'm also wondering whether that fact that I was in a supermarket made it easier. I get so browned off in town that perhaps I'm just not in the right frame of mind to see anything nice. Hmmm, maybe I suffer from a form of shopping blindness.

Anyway, from now on it's supermarket shopping all the way. Of course if my theories are right I'll have to be quite sneaky about it so that I don't jinx things.

I'll be cool, casual. I shall invent a new form of shopping - NINJA SHOPPING! The clothes won't even see me coming!

'That'll be two cabbages, 10 satsumas, one torquoise linen top, baked beans and a pair of jeans please!'

Ha! Got you!

Not bad...for your age!

It's official - I've lost a stone and the first of my two tractor-sized spare tyres!

I feel like I've passed the human equivalent of an MOT!

Just imagine it...

Mechanic: 'Yes madam, you've passed. That front lower tyre is still rather over inflated and the left and right bingo wings could use a bit of toning, but keep on doing what you're doing and you should scrub up into a fairly decent model...for your age!'

Me: 'What do you mean FOR MY AGE!'

But I guess that's true. I'm 40 going on 41, not 20! So why does Mother Nature arrange it so that on the inside I still feel like I'm 20?

If you ask me it's darn right cruel!

Last year I went skiing, a sport I've been crazy about since I was 17. Problem is, when I imagine myself skiing now I'm still imagining myself skiing the way I did when I was 20 years younger. In my head I imagine I can still ski all day every day and never get tired or achey.

So imagine my horror when after a leisurely day's skiing I fell quite spectacularly and discovered that no matter how hard I tried I just could not get myself back up!

There I was humpfing around like a large steamed pudding - panting and grunting and swearing for Scotland. And the harder I tried to get up the deeper I seemed to wedge myself into the snow.

Eventually a man stopped and helped pull me up. Turns out I'd really damaged my shoulder, but I remember that the pain was nothing compared to the embarrassment I felt about being too fat to hoist myself up!

Never again, I promised myself.

Fortunately we didn't go skiing this year so I didn't have to beat myself up for breaking that promise and other skiers were spared the prospect of being wiped out by a giant Scottish rogue elephant.

BUT NEXT YEAR WILL BE DIFFERENT! Even if I do need half a tub of deep heat just to get through a day on the slopes these days, not to mention an industrial strength sports bra, at least I'll be able to emerge gracefully from any crash site, head held high!

My mechanic will be so pleased.

Midnight musings

Blimey, it's way past midnight and I can't sleep a wink so I might as well blog.
Normally on such occasions a midnight feast would be in order. A quick raid of the fridge. After all, it'd be tragic if one was to fade away before breakfast! But as I already know there's nothing in the fridge worth raiding, it'd be futile.

So here I am, blogging without so much as a crumb let alone crumpets and jam. Whatever would Enid Blyton have to say about that?

Never mind. The notion of fridge raiding has lost some of its appeal since TBF thrust a book called 'When you eat at the Refrigerator, pull up a chair' by Geneen Roth into my curious little paws.

Full of intriguingly named chapters such as 'How to recognise a Fat and Ugly attack', 'Wear Red' , 'Give away clothes that cut off your circulation' and, my favourite, 'Whatever you do don't diet', I knew immediately that Geneen and I were going to get along just fine.

You see this is a book that anyone trying to lose weight should read for many a sound reason, but principally because it advocates being a whole lot nicer to yourself, and I'm certainly up for that.

Inner Bitch is only a few pages in and already I can tell she's not remotely amused.

Could it be she's finally met her match?
Maybe, just maybe!

Friends v Flab

I think I've mentioned Tubby Best Friend (TBF) before, haven't I? If we had a pound for every time we've talked about losing weight over the past decade we'd make the Sultan of Brunei look poor. But alas, we probably gained an extra lb every time we mentioned it instead!

Anyway, this weekend we verbally dissected the daft diets, the half hearted attempts to like exercise and all our collective failures one last time – for blog research purposes, you understand – and we agreed that if there is one landmark moment in the whole sorry saga, one moment that now seems particularly Twilight Zone, it's got to be this one…

Year: 1999

Location: TBFs flat in London.

Alcohol consumed: a few bottles of Merlot


TBF: 'When we lose weight we'll go and do….'

Me: I know, it'll be great. When I've lost Xlb I want to….'

Gay friend of TBF (GFOTBF): 'Really? What year will that be? 2010? 2020?'

Me and TBF: Huh?


You see we knew GFOTBF was a cynical old queen, but we had no idea he was also clairvoyant!

He was right! We've been like the Fletcher and Godber of slimming. Always plotting and scheming, and occasionally pulling a fast one and dropping a few pounds, but ultimately doing some serious Porridge in Tubbyville.

But now we're out. And this time it's different. We're fighting the flab with positivity and absolutely no calorie counting. Isn't it liberating?

So TBF, this post's for you! By Christmas you'll be wearing that wardrobe full of 'slim clothes' again - not swearing at them!

Good thing fashion's gone retro, eh?

A midsummer day's dream

OMG, that was some headache yesterday. Inner Goddess hauled me kicking and screaming from my computer screen and imposed a strict blogging embargo.

IG: No blogging till the room stops moving around and the lights stop flashing and that’s final!

Thank heavens for horse pills, that’s all I can say. Mind you, the pain was almost worth it for the cracking dream I had in the afternoon…

LOCATION: SAINSBURY’S SUPERMARKET, SWEETIE AISLE.

Family-size bar of Dairy Milk chocolate speaking in sexy French accent: Hey Baby I am two for one aujourd’hui…how’z about a treesome!

Me: You talkin’ to me?

DM: But of course, Baby! I saw you look-ing. I KNOW zat you are my kind of woman!

Me (blushing): Really? I’m not that easy you know!”

DM (flashing his shiny purple wrapper seductively):Oh, playing all coy now are we? I remember ze good ol’ days! Just toi et moi, a steaming HOT mug of tea and NO interruptionz!

Me: I’ve told you before Dairy Milk, those days are over!. I don’t DO chocolate no more!

ENTER Queen of trailer trash afternoon telly, Ricki Lake…

Ricki Lake:That’s not what we’ve heard! Fry’s Turkish Delight over there says you’ve been giving him some part time lovin for the past three weeks!

Me: That’s a lie, a dirty lie, I tell you! Dairy Milk, honey, don’t listen to her. I may be slimming, but you’re right, I still only have eyes for you!

Ricki Lake: There’s only one way to find out - LIE DETECTOR TEST!!! What do you say people, should she take the test?

Mob of grannies: Take the test, take the test, take the test!!!

Me: Fine, I’ll take it! Satisfied?

Ricki: Well the results are in and I have to tell you, it looks like someone’s been-a-cheatin!

DM(devastated!): I can’t believe it. Ma Cherie and zat puny gelatinous Turkish upstart? You chose HIM over moi? Look at him, he doesn’t even have a six pack. He’s all wobbly inside!

Me (ashamed!): I know, but he’s only 200 calories a bar. I thought I’d get away with it!

Mob of grannies closing in: CHEATER, CHEATER, CHEATER!!!

Distant Voice: Wake up, wake up, wake up you silly cow, you’re dreaming!!

Me:AHHHHHHHHH! Oh thank God it’s you Inner Goddess. I just had the weirdest dream. There was Ricki Lake, talking chocolate, evil pensioners. It was bloomin’ terrifying!

IG: I gather that, but it’s alright now….HEY, hang on… what’s that pink shiny wrapper sticking out from under your pillow?