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...