Size 10 by teatime

Including my funky new haircut. Last night when I looked in the mirror I swear I looked like a cool rock chick (well I had, had a drink) This morning she's gone. My "do" this morning can best be described as early bog brush. It's frightening. I've stood in front of the mirror for the best part of an hour and burnt my forehead with the straighteners (twice) and I wonder - is it worth it? All this trying to stay young stuff wears me out. I am sure it was easier in Grannys day. You turned forty, got yourself a curly grey perm, a plastic rain hood and a pull along tartan shopping trolley, and spend the rest of your days complaining about how much better it was in the war. It sounds much easier. Now, where did I put that headscarf........................

I've had me hair cut. Just the one. It's the long one that grows out of me left nostril. I was going to have the one in my right ear cut as well but I couldn't afford it. Honestly, this credit crunch is affecting us terribly.

My hairdresser (well she says she is) did her best. Bless her. She wears orange trousers and I'm sure she works part time on the bins, but what can you do?

She coloured my friends hair last week. I thought Green was an interesting colour, but as she used to be blonde it was an improvement. "Do you do this for a living" my friend asked, in a very blonde and fluffy way. "No actually" said Bev. I'm a butcher by trade. Well THAT would explain alot. To be honest, my hair looks good. (if I take my glasses off) I no longer look like a gorilla with a perm. I'm now more of an Orangutang. That's nothing to do with the hair cut though. I have had Hubby fit an old tire in the garden for me to swing from. Well I need the exercise, (don't ask).

A couple of years ago I did Bev a poem. Sadly I can't remember all of it. So I bet you're relieved by now. But the verse that stays with me, and is still really true. Goes as follows

On Occasion I think of your Husband
Who's hardworking and patient and kind
He's a saint of a man and whenever I can
I donate a few quid to the blind...............

I paid her. Well she had me in a headlock what else was I going to do?

Bless her cleaver wielding, bin emptying ways.

She's much bigger than me and I'm frightened. And I'm booked in again in six weeks hence. But I will face adversity in the way I always do. I'm
moving. Please don't tell her where I live..................

Every time I open my email I get excited. I know, I know, I take the tablets but they don’t help. 46 messages to download it promises me. I wait with bated breath. Well garlic breath actually, don’t blame me, blame Hubby, it’s on offer in Tesco and we can’t leave a bargain. Well he can’t obviously. I should know by now that nothing good can come of this. 1 message is from somebody demanding money with menaces, (don’t ask) and the other 45 are from people trying to sell us Viagra.

Excuse me? Have we asked for Viagra, NO. Do we need Viagra. NO NO NO. Please NO. I wake at six am as it is with something poking me in the back and mumble “don’t sweep the bedroom floor now for heavens sake I’m sleeping” It might be a broom, it might not be a broom, but at that time in the morning I haven’t the energy to find out.

I don’t know if Viagra is a good thing. Although in my mind I see millions of men jumping up and down ewwww no I can’t hold that thought.

So, bear with me here, I know I’m rambling. If I could reply to all these pharmaceutical entrepreneurs then I would send them the following. It’s my take on the whole thing. So it must be right. Right?

VIAGRA

As a race we've had many inventions
The dishwasher fridge and the car
And some like the wheel have been used a great deal
And there's some that are frankly bizarre

We've made craft to explore other planets
And nobody minded at all
It’s never too soon to send men to the moon
Just a pity we can't send them all

We've found cures for some awful diseases
To stop us becoming quite ill
And Women just think we were chained to the sink
Until we discovered the Pill

What's the sink got to do with being pregnant
As a line it was just off the cuff
It’s just now we don't care we'll be chained anywhere
With no fear that we'll be up the duff

So then what is this deal with Viagra
This is something that surely won't thrive
If it's left up to me and you just wait and see
It will rival the Sinclair C5

I had mates in the lab when they found it
And the women researchers they scoffed
At this elderly bloke they all laughed 'til they choked
Indeed they all thought he'd gone soft

They said to this Doctor whose eighty
I'd have somebody look at your head
If the blood has succeeded to go where it's needed
Your heart will pack up - you'll be dead

But the women will love it the bloke said
Don’t be daft said the girls with a frown
Marriage creates quite an interesting state
Where all feeling is lost from waist down

Ah but what of the girls who are single
Surely they'll be delighted no doubt
Well they thought this was funny - we all know that's it's money
Not sex that gives old blokes the clout

So why don't we shelve the Viagra
If it's firmness your girlfriend desires
To make her more keen find her someone nineteen
Who will surely rekindle her fires

As for old blokes I'm sorry to tell you
With Viagra - you're sure out of luck
You’ll just make us see red bringing drugs to our bed
We’re much happier with a good BOOK!!!!!

Well, we had a skirmish this morning. No, it’s not what you think. We were sat quietly drinking coffee and watching the last of the Olympics, when an ungodly noise started outside the front door. Elderly cat (he’s 14 this year) had been cornered by a Staffordshire Bull Terrier. Now, Elderly cat used to be the king of the neighbourhood. No task was too big. He has brought back rats almost bigger than he is, and rabbits (It made me cry, I am a soppy git) birds, and small rodents, still alive. That was interesting, and I was tempted to jump on the table and scream (don’t ask) but that was nothing to do with the cat as it happens. Lately he has tuned into an old bloke in a nursing home. He eats, he sleeps he dribbles, he has the occasional unspeakable accident, but enough of Hubby.

So this morning, there am I still in dressing gown. Hubby a little more decently clad. Well still in his lollipop man outfit (I like a man in uniform) but I was unwilling to open the door to the world. A Staffie had been coming down the road with his person and spotted Elderly cat sleeping in the bushes. Over he rushed and barked and jumped and generally p*ssed elderly cat off if I’m honest. What did the owner do? A bit fat nothing. Just stood there and laughed and declared that the dog needed to be taught a lesson. Hubby opened the door not best pleased (he was missing the volleyball) and took in the emerging situation.

Elderly cat was cowering, all claws out and puffed up like a blow fish with a hairdryer up it’s jacksy, growling to beat the band. The staffie was jumping and barking and generally not making the whole episode any better. Staffie owner was still finding the whole thing extremely funny, until elderly cat jumped on the Staffies back and gave him a good swipe around the gills. Oy mate, can’t you control your cat he declared. Hubby just looked at him with irritation (he WAS missing the volley ball after all). Took elderly cat by the scruff and put him gently down onto the hall carpet (well that’s not exactly how it happened but it’s all the information you need) gestured to Staffie owner in a friendly manner (as if) and retired inside.

Elderly cat was very wound up to say to least and tempted to attack Dawg (who had witnessed the whole scene with confusion) And was sitting waiting to join in, meanwhile there was still lots of howling and growling, (whether that was hubby or puss it was hard to distinguish.) We on the other hand didn’t need the vet bills so we directed Elderly cat into the back garden to calm down.

But, I have to say I am proud of elderly cat. When I am 98 years old and a young thug comes towards me with the intention to attack. I only hope that I can (if not jump on his back) then at least hold my own with all claws and teeth flying.

Good for you Puss. You are an Olympian, an elderly gentleman and a grumpy old puss. Bless your furry frowning, broken toothed, ragged eared and bad tempered face………………………………..

Thane Burnett

Who the F***

I know. Hubby was surfing, well it makes a change from scratching, so one of us was relieved. He is a colonial, so he wanted to know how his Country was doing in the Olympics. They haven't had a great success ever since Ben Johnson took that nasal spray or crack cocaine or whatever it was. He's Australian so why would he care? No just kidding, he grew up just north of the USA. Or the loud neighbours next door as he prefers to call them.

He found this article. Written by a Canadian correspondent in Bejing. He laughed, I laughed the dog threw up but I don't think it was personal. Just too much chicken skin (don't ask).

So I thought you guys might enjoy it, or not, let me know..........

I really like it here.
I know there's that whole human rights debacle, but the people themselves are nice.
They are so happy to see me, where ever I go — other than any place where there may be controversy or protests.
So following the end of the Games, I have decided to become China's next emperor, and create the perfect country.
I will be fair, but judgmental with my people. I will be firm, yet grumpy on Monday mornings.
In my country, there will be no parking ticket attendants or cashiers who stay chatting on their cell phones as they serve you.
In-laws will have to stay at a hotel while visiting their daughter's family.
As China's new leader, I will demand that any male with a full and lush head of hair - as tribute to their emperor - shave their heads.
Each week, I will make up a new holiday.
All pizzas will come with extra-cheese.
Men will no longer have to fold and put away their socks and underwear. In my new China, it will be able to stay in a heap at the foot of the bed. Even when dirty.
Hi-Def cable will be free to everyone.
Someone else will cut your grass on hot days.
Your kids will never ask for more money, and your daughter's boyfriend will have to get up off the coach when you walk into the room.
I will outlaw silly, pretentious names for the size of coffee, other than small, medium and large.
I will teach my people the wonders of a good steak and how it's OK to cheat at poker, if you're playing with members of your own family.
And if you're one of those drivers who pulls over into the merge lane to jump a line of traffic, you will be shot. Then your pet will be found, and it will be shot as well.
These are some of my rules. I will have many more, changing almost daily.
I really like it here.

I work with a lovely Indian man, he is always good humoured, always smiling and a joy to be around. He invites Hubby and I to his house where his wife makes us delicious meals. All in all a good egg.

This morning, he said to me. Since you have lost the weight you look at least 7 years younger (he had my attention) yes, he went on, you look maybe 32 or 33 years old now.

I was speechless for a moment. I wanted to run down the other end of the office and ask him how many fingers I was holding up, or indeed if he could see me at ALL.

I am 49, there's no denying it. I might buy the lad a cake, or perhaps a voucher for spec savers. Bless his twinkly brown eyes...................

Well, I didn't win it again last night. Which is a shame because it is Hubby's retirement plan strategy. He is often heard to quote "6 numbers out of 49 - how hard can it be?"

Clearly harder than you think! The good news is that we won a tenner last night in the syndicate at work. I joined it because I had a dream that I was part of a syndicate that won the lottery. I have also dreamed that I am walking naked down the high street wearing hobnail boots and giving out custard creams, which to be honest is more likely to come true (don't ask)

It's a 55 million roll over on the old Euro tomorrow night (I've already spent it on custard creams - just kidding) So we've rolled over our tenner at work to buy double the tickets. I know, we are such high rollers! and Hubby and I will splash out a fiver and cross everything.

What gets me about some Lottery winners is their lack of gratitude if you like. Ooh it's nice but me and our Albert are happy living in the shed. I might buy him a new flat cap and I quite fancy one of them shopping bags on wheels, but we don't need much.

So if anyone out there is of that opinion. I just wanted to you to know my take on the matter, so you can give it some thought, and maybe throw a few quid my way

So here you go..........

THE LOTTERY

Don't just sit there dreaming of luxury and wealth
Of drinking so much bubbly that you compromise your health
If you want loads of money then you may not have to nick it
Just get yourself down to the shop and buy a lottery ticket

They draw it thrice a week it's true you could be rich I swear
In some unsuspecting household sits a future millionaire
It could be 50 million - could be yours - it could be mine
You could tell you boss on Monday - Stick it where the sun don't shine

There's nothing quite like being rich - nothing else will ever lick it
But you'll never win the lottery unless you buy a ticket
If you want something more instant then there's symbols you can match
You just nip down to the kiosk and you pay to have a scratch

So pick your favourite numbers and you could be in the cash
The date you got divorced or when the Doctor cured that rash
The number of your house - the one you've painted on the bin
The amount of times this year when you have had the milkman in

But just a word of warning - should your riches bring you strife
There’s always folk who are prone to say it wouldn't change my life
We’re happy in our little place - we don't need much you see
Well if that's you - here's my advice
PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME!!!!!

Somebody sent me this joke today

The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express Praise for answered prayers.
A lady stood and walked to the podium. She said, 'I have a Praise.'
Two months ago, my husband, Jim, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his
scrotum was completely crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors
didn't know if they could help him.'

You could hear an audible gasp from the men in the congregation as they
imagined the pain that poor Jim experienced. Pat continued, 'Jim was unable to hold me or the children and every move caused him terrible pain. We prayed as the doctors performed a delicate operation. They were able to piece together the crushed remnants of Jim's scrotum and wrap wire around it to hold it in place.'

Again, the men in the Congregation squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Jim. She continued, 'Now, Jim is out of the hospital and the doctor's say, with time, his scrotum should recover completely.'

All the men sighed with relief. The pastor rose and tentatively asked if any one else had anything to say.

A man rose and walked slowly to the podium. He said, 'I'm Jim and I want to tell my wife, the word is sternum.

It reminded me of my late mother in law who quite often used to use the wrong word entirely or the use the right word in the wrong context.

She would often talk about the constituency of her gravy, could never pronounce the word economize. But always said ecomonize, and on one occasion got the attention of the whole bus when explaining to the lady sitting next to her, that her husband sometimes had mood swings that were quite erotic (erratic).

On a similar note, No.1 son's first girlfriend was playing Articulate with us one Christmas. It is the game where one team member gives the other clues as to the answer. Their category was famous people. Girlfriend who wasn't the sharpest tool in the drawer, was giving clues. It's a composer I think she said? No.1 one Son was guessing away. Beethoven, Brahms, Schubert, and on and on he went. In the end they ran out of time and we all waited with bated breath. Fidel Castro she shrieked. How on earth did you work out he was a composer you soft tart enquired No.1 Son. He was a dictator!! Oh she said, It was the Fiddle bit that got me......

It's get worse - or better

Next round, famous people again, and girlfriend again giving clues (you'd have thought we would have learned by now). Oooh I know this one, you'll get this, it's something to do with Oral sex and boats. No.1 son and the rest of us, Eh? Again time ran out, she looked around at the rest of us as though we were stupid. It was Fellatio Nelson she explained. No.1 Son refused to play anymore, and were no longer capable, Hubby had choked on a twiglet and I had wet myself.........................

I was watching a programme on Sky Real Lives last night (Oh I know, I either need to get a life or a good book or both), it was about women who had previously been crowned Slimmer of the Year and what happened to them afterwards.

Well I really won’t bore you with the whole story, but the gist of it was that even if they’d kept the weight off they weren’t happy, If they’d put it back on they weren’t happy, and if they were happy then there husband wasn’t happy. Do you see a theme developing. They were a pretty miserable bunch to be honest.

What really got me thinking was one woman who claimed that rather than sticking to a healthy eating plan she had lost her weight by taking laxatives and water tablets. Daft mare. Anyway, it reminded me of when I was a holiday rep years ago in the South of France. A girl I worked with had gained a few pounds (around 20 or so) and claimed that it was nothing more than water retention (it was beer and baquettes honest). She got talking to a woman in the bar one night, now I don’t know about you but I don’t usually follow medical advice given to me by a drunken bar flies (which is why I rarely visit my Dr.) but she was adamant this woman knew what she was talking about.

Water tablets. That’s what I need, a couple of weeks of them and I’ll be back to normal. I wonder where you can get them?

I forgot about this conversation for a few days until she came running into our apartment, eyes sparkling and full of excitement. Look what I found she cried, water tablets? I took them from her and read the packet. Have you taken any of these yet I asked her?

No, not yet, I couldn’t find the dosage on the package but they’re French so I thought you might be able to work it out. I looked at her, sighed, and said. They are water PURIFICATION tablets you mad old bat, you’re not supposed to take them. Oh she said, won’t they help me lose weight then. Well in a way, I said, they’ll probably kill you, which is a sure fire weight loss programme, but the good news is that your urine would probably be pure enough to drink. I am sure she thought I was taking the p*ss.

What a morning. I never usually over sleep, and yes the Alarm did go off at 6.30am and I heard it, and I ALWAYS lie there until at least 7am listening to the radio and easing myself gently into the day. Well, this morning, I heard it, I registered it, I turned over and went straight back to sleep. So there I was fast asleep, trying to work a tape player and doing a documentary for Channel 4 (don’t ask) when the next thing that makes it’s way into my conciousness, is the 7.30am news (I have to be in work, at my desk at 8.15am). Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat? I screamed jet propelling myself out of bed and still half asleep. Hubby strolling in from his shower said, “Oh I thought you were having a little lie in” “On what parallel universe do I ever get to lie in on a Monday I asked” – well I screamed really, and it was rude, and I’m not proud of it.

Then commenced the headless chicken routine, fly into the shower, bash my shin against the shower tray, swear, turn on shower, pick up shampoo, wet hair, apply shampoo, realise it ‘s conditioner, bum!!! It will have to do. Fly into bedroom, towelling and running at the same time, grab knickers, try and stuff two feet down one leg, hop down landing, bang head on wall. Try to take deep breaths and finish dressing and applying slap (usually a major undertaking, requiring grout and filler) run down stairs, where Hubby had thrown me a packed lunch together (bless). Out of the door, back in the door, pick up car keys, drive to work, and make it to my desk with seconds to spare. Don’t know why I bothered, everyone else was late, so after that I figured I deserved an easy day, so I had one.

Hope your day started better.

Why is it that the older we get the more obsessed we become with death? Is it because it is fast approaching, or we just know more people who have died, are dying or we wish would hurry up and get on with it?

I was thinking about this and it reminded me of the conversations I used to have with my late Father, at least once a week. Him “Do you remember Eric Humplestoop” Me “No I don’t think so Dad”. “Yes you do, he lived out Wobblethorpe way, married that woman with the funny hand, had 11 children”. “No, I can’t place him” Him, getting more exasperated “Yes you do, he used to play dominoes in the Tit n Tantrum with Frank Bogglestrop, kept chickens in the bath” Me “I can’t remember him” Him, now with steam coming out of the top of his flat cap. “Course you do, had a tartan wheebarrow, you used to go to school with his Ermintrude, fat lass, had a wart, wore a monicle, you MUST remember that” Me “Oh yeah of course!” Lying through me teeth wanting to get it over with. Him, with satisfied smile, “Well he’s dead”

I learnt after about the 25th similar conversation (My Dad knew some peculiar folks) that this would always be the punch line, and the quicker we got it over with, the sooner we could move on to, when he died, what of, how much he left, how many people came to his funeral and the quality of the vol au vents at the wake. Well it was more likely to have been a pork pie spread, but you can dream.

“Yer, it was a bad do, poor Eric” Me, “really what happened”. Him “He got his finger caught in his new electric mangle” Me “ that’s not usually fatal is it?” Him “No, but he was picking his nose at the time”

Then the newspaper would come out and he would read the “In Memorium” section. “Here listen to this, his Wife Ethel wrote this (with her good hand supposedly) it’s lovely it is”

“God saw you looking weary,
He did what he thought best
He took you in his gentle arms
And laid you down to rest.

Me. “You what?” “You said she hated him, you used to tell me that she made him live in the coal shed after she caught him drinking her wart remover? Him “Yes, but you can’t speak ill of the dead can you?” Me “Why not? They can’t hear you”.

What I think is, never mind all the hypocrisy, what we should do is tell it like it was. Don’t hold back, get it off your chest.

What Ethel should have wrote in memory of Eric was this………

God saw you looking weary
He did what he thought best
He tripped you up when you were pissed
And choked you with your vest…………..

There’s more, but I’m afraid you might die laughing………………………….

Ooh it’s lovely. I have just spent the last hour with my feet in a lovely bowl of soapy water. (I’m easily pleased). There I sat watching X factor (what ARE those people thinking) with my feet in the washing bowl. I had to sit on the draining board, but life’s like that. It’s all compromise. Twenty years ago it wouldn’t have been my ideal Saturday Evening, but drinking cider out by the skips at the back of the disco can pall after a while, and the police got fed of moving me on to be honest.

So there I was sat, soaking happily away and I realised that I didn’t like the smell of the luxurious foot balm I had added to the water. Well ok, it was washing up liquid, we’re not posh here. It wasn’t my usual brand and it got me to thinking where on earth did it come from - then I remembered.

Back in May, Hubby and I decided to treat ourselves to an exotic holiday. So we booked a caravan in Wales. Do I look like Rockafeller (don’t be fooled by moustache). It wasn’t our first choice to be perfectly honest , we originally booked an extreme self catering holiday on the Isle of Kevin. Sadly though Hubby couldn’t get a visa. Something in the small print about contagious diseases. I TOLD them it was a verucca, but it didn’t wash! So we were declined. Actually it turned out to be a rice crispy in the end, and yes it DID wash off at his yearly bath, but it was too late by then. So Wales it was.

We picked the week that everyone’s tent blew away. Fortunately our caravan only rocked, and upset Dawg so much that he stood at the end of our bed and watched over Hubby all night (never mind about the rest of the pack). How do I know this? Cause my sister in law got in the night for a wee (too much lager) and was so freaked out by Dawgs behaviour that she seduced him into the living area with biscuits and cuddled him all night (soft mare!).

Anyway, I’ve digressed for two paragraphs, I must get a grip (isn’t that a small item of hand luggage - Oh have a word!).

Meanwhile back on planet Zappy, No. 1 son and girlfriend moved in for a week to keep the home fires burning , threaten the bailiffs and feed the cats. I might ask them to move in, the place has never been this clean. “I found the remote under the sofa said girlfriend” Really? Said I, I didn’t know you could move it, thought it was nailed down like our bed (but that is for entirely different reasons).

Anyway, they don’t have much money (for that read none at all unless we give them some) so after they had broken the dishwasher (don’t ask) they decided that they needed to buy washing up liquid - and that, if you haven’t dropped off by now with your head in your soup , is where we come in.

I don’t know where they bought the offending soapy substance, but it has all the fragrance and aroma of old mans mac. I know this fragrance well, I had an elderly father with the same ambience. He was lovely, but the smell got too much and we had to tie him to lamppost at a service station eventually. Oh behave yourselves. He finally expired at the ripe of age of 83 peacefully in his sleep. I can’t say the same for the passengers on his bus, but that is entirely a different story. (it was a scream).

So the point is (Oh get on with it) if you are going to soak your feet then soak them in something pleasant. Like Cider, not only will it bring back memories of your youth (or mine). It also makes an excellent beverage to serve to your children when they turn up for a free feed on Sunday. (AGAIN).

Well, it's getting to that time of night. Hubby is reclining on the couch, but for a change he's awake. Well, I think he is. I've glued his eyes open cause it just makes me feel better, he is looking in two directions at once, so no change there then? Any how. He's watching this thing about Gold Diggers and I had a light bulb moment. After I had put the steps away and changed it, (the light bulb, his pamper is still dry) I realised where I had been going wrong all these years. I have NEVER married for money?? I have married coz I thought i was getting old (23) oh have a word, and that only lasted 18 years. He left me 'cause I was too funny. "what do you mean too funny" Funny haha, funny peculiar, or just hilariously funny? No, he said "You just smell funny" Doh, people just don't work at things. Then I married the present Mr Zappy for lurve. He's a babe (no not a pig, but just as cute). But these people are going on the net and finding sugar daddys & mummys. Oh why didn't I think of that? I thought I had explored all the avenues for getting rich. But apparently not. Sadly it's too late. To play this game you need blonde hair that at least touches your bum. And while mine does, the hair on my head ends at my neck and the rest is just a
documentary waiting to happen. You need a cute smile (well once I get some teeth) I'm hoping to inherit my great grandmothers dentures. And you need a winning personality. I've tried to buy one on ebay but I keep getting outbid. So that's me lot then. I'm stuffed. So back to the retirement plan six numbers out of 49, how hard can it be.................

I do like a good muffin. Just ask Hubby, he is often to be found in the queue at Greggs, yelling “can I have a squeeze of your muffins love, the missus likes em moist”. Today at Greggs they had a very tantalising display of the Lemon & Poppy seed variety. Since it’s Friday Hubby and I decided we would treat ourselves, and before anyone asks, No, I will not be making a full and frank confession at Fat Fighters on Tuesday. You get lines for that sort of behaviour. So we purchased two of these fine fancies drooling in anticipation of a nice cup of tea to go with when we got home. On the way back we had to nip into the local supermarket for a gallon of baby oil and 2 dozen laxatives. We’re having a party. (don’t ask). When we got back into the van we were greeted by Dawg, (who had somehow managed to squeeze his 8 stone frame through the seats into the front) There he sat with a look of supreme innocence on his furry little fizog. He had a Greggs bag hanging from one ear, crumbs dusted amongst his whiskers and a definite lemony air about him. “What have you done?” Hubby asked in his I’m not messing about voice. Dawg, wagged a a little nervously and then gave Hubby a look of complete distain, as if to say “What? – it was muffin to do with me”! On the bright side, I won’t have to worry about the calories. It’s a Doggone shame nonetheless.

Out of the cupboard I slither and slouch
Hubby is sleeping reclined on the couch
and just for a moment, I'm tempted to choke him
but dammit to hell, I just farted and work him

And this is nothing like it. Yes fellow bloggers, I speak to you today from the under stairs cupboard, where I have been temporarily banished, due to the affect of the Fat Fighters “Green” Diet. Hubby said that he didn’t realise that green referred to the cloud that would ultimately surround me. I am sure the wholemeal pasta and baked beans haven’t helped. Oh well, never mind, at least it is quiet in here. I shall wait until later this evening when the sound of gentle snoring alerts me to the fact that the coast is clear, and then I shall make good my escape. It can’t come soon enough for me. There’s a terrible smell in here…………………..

Well, after the disastrous visit to fat fighters last evening and the one pound weight gain. I decided to change tactics. I am having a fat fighters green day today. Which in my book is green for anything that makes you go. I have had lots and lots of fibrous foods. Including but not restricted to, Oatmeal with extra fibre, kidney beans, haricot beans, beetroot, eggs, potatoes, a couple of muesli bars, and a tub of melon. For my dinner I am having brown rice with more vegetables. My belly sounds like Vesuvius pre eruption, oh yes, things are definitely brewing. Hubby is hanging out of the back door taking great gulps of fresh air, and the dog is good naturedly taking all the blame as usual. I am emitting enough gas to blow up a large lilo, but you wouldn’t want to lie on it in case it sprang a leak. It’s eye watering stuff I can tell you. We will be microwaving our dinner this evening as standing me in the same room as a naked flame would surely be a recipe for disaster. Right, I’m off to open a few windows. Have a good evening…………………………

Another happy family evening. There is heavy snoring coming from the living room. Might be Hubby, but more likely Dawg. Awww there he is laying on the rug, legs akimbo, dribbling and chasing rabbits in his sleep. Bless him. Still, the dog is sleeping peacefully on his bed, so we must be thankful for small mercies. Happy days...............

Right then. Just back from Fat Fighters and I put on a pound. How did that happen? I haven’t done anything different this week. Well apart from lay prostrate on the sofa for two days and eat junk , while watching the Biggest Loser on DVD. I know, it’s a contradiction in terms. Maybe I was hoping that I would lose weight by osmosis. I didn’t. What I find most unfair about the whole thing is that I weighed myself before I went (yeah I know, why waste my money), it’s a bit like having a cleaner and tidying up before she gets here, but I used to do that too, when I could afford one. Nowadays, I just wade thigh deep in clutter and lose things. My mind mostly. The sting in the tail is that I weighed myself when I got home too (oh have a word!) and that pound had disappeared. So clearly, someone somewhere is conspiring against me. Perhaps it’s the elves in the skirting board, or the bats in my belfry. I think I’ll have a bun. I need something to eat with my medication……….

I checked the weather forecast this morning. I figured that since I had just spent two weeks on leave from work that maybe it might pick up. No, I'm not paranoid, but just because I'm not paranoid doesn't mean that the world isn't out to get me.

But no, it's forecasting rain. More rain, more rain than we've already had. If that's possible. I thought about this for a bit and decided that it's time to stop being surprised. It ALWAYS rains in the Summer, alot. I remember reading a memoir, can't remember whose, or why I was reading it for that matter, but it was set in the 18th century and was by an American guy who had come to spend the Summer in England (Idiot!) Anyhow, the phrase that stuck out in my mind was this, he wrote "England does not have a Summer as we know it. It just gets greener and damper" Well ain't THAT the truth Buddy. So I thought I would pop together a little ditty, it won't stop it raining, but it might bring a bit of sunshine into a dull old day. How poetic is that??

The Weather

'The rains lashing down on the window
the clouds they are dark in the sky
it's bound to be so 'cause it's August you know
and we had this for most of July

I'll remind you that we live in England
it's not Southern France it's not Spain
lest you forget England's green and it's wet
and the latter is caused by the rain

We plan outside events for the Summer
with dreams of a hot sunny day
but it dosen't come good we're surrounded by mud
and the wind blows the beer tent away

Family holidays down by the seaside
Oh picture the scene if you can
the kiddies and you - the sand's warm the sea's blue
and you've payed for a nice caravan

Then Mother-in-Law joins in the outing
but she dosen't mix well with rain water
she complains of her ills and your mothering skills
but the charge is reduced to man-slaughter

Then you decide on a party
a barbeque cooked by your fella
your plans they get benched and your guests they get drenched
because nobody brought an umbrella

Cheer up chaps we're British remember
at disasters we're terribly good
when things go all wrong we will have a sing song
even though we're half buried in mud

Take heart 'cause it won't last for ever
Winter is coming Lord knows
when we gaze at the skies in utter surprise
'cause we're always caught out when it snows.

Question. How long does it take for a dog to take a dump during a walk in a heavy rainstorm?

Answer. 45 very long, very damp minutes. Ye Gods. Being responsible dog owners, we decided yesterday that although the weather was particularly sh1t that it was not excuse not to walk the dawg. So I went into the local sports and store and bought another Golf umbrella so we would have one each. Saves on the domestics, “over here a bit,” “ ooh gerroff I’m getting wet.” “ Ouch you nearly had my eye out woman“. You know the sort of thing.

Charming youth behind the counter served me with the umbrella. Him “ d’yer wan it in a bag?” Me. “No thanks, just take the tags off I’ll use it now” Him “Huh?” Me “It’s raining outside and that’s why I bought it” Him. “Oh yeah? good idea” Me. “Yep, I’m a genuis”. Bless him, at least he tried, I expect I’ll see him on University Challenge shortly.

So Hubby and I set off with dawg. And he circled and he sniffed and he sniffed and he circled, and the dog did the same but with fewer results. Now when I take dawg out for a quick squirt before bedtime, it’s easy. I just make a sssssssssssssss sound and hey presto it’s over in seconds. I just haven’t worked out the code word for do a dump already? Any suggestions will be welcome. I made a lot of farting noises and pretended to squat, and although this attracted a large crowd of bystanders it didn’t help the dog at all.

Eventually, just when I was thinking of popping into the nearest garden centre to purchase some hose and carry out a Canine high colonic, he ventured into the bushes, assumed the position and we were once again able to get on with our lives.

The next stop was the supermarket where I purchased low calorie oatmeal. I have been watching the Biggest Loser and as far as I can see the only thing they do that I don’t is have oatmeal for breakfast, Oh and exercise 6 hours a day. So I thought I would give the oatmeal a try. How do those people lost 15lbs in a week? I would at least need to chop one of my legs off to achieve the same results, and that really wouldn’t help with the jogging. I fancy the male trainer on that programme too (the US version) Bob Harper, he’s a sexy little minx. I would do a few push ups with him given the chance. (But I digress)

On the way out I stopped by the magazine rack and had a flick through the weight loss magazines, hoping to get some advice. Well hoping to get to read them without paying to be honest. I saw on the front of Ta ra a bit magazine or whatever it’s called that Brad and Angelina were showing off their new twins, Vivienne and Knox to the world. Now honestly, some people have no sense of humour. With a surname like Pitt they should have at least called them Cole & Ses, teach them a thing or two about life that would.

Hope you all had a good weekend. I notice next doors hedge is infringing my front path again, so I’m off to trim my bush. Keep smiling……………………………….................

I liked the idea of your questionnaire so I thought I would have a go.

1. Who was the last person to call you?
Hubby - wanted to know what I wanted for tea

2. Where was your default picture taken?
I only wish I understood the question

3. What's your middle name?
Cucumber, my brother is Radish and my Sister is Lettuce, my parents were enjoying their salad days.

4. Your current relationship status?
Married - very happily thanks

5. Does your crush like you back?
No - don't think so. I love my lemon crush, but it sits there in the bottle and just is.

6. What is your current mood?
I'll let you know when the drugs kick in.

7. What are you doing this weekend?
Trimming my bush - oh stop it. Next doors hedge is blocking my front door, I shall be sending Hubby out with shears as soon as he has sobered up.

8. What color shirt are you wearing?
What color shirt do YOU think I'm wearing, and guess what I can do with a bicycle pump and a jar of mayonnaise?? Only reply if you have a major credit card.

9. Ever been in love?
Truly, madly, deeply.

10. If you could go back in time and change something, would you?
I wish I had listened at school. I knew the cleaners better than I knew the teachers from all the time I spent stood in the corridor. You're not funny the teacher would say. The rest of the class think I am sir. OUT!

11. Have a crazy side?
It's only my occasional eloquence that saves me from being sectioned. WOW I should have that tattooed somewhere. Answers on a postcard.

12. Ever had a near death experience?
Only every time I drive

13. Something you do a lot?
Drink just like Notbob and I seem to be on her alot too.

14. Angry at anyone?
Oh what's the point. It lowers your positive energy. You might as well eat rat poison

15. Who can you tell anything to?
Hubby. Unless I've spent too much again.

16. Name someone with the same birthday as you?
Joan Collins - so help me

17. When was the last time you cried?
This evening watching the biggest loser, I am such a sop.

18. Who would you do anything for?
Hubby, Son and probably the dog.

19. If you could have one super power what would it be?
The power of prediction. I'd be a millionaire.

20. What's the first thing you notice about the opposite/same sex?
Sense of humour

21. What do you usually order from starbucks?
A big mac and fries. It drives them nuts.

22. What's your biggest secret?
That would be telling?

23. Favorite colour?
Blue.

24. Favorite TV show?
I like a bit of Corrie.

25. Do you still watch kiddy movies or tv shows?
The old fashioned looney tunes still do it for me.

26. What are you eating or drinking at the moment?
Vodka and DIET coke. The diet coke negates the calories in the Vodka.

27. Do you speak any other language?
I can get by in French, and swear in Italian. I have about 3 words of Hungarian too!

28. Where do you see yourself in 5 years time?
Living in a beautiful house by the sea. But that's probably the drink

29. Describe your life in one word, what would it be?
Eventful

30. Have you ever kissed in the rain?
Reminds me of the joke of the little old lady who goes to the Doctors.
Doctor: Hello love, have you ever been bed ridden. Little Old Lady: Bedridden? I've been table ended.

31. Ever kissed on the beach?
I've had sand in places I didn't know I had places.

32. What are you thinking about right now?
Typing this, is the dryer empty, is the washer full, is the cat just coughing or is it a fur ball.....................

33. What should you be doing?
Finding a cure for cancer probably, shouldn't we all?

34. What was the last film you saw?
Can't remember, can't sit still long enough.

35. What are you listening to?
The voices in my head

36. Do you like working in the garden?
A bit of pruning is good for the soul

37. Are you on facebook or myspace?
No, can't be arsed.

38. Do you act differently around the person you like?
It's the only place I can really be myself

39.What is your natural hair color?
Can't remember, I have coloured it for too many years. I used to be blonde but blondes don't have more fun, so now I'm not.

40. Who was the last person you kissed?
Hubby as always.

I looked at my legs this morning, well what I could see off them through the luxuriant sprouting of hair and decided some deforestation was in order. You really can't put fake tan on hairy legs, well you can if you want to look like a gorilla, but it's not quite the image I was after.

I had run out of the pretty pink lady razors, so I used Hubbys. Him "what have I told you about using my razor?" Me "To not to". Well he wasn't here and he won't know so I used it anyway.

Whoops! It looked like nightmare on elm street in our bathroom. I rang up the blood bank and said eh, I've got 2 pints of Aneg here if you're interested, but apparently they don't take it with belly button and fluff and toe nails clippings.

I tried the toiled paper trick, I stuck little spots of paper all over my legs. It made an interesting patten and if you had joined to dots it would have spelt. "clumsy cow".

So as I was laying there, bleeding and wishing I was German. I wrote this little ode on the bathroom tiles, in blood.

UNWANTED HAIR

When we're born our small bodies are perfect
Whether our skins dark or fair
It’s only much later we get in a state
When our follicles start growing hair

On our heads - well we probably have some
And over that we have some control
We can cut it or wave it - perm it or shave it
Without too much fuss on the whole

But hair is a fast growing substance
Be it blonde be it black grey or red
Be it natural or styled but what drives me wild
Is it doesn't just grown on your head

When you're thirteen you're desperate to have some
To show you got puberty right
So you check every hour in the bath in the shower
And in bed with a torch late at night

By your twenties it's started to bore you
Shaving your legs takes such time
You cut and you hack but the stuff still grows back
And the worse is the - bikini line

It grows back like a beard if you shave it
So you make an appointment for waxing
If you've never before had your skin peeled 'til raw
You might find this experience taxing

You are in the hands of a sadist
As you lie on your back on the bed
She’s rough and she's careless the result will be hairless
And swollen and sore and bright red

Out you limp looking like a plucked chicken
Glancing under your arms as you're dressing
Suppressing a scream you decide to buy cream
'Cause the waxing things just too depressing

Later in life it's no better
Just when you're getting a grip
When you're looking your best it sprouts from your chest
Down your nostrils and it coats your top lip

Well you've tried everything on the market
But enough is enough so it's said
So to save all the mess you start to cross dress
Buy a Trilby and you call yourself Fred.....

Copyright Liz Czap 2008

Well my trip to the Charity shops yesterday taught me that other peoples rubbish isn’t what it used to be. People don’t seem to give away the good stuff anymore, or if they do they don’t give it away in my size. The two items that caught my interest were in sizes 8 and 10. Since I am unlikely to attain either of those elusive sizes at least until I am decomposing, I was stuffed to say the least.

I remember years ago when I was even poorer than I am now (is that possible?) I used to grab some real doozies at the Charity Shop. I well remember the Beaver Lamb Coat I picked up for a fiver. Now before the animal rights people come around and throw paint over my head, let me explain.

I was really really poor, I needed a coat. It was a very warm coat. I worked with a girl who was a vegan at the time, (you could tell by her ears) and I thought she was going to expire with indignation. Is that an Animal? she screeched, steam pouring from her pointed lugholes. Calm down love I said backing away against the wall of the office with a chair in one hand and a bin in the other. I took it to the vet, there was nothing they could do, they said if I had gone 20 years earlier they might have had a chance. Here, take it to the kitchen and give it a nice saucer of milk. There’s a good girl. Years later she let me adopt one of her cats. But she always examined my hats and scarves very carefully, for purring (and fleas).

Another thing about shopping in posh town charity shops is that they are hard to recognise. I kid you not, the only difference between Cancer Research and the Edinburgh Woollen Mill in this place was the price.

As for Help the Aged, I think their whole take on the thing is just to employ them. Customers kept having to wake up the poor old thing on the till to pay. Is this Dior? I said holding up a gorgeous shift dress. No I think it’s quite cheap love she said and settled her head back onto her plate of biscuits. Oh never mind.

The Salvation army was interesting, I was no sooner through the door than a tambourine was thrust in my hand and I was half way through a chorus of onward christian soldiers before I realised the Charity shop was next door. They asked me if I would like to join, and I was tempted. I’ve always liked men in uniform. I don’t think that I could cope with all the singing though, and they didn’t have a gap in the band for a spoon player.

So I sloped off home despondent and empty handed, . It doesn’t help that I am a funny shape. Some women are pear shaped, and some are apple shaped, I am more of a potato myself (spud for short) I haven’t got a waist, more of a level crossing, test tube rather than hour glass, and I’ve got no bum. Well I did have one but I divorced him. Talking of whom. I bumped into him yesterday, he has got so FAT! I haven’t seen him for about a year, and holy crap he’s huge. I really wanted to walk around him (it would have taken a while) and exclaim at his blubber. Mind you, it cheered me up no end. I came home and hugged present Hubby, who for all his foibles is a sweetie.

You’re gorgeous I said hugging him. Oh my God he said looking worried, what have you bought?

Nothing I said smiling sweetly. Well apart from the T Shirt and cropped combat trousers I got from George at Asda on the way home, but I’m ageing them in the wardrobe for a few weeks before I bring them out. What these old things I shall say with surprise. I’ve had them ages.

The upside of not finding anything in the charity shops was of course that now I shall not have the embarassment of standing in the queue in Sainsburys while some old buffer remarks loudly. "Marjorie, didn't that used to be YOUR wetsuit".................

I was stood in my bedroom this morning, naked. Ewww don’t get any ideas, it’s not a pretty sight. In fact that reminds me, I must remember to lower the blinds, chap across the road keeps phoning and saying he doesn’t know what I’m wearing but it needs ironing.

Anyway, there stood I, unclad and Hubby comes into to the bedroom. What are you doing he asks. Just thinking I said. Really? How’s that working out for you? He chirped. I wish I was a morning person, and my shot was better. Still I never did like that bedside lamp.

I’ve got nothing to wear I moaned. Well that’s because you’ve lost weight he purred in his I’m talking to a small child voice. Well it’s not a good look I said. Everything is hanging off me, and I keep getting grabbed by well meaning employees at the back of Asda and being offered stale bread. No that’s not the clothes he said, that’s because you keep taking the dog out on a piece of string. He might have a point.

I need new clothes and we’ve got no money I said stamping my foot and sticking my lip out. I might have been tempted to lie down , drum my heels and have a full blown tantrum but like I said, I’m not a morning person.

The credit crunch has caught up with us too, and work is slow for Hubby. Not much call for a self employed snow plough driver. Damned global warming.

What about the Charity shops he suggested. Drive out to one of the posher market towns, much better class of rubbish! The mans a genius!

So that’s my day sorted. I‘ll just pop on my oversized trench coat , a trilby and a pair of dark glasses, (don’t want to be mistaken for Victoria Beckham AGAIN), and I’m off. Now where are my wellies??

I guess it’s stale bread for lunch again. Must check the calories.

Since I started this diet I have become obsessed with weighing myself. Obsessed is Hubbies word. I prefer intense self interest, it’s a phrase less likely to get you sectioned.

According to my best friend “They say you should only weigh yourself once a week” Who are THEY? They want to try coming here and saying it. They should mind their own beeswax in my opinion and leave me to my own obsessive self interested little ways.

Hubby has threatened to hide the scales. “Don‘t you dare” said I in what could be called a forceful manner, cradling my precious booty and rocking back and forth (!) “Holy Crap woman, he spluttered, calm down, or at least put the knife down and we’ll talk”. So the scales have stayed.

Sometimes I like them and most times I don’t. They can either be my best friend or my very worst enemy. Even when they tell me what I want to hear I don’t believe them. I move them from room to room and surface to surface just to check. I don’t know if standing on the flat roof outside the bathroom window naked in a hail storm could actually be classed as odd behaviour. But the neighbours have bought binoculars and I suspect that hazy image on You Tube could have been me.

Of course, whatever they say it still isn’t classed as my “official” weight. No, that is taken every Tuesday evening at Fat Fighters, presided over by the Guru of all knowledge “Our Consultant” (we’re not worthy).

The whole weigh in thing is, of course, confidential. Having said that we still queue near enough to see the other peoples expressions, hear their cries of despair or their triumphant punching of the air when they’ve shed a pound or two. Me being the Gobshite that I am can’t help cheering them on from the line up. Stand on one leg and lean back a bit, I encourage. Close one eye and stick your finger in your ear. Oops, blimey that was a nasty fall. Put some butter on it, yeah the low fat kind. It’ll be fine.

Anyhoo the good news is that last night I got my 2 stone certificate Yey for me. 2 stone for our non stone speaking readers equates to 28lbs, 14 bags of sugar or a small child, either way I am chuffed to little mint balls (sugar free.)

Right then, enough of this pontificating, the dog has a desperate look about him and has exercised the patience of a saint while I have been sat here boring the pants of you. If I had been him I would have chewed through the telephone wire and poohed in my handbag by now.

Hello? Hello? Ewww what’s that smell………………………………....................

I work with lots of men. Which is refreshing at times, at least I don’t have to deal with PMT and Bitching and Moaning. Well maybe the bitching and moaning part, but at least they are not given to throwing things (mostly).

A couple of weeks ago one of my colleagues approached my desk with a worried frown. For a moment I panicked, I thought perhaps the stationary cupboard was out of paperclips again. But no, he just wanted to give me some advice (?)

You’re losing too much weight he accused. Am I Doctor? I replied. Men don’t like skinny women you know - whoa tell that to Posh Spice. You’re right I agreed, how many gorgeous looking men do you see with a skinny girl on their arm? Oh that’s right! All of them. Blokes like something to get hold of he insisted. WELL alert the media, we know men like something to get hold of, problem is that they hold it far too much in my opinion, but I digress. If you lose any more weight your husband will leave you, he informed me. YIKES, didn’t know he knew Hubby? Had they been meeting in secret? Were they conspiring against me? And you know this how? I asked. Men just don’t like skinny birds that’s all he muttered and sloped off.

Well that left me with some food for thought (mmm Food) so when I arrived home that evening I confronted Hubby who was reclining with beer in hand on the coach enjoying a good scratch. Blokey at work says you’ll leave me if I lose any more weight I said. He looked confused, and put down his beer, so I could tell he was thinking. He nodded to himself and I could tell he had come to an important decision. Nah, he said picking up his beer. Too much hassle. I’ll just order you a large Pizza.

Marriage crisis over, I skipped off to have a shower and dream of Meat Feast with extra mushrooms.

Just in case you’re wondering I am hardly skeletal. I stand 5 feet six inches tall, and weigh 160lbs and according to the NHS Website, my BMI is still in the overweight range. So Boo Sucks to you Blokey.

Ok folks, after a false start, we're off!

Like most women I have been battling my weight for years. I put on a bit here, I lose a bit there, I put on alot, I don't lose so much. I'd like to say that I could still do a Pirelli Calendar. Well actually I probably could, but only to advertise their spare tyres. I have two large love handles, (for that read fat hips), that I have named. Yes Starsky & Hutch like their namesakes have been around since the 70's and keep popping up when I least want to see them.

So this time around I decided enough was enough and back in March I joined a slimming club. I clearly can't do this thing on my own and need to be policed on a weekly basis. So I went along to the class and I stepped on the scales, I checked behind me to see who else had got on with me, cause I couldn't believe I was actually THAT fat. I was.

So armed with all the books and advice and assorted paraphenalia I headed off home to begin my regime. Now, when you are depriving yourself (as you see it). Not eating chocolate, or cake, or bicuits and measuring your Vodka in a shot glass so as not to go over, well you imagine you deserve instant results. Size 10 by teatime that was what I wanted.

The next week I went back and stood on the scales hoping for gasps of amazement, fireworks, and large bouquets of assorted flora and fauna. I was sorely disappointed. 2lbs the consultant said. Well done. WHAT?
I was expecting at least 10 for that amount of deprivation. I mean 2lbs, it's no more than a good poo is it? So feeling despondent and in need of at least a large bar of chocolate, off I went with my tail between my legs and my love handles firmly intact.

The next week I lost 3lbs, and since then I have lost 25lbs although sadly not in a week. Now this is a GOOD thing, and although I don't yet look hot, (well I do in the morning but that's usually the steam from the dishwasher). I do look a whole heap better than I did. I have at least another 20lbs to go to be able to look myself in the eye and say "Damn Girl you're looking Good".

Four months into the diet things have started to dip a bit, you know what I mean, I've dipped into the biscuits, the chocolate, and the sour cream and chive kind of dipping. So I decided I needed a little more encouragement and that is where you come in dear reader.

Cheer me on, cheer me up. Tell me what I want to hear and when the occasion calls, tell me to step away from the biscuit barrel.

Starsky and Hutch are smaller and more shrivelled than they once were (have you seen David Soul lately?) but they are still there, and as much as we have been through, enough is enough.

So help me out here folks. I might not yet make size 10 by teatime, but there's a chance I could get close around November?

Have a good day y'all.