Freaky Friday

It's unreasonable to be as delighted as I am that it's Friday. You see, I've got this in-built Joy-o-meter that goes off every Friday morning. I've always had it and it came with some really great free extras: the silly-mood-matix and the get-stuff-done-fastermabob. Unfortunately the Joy-o-meter has also got a good-god-girl-get-control-of-what-you're-eating dial which, in my experience, has a nasty habit of falling off.

And that's what happened this morning. Things started to go horribly wrong at breakfast. Mr Slimma was quietly eating his toast and butter and I'd already enjoyed my Weetabix when all of a sudden the room went all kind of hazy and slow motion.

Next thing I knew I was hovering vulture-like over the bread bin and Inner Bitch was standing in the door-way rubbing her hands together with glee.

'That's it, why not enjoy two big fat slices of bread and jam! It's Friday. You know you want to!'

By the time Inner Goddess appeared (says she got caught in traffic – those pesky trams!) and got me out of IB's clutches I was one slice down and wearing so much jam round my gob I could have been mistaken for a deranged Paloma Picasso.

'Thanks IG. But what am I going to do about this missing dial? I'll never get through the weekend if I don't find it!'

'Oh for heaven's sake, you're a smart girl, be resourceful! I can't always be here to save the day – and besides, I don't look good in dungarees!'

And with that she was off.

Bummer. What am I going to do now? It'd be easier if it was a boiler. You can get a plumber out for that. But, no, no, there's doesn't seem to be a listing for Joy-o-meter Maintenance in the Yellow Pages.

So you know what that means (cue horror film music)…DIY!

Will let you know how I get on on Monday!

Shop till you drop!

Watch out Edinburgh. Inner Goddess is dragging me out shopping today.
It's likely to go something like this…

Me: Don't know why you're bothering. NOTHING EVER FITS RIGHT!

IG: You haven't even got off the bus yet so how about you drop the attitude and give it a chance?

Me (sulking): Fine, but I don't see why today will be any different. When I die and they come to carry out my corpse, I'll probably still be wearing my jeans and this b****y blue anorak. 'Wow,' they'll be saying, 'cool vintage outfit! She should be in a museum!'

IG: Stop exaggerating. There's lots of nice clothes out there, even for you! I'm confident we'll find you something.

Me: Prove it!

IG (determined): You're on!

4 hours and 15 fitting rooms later…

IG (exasperated): Now that IS lovely. No, it doesn't make you look like an explosion in a sausage factory. No, your bum is not going to black out the sun, and NO I don't think the colour could best be described as one shade lighter than slurry . Honestly, I despair. I give up. You win! Let's go home.

Me: OK, but there's just one more place I'd like to try first.

Back on the bus...

Me (vindicated!): Told you it was a total waste of time!

IG (resigned!): Not entirely. I'm just LOVING the new anorak.

If I could turn back time...

Today is my 9^th wedding anniversary and it's got me all wistful.

I felt a million dollars that day. I had a great dress, Jennifer Aniston would have died to have my hair, Mr Slimma didn't forget to turn up, my Dad actually danced to Prince and, miracle of miracles for Scotland, the sun shone all day so I was spared the fashion faux-pas of wearing wellies with my dress at our al fresco reception.

When friends talk about the day, there are always two other things that get a mention:

My new boss' stylish freeform dancing that led to a woman being carted away by the paramedics!

AND

The cake!

I was having none of that fruitcake nonsense. My cake (notice, it wasn't OUR cake!) was going to be a veritable orgy of chocolate and strawberries.

And it really was! It was so delicious in fact that the top layer actually got stolen, foiling my plan to gobble the rest of it for breakfast the next day. Never did find the culprit.

Anyway, looking back, perhaps my waistline was destined for disaster even then. Perhaps I should've incorporated an extra line into my vows. Maybe something along the lines of...

'I promise that you will not wake up one day to discover that your wife has been hijacked and replaced by a tellytubby.'

Hindsight, it's a wonderful thing!

Why now?

I was ambushed on my 40th birthday last year. Instead of a lovely gift, 13lb of spare tyre and love handle parachuted in sneakily and set up camp around my middle.

'You are now 15 stone. Happy Birthday Tubster!' read the card.

Up till then the flab assault had been a bit more gradual and, while I knew it was happening, I was frankly 'doing an ostrich'.

From time to time I'd rally and have a stab at a new diet plan. The F2 (the windy diet!), Low-carb (death by steak) and a handful of others. Sure, they all did what they said on the tin, but nothing was sustainable – for me. I'd lose a few pounds, get bored or depressed with the effort of it all and eventually chuck it in.

'Oh well, I guess it's just in my genes,' I'd moan, as another chocolate cake hopped into my shopping basket. All the while, though, the certain knowledge that the elves would eventually launch a midnight fat-raid and I'd wake up slim and gorgeous kept me sane.

Fortunately, two weeks ago, Inner Goddess intervened. And uh-oh, she was wearing her Wonder Woman outfit so I KNEW she meant business.

'Don't know about it being in your genes, dear, but it's certainly in your jeans. Look at you - you're going to burst and the blast is gonna wipe out entire continents. Not even Morgan Freeman will be able to save us. For the last time, there is no delta force of fat stealing elves SO GET A GRIP!'

It was a cruel blow.

'Bbbbut the fresh deserts counter is always going to sing to me like a Siren, I'm never going to love the gym and I have the attention span of a gnat when it comes to dieting. How will I ever succeed?' I simpered.

'You will dig deep young woman!' boomed IG, whirling around scarily in her stars and stripes pants and lassoing me into submission. 'HENCEFORTH YOU WILL QUIT YOUR EXCUSES, START A HEALTHY EATING PROGRAMME, MOVE YOUR LARDY BUM OFF THAT SOFA… AND YOU WILL BLOG EVERY WEEKDAY UNTIL YOU ARE SLIM, GOT THAT????'

'Yes, ok, I will, promise, yup, made your point. I'll do anything you say, just please remove your lasso - it's burning my bingo wings.'

That's why!

It's Play-a-weigh!

Are scales a slimmer's best friend or should every set on the planet be rounded up and crushed?

If you'd asked me that at the beginning of my weight loss adventure two weeks ago, I'd have personally chauffeur driven Chardonnay, my sarcastic, smarmy set, to the tip and pulled the crusher lever myself.

But oh what a difference two weeks makes.

Tip-toeing on for my weekly weigh-in this morning (because of course you're gonna be lighter when you do that!), imagine my surprise when instead of, 'Oi mammoth, get off, you're gonna break me!" Chardonnay piped up with, 'Greetings Goddess, MY how beautiful you look this fine morning, and oh, how fabulous, you've lost another 3lb! Well done!', followed by a quick rendition of Cliff Richards' 'Congratulations'.

'THAT's more like it, Chardonnay!' I chirped. 'You'll need to work on your musical repertoire, but that was a big improvement. Keep this up and I'll let you stay.'

Pause.

"Thank you Ma'am, and may I just add how particularly lovely you hair looks with those sunbeams bouncing off it. Like pure gold - a little piece of heaven. Quite exquisite in fact..."

'OK, Chardonnay, I see what you're up to. Don't push it.'

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And just in case any of you have NOT seen this...it made my weekend! Enjoy!