Beefed up

Yup, it's true. I've been a bit preoccupied and blogging has taken a back seat lately. Oops.

Unfortunately my back seat has taken this as a signal to spread out and make itself comfy.

Unimpressed, my jeans have staged an intervention.

Jeans: "FAT COW FAT COW FAT COW!"

Me: "What? Who?"

Jeans: "You heard us missus. You're doing it again. You've stopped listening to your body and Inner Goddess has obviously gone AWOL so we had no choice but to speak up. We're not going to let you do up that top button till you start 'thinking slim' again. It was working so well, why are you slacking off?"

Me: "Good question. Not sure. Other things on my mind, probably."

Jeans: All the more reason to get a grip then. Unless of course you WANT to look like that Kenny Everett sketch of Rod Stewart prancing around singing 'If you think I'm sexy' while his leopard skin pants inflate to they point they explode?"

Me: Good point, Jeans, good point. OK, I'll get back on the case tomorrow, I promise. But today's Valentines Day and Mr S is rustling up roast beef, Yorkshire Pud and all the trimmings. Oh, and there's cheesecake for afters.

Jeans: "Brace yourself lads, looks like we're in for another uncomfortable evening then!

Me: "Oh quit you're panicking. What do you think tracksuit pants were invented for? Sport?
. . . "oh yeah, once more from the top....If ya think I'm sexy..."

Snow blindness

You really can't beat a big mug of coffee and a mid morning muffin on a snowy day like today.

My line of work is not really a flabbuster's best ally. The temptation to snack, particularly in the winter months, is high, and with nobody around to wag a disapproving finger while I excavate the kitchen with Mr Slimma's trowel in search of digestives (hey, marrying an archaeologist does have some perks after all!), it's so easy to rationalise away the ugly truth that one is simply being piggy.

As it is, the trench I've just dug in the kitchen hasn't even unearthed a measly crumb. Rats!

Me: I need the energy to keep warm. Hypothermia could be just minutes away! What shall I do?

Inner Goddess: How about a nice piece of fruit?

Me: How about you stick your head in the oven and I bake it? This is serious! I'll need to brave the snow for supplies. I'll need to refuel at Starbucks so don't wait for me, I may be gone for some time...

Inner Goddess: Sure. Next you'll be telling me it's good exercise!

Braveheart

I'm SO good at it. Procrastinating, that is. Actually, I think I'd go as far as to say I'm a bit of an expert. That's why I only got round to weighing in a few days ago - for the first time since mid Dec.

'You've put on 4lb Tubster!' mocked Chardonnay. (What? Your scales don't have a name?)

Me: 'Hey, that's not bad at all, considering. That means I'm 14.10lb again. Waistband's a bit snugger than it was in December, but I expect that. Yup, I can live with that.'

Inner Bitch: 'You lazy trollope. You let yourself go. You think you can lose weight slowly and not count calories, go on holiday, eat jam donuts and mock the dieting fraternity. Who do you think you are?'

Me: 'I think I'm me, and bloomin lucky to be me, come to think of it. Didn't you catch the wave of loony January magazines promising miracle celeb-promoted regimes? Every year it's the same old rubbish. No wonder there's an obesity epidemic. Diets make you fat - especially the quick fix ones.'

Inner Bitch: 'Suit yourself, loser. But I'll be back. You need me.'

And in a funny way, I do. IBs never going to quit. I expect she'll pop up and grace me with her doom, gloom and cynicism, not to mention appalling dress sense, till the day I die.

But I'm getting more cunning in my old age. I may procrastinate, lapse, and fall off the wagon of health regularly, but I will never, ever again succumb to a diet.

You heard me IB, you can hide the donuts if you like, but you'll never take my FREEDOM!

AHHHHHHHHHHH!

A bum rush?

HA! I KNEW THERE WAS A PERFECTLY GOOD REASON TO FEAR LYCRA!

Also, listen out for some classic examples of British understatement from the commentator. A masterclass!

Under Investigation for a Crime in Phoenix @ Yahoo! Video

Gross oder klein? You decide!

Happy New Year flabfighting fans. It’s bloomin hard to get back to work after such a nice long break. What's more, something tells me my trusty scales are going to frown at my more than casual disregard for healthy living over the festive period.

Actually, Xmas wasn’t that bad, give or take half a sheep and a crate of Merlot. It’s last week in Austria that’s more worrying. It’s been a bit like starring in one long terrifying TV campaign by the British Heart Foundation…

Hot chocolate madam? With cream?

But of course my good man! (Nice lederhosen by the way. My that's a large...wallet)

Schnitzel? With potatoes or chips?

What sort of silly question is that?

Krapfen? (that’s jam donuts to you and me)

Ja, ja – give me two. I need to keep my energy up.

Beer. Large or small?

Do I look like I do anything small?

On the up side, skiing is supposed to be good exercise so, in the spirit of positive thinking, before I visit the scales this week, I’ve decided to give myself a big pat on the back and recognise a few of my newly acquired and expertly honed holiday skills:

• doing the YMCA in my ski boots
• singing heartily about polar bears in German (with actions)
• skiing down the mountain in the dark sozzled whilst still singing (or was that slurring?) about polar bears in German – oh yes, and still doing the actions!
• not falling down.

Yes sirree, I may be tubby but my CV has never looked so impressive.