The end of the affair.

30 11 2009

My love/hate relationship with my gym has come to an end. No, I have not decided to jack it all in and just scoff myself into obesity (tempting as it is). I bit the bullet and thought I need a change – so I signed up for a new gym. Come January I will no longer have to endure the doors hinged the wrong way, the flashing spin instructor, the temperamental air-con, the lack of equipment and last but by no means least annoying girl.

As I strode up to the desk last night (I saw them shuffle backwards, in an attempt to not have to deal with another complaint from me), and said “I want to hand in my notice”, I was overcome with a wave of sadness. It felt like I just ended a 5 year-long relationship.

We have been through thick and thin – well chubby to thin(ner) – together. Suddenly the backward hinged door was endearing, and the smile of the sales guy who I harass weekly bought a lump to my throat, and I am sure even annoying girl will not seem quite as annoying when I next see her. I am now plagued with memories of all the “good times” and I have gym-quitters-remorse. Mostly I worry that the new gym will not provide as much inspiration for my blog as this gym has.

Actually my new gym is completely bonkers, and probably crawling with pretentious types. It’s all flashing lights, disco beats and strange new classes – which my coordination-ally challenged self,  will no doubt embrace – and then share on the blog. Bring on January and my 1st Bikini-Bootcamp class …


I must confess.

30 11 2009

It is the last day of November. I should be filled with joy and anticipation. Tomorrow should be the day I am officially allowed to eat sweets, cake, brownies, gingerbread, banoffee pie, custard tarts, chocolate, twice baked banana cake, muffins, apple strudel, cheesecake, chocolate croissants, hummingbird cake, lemon drizzle cake, hot toffee fondue, vanilla sponge and ice cream (to name a few). I have in fact eaten all of the above throughout the month of November. Sorry team. I failed. Well I cheated – and I loved every mouthful!

There is always next year. Pass me another twice baked banana cake please.

Given the boot

29 11 2009

I am not having a good week for boots. I have returned two different pairs of boots within the same week. I see them, buy them – then get them home, try them on with leggings/skinny jeans/skirts and decide they are not acceptable…and then have to take them back. What a waste of time and effort. That’s why when I tried on the pair of ankle boots I saw – I made sure I did it properly. I walked up and down, executed an america’s-next-top-model-type-catwalk turn. I inspected it from all angles. I took the advice of a friend. It was only when I went to do the checking where my toes where routine (thanks to Micheal McIntyre for jogging my memory), that I realised there was something wrong.

I had somehow managed to do the whole pre-purchasing routine, complete with catwalk style turn, with the boot on the wrong foot.(?!?!?!?) I didn’t think that was even possible. I give up. My friend who had been so supportive about the stiletto style booty started laughing, before swiftly moving into another aisle to avoid looking at me staring incredulously at the outward facing ankle boot, perilously close to having another laughing/crying episode.

“If you were an animal what would you be?”

26 11 2009

is always one of those questions that I have struggled with. Some people just scream “mouse” or fall effortlessly into the “bird” or “feline” category. I have never really known what animal I resemble. Until today. I went to Deen City Farm – and there it was – the long neck, flared nostrils, large staring eyes and mop of short slightly curly hair.

If I was an animal – I would be without a doubt….an alpaca.


It’s only five past wine

26 11 2009

Last night I had a mini-reunion of sorts. Six of us from school met for a catch up. It was another comedy evening. All through dinner I was thinking – that is definitely one for the blog, and that, and that, all the while laughing until my sides hurt. At the same time the anecdotes were flowing, so was the red wine. So much so that we managed to consume 5 bottles by just gone 9. Seems like with age – you can still get through copious amounts of wine, talk about everything from soldiers in powerboat’s to Jedward in the jungle and still be in bed by 10.30 on a school night. Unfortunately I seem to have forgotten everything I wanted to blog about, and am just left with a slight headache and memories of a waiter who bore a striking resemblance to Rocky, and asking for a lot of “waaaarrrttteer”.

Stuck between Zone 4 and Zone 2

25 11 2009

Last night I went to Micheal McIntyre’s Wembley gig. It was hilarious. I laughed from start to finish and thought that my evening of comedy ended after his encore. Little did I know. I got on the tube, and started to take off my coat. I got just past my neck and realised the zip was stuck. So I start to tug, and tug, and tug. It was properly stuck. The friends I was with, being the supportive, helpful bunch they were started laughing, drawing the attention of fellow travellers to my plight.

Mild panic, slight claustrophobia, a sharp increase in body temperature and unavoidable humiliation set in. Obviously this did not help. Nor did the fact that I started to laugh…and having had quite an emotional week, the laughing turned to crying. I was on the brink of what my closest friends know as “the laughing/crying thing” (to be avoided at all costs). Seeing my acute stress – Rach, one of my oldest and dearest friends, just sat back an laughed, and nudged her mum out of her seat to help me. So now I am stuck in my coat, overheating, laughing, crying and now I have my friends mum, and my friend Gemma trying to free me from the zip. How embarrassing! All the while I can see more and more people trying not to look – but desperate to watch this most ridiculous of events from their front row seats.

You would think it would end there. Oh no. Rachel’s Mum had to give up, so Gemma took over. Her tactic was to be slow and gentle, speaking to me calmly (a red, mascara streaked giggling mess) and ever so gently tugging at the fabric wedged in the zipper – well that was after she tried the tugging with all her might tactic and punched me in the face. I promise you I am not making this up.

Fortunately just as we entered Zone 2 I was liberated. I believe there was even a cheer and a round of applause. I think everyone on the carriage certainly felt like they got their money’s worth of live comedy for one evening.

And I am off to buy a new coat. With buttons.

Beauty spot?

24 11 2009

I am precariously close to entering the middle-ages, and suddenly my body decides that now is the time to get spots. Punishment for escaping my teen-age years spot free. Saturday was bad. Very bad. It was a bad day all round really, I hardly slept, I had hair issues, clothes issues, general feeling yuk issues…and then I look in the mirror – and I see possibly the world’s biggest spot. Had I not known better I would have thought I was growing another head. The trauma. Despite being older and wiser, I chose to ignore all the advice and skin care knowledge I have gleaned over the years… and I squeezed it. Bad move. I woke up in the morning and thought I may have to amputate my lip. Praise the Lord for concealer!!

Now I don’t look like the bigger half of a Siamese twin, but more like a Cindy Crawford wannabee with a suspicious looking beauty spot on my upper lip. Do you think anyone will notice if I colour it in…