Size 10 by teatime

I went to buy a pair of jeans today. Now I am shrinking a bit I thought that the dressing room mirrors could hold no further horrors for me. Oh dear. How wrong can you be?

I found a pair of jeans that I liked and tried them on. Fitted on the waist (tick), fitted on the bum (tick). Fitted on the hips (tick). I paraded out of the changing room where Hubby was slumped in a chair. I woke him. What do you think? I said. Yeah, he said, with all the enthusiasm of a man being asked if he wanted a vasectomy without an anaesthetic.

So I went back into the changing room, and did a little twirl, and that’s when it happened. I caught sight of my face.

I looked in the mirror and this middle aged old biddy looked back at me. I checked behind me just in cast the local nutter had got in there. Well she had as it happens, but there WAS only me in there.

I looked at the wrinkles, the eyes that are starting to show signs of bags, the neck that is getting a little saggy, and the air went out of me Pfft. No, I didn’t make a farting noise and fly around the room. I was way too depressed for that!

I took off the jeans, and went back out to Hubby. Are you getting them then? He said.

No, I said. Why not? They’re fine. I know, I agreed but I look old. Eh? He shook his head in bewilderment. What are you on about? My face, I said, I look old, and it’s horrible. He silently handed the jeans back to the equally confused assistant. “I thought they looked great? She said. “so did I sighed Hubby, but apparently they make her face look old. Then he took me by the hand and led me out of the shop.

Where are we going? I asked. To the pub said he. Well how will that help? I asked.

Beer goggles he said. After two or three large drinks, you can go into the loo at the pub and trust me, you’ll be amazed how young and attractive you look.

How do you know that will work? I asked.

Well, he said. It’s works for me!

I have just bought a lovely (I thought) pair of over the knee flat boots in black. I was delighted with them and thought they would be great with my jeans and leggings all winter (Trendy? That’s me).

Imagine my disappointment then, when I discovered that now my legs are not a plump as they once were, the boots sag in little heaps around my ankles instead of staying firmly just above the knee.

I’m gutted. No really I am. So what’s the answer, do I put on weight to hold me boots up? Or do I find a way of keeping them up. I was thinking about getting some bits of elastic. Those of us who grew up in the sixties will remember garters. But will I look stupid (do I care?) Son’s girlfriend suggested pinning them to my leggings, but knowing my luck, all that would happen is that the boots would drag down the leggings and leave me exposing my under crackers to a perplexed, nay dismayed public.

It’s not the first time this sort of thing has happened to me.

A few years ago I lost a similar amount of weight, and bought a pair of hold ups (stockings without suspenders) to wear under my business suit to an important breakfast meeting. As I stopped at the garage to get petrol, I felt them start to slip a bit. So bought a pair of tights while I was there, just in case.

As I arrived at the meeting, some of the posh delegates drew up in the next car and shouted good morning. As I walked towards them the stockings started to move further and further down my legs. My walk became stranger and stranger (in a knock kneed) sort of way, in an effort not to do a complete Norah Batty in the car park.

In the end, I kind of hopped and staggered to the ladies to change into the tights. Leaving the delegates standing there, looking puzzled and commenting to each other, that they hadn’t realised I was disabled.

I don’t have a posh job anymore. Is there any wonder? ……………………………

Oh dear. I have always prided myself on being the cool Mom. No.1 son has always shared things with me, from the fear of being rejected by his first loves, to will it REALLY make you blind?

I have always been cool and practical, and realistic and kept it all in perspective. Known what was cool at the moment and thought I was pretty much up to date.

Not so it seems.

Today, No.1 Son and girlfriend called round for a coffee and a chat. Girlfriend is worried about a work colleague who is clearly taking drugs and seems messed up and wanted my advice on how to help her.

So I took a sip of my coffee and asked "so what's the story then?"

Well said Girlfriend, she's admitted to smoking crack, but she has a chequered past, and used to self harm.

Sorry? I said, she used to sell what?

You know Mom, says No.1 son, Self Harm, cut herself and stuff.

Well, I started to giggle, (and please, Self Harming is NOT funny and I have great compassion for people who do this). But what I thought she said was "she used to sell farm"

No.1 son immediately knew what I thought she had said, and started to giggle too, until the both of us were helpless with laughter, while girlfriend look confused.

I collected myself eventually enough to tell her that, I had heard of crack, smack and dope, but not farm.

So there were all three of us helpless. I'm clearly too old for the youth culture.

Maybe I need an ear clean, or just a lie down........................

So here I sit procrastinating. It's aint pretty You see, I should be cleaning the bathroom, and then they yard and then the Oops dropped off for a minute.

But I'd rather just bore you lot silly with my inane ramblings, it takes less effort somehow.

Hubby did the cleaning yesterday, but sadly his version of cleaning only extends to the foot of our stairs. Literally.

I've vacuumed the stairs and gone over all the bits Hubby missed yesterday in his laisser faire half assed cleaning foray. I don't want to moan (but I will) but never to him because somedays half assed is ok by me. Today, he is working and so that leaves me and Dawg. I've tried to talk Dawg into cleaning the bathroom, (most of it is his mess following his bath yesterday). But we've only got as far as drinking out of the toilet. Well Dawg has, I had an orange squash instead.

So I've promised myself that if I can get my aged old keister up the stairs and give the bathroom the attention it deserves, and not just a flick with a damp cloth. The I shall treat Dawg and I to a lovely romp in the fields. It's a lovely day and not really designed for bathroom cleaning. There I go again talking myself out of it.

Right!! I'm going, where's the bog brush................

Well it must have looked odd!

Hubby and I both clad in just underwear from the waist down and both leaning into the shower. The front door bursts open and there stood No.1 son at the bottom of the stairs.

Hi guys he yells, thought I would pay a visit. Stops, dead in his tracks, and takes in the view (he can only see the bottom half) from the bottom of the stairs.

Is this not a good time he asks. Oh come on up I said, the more the merrier. He looked worried. You alright Mum? asks No1. Son backing towards the door.

Cause I'm alright, We're just trying to shower the dawg, he stinks!!

The look of relief on his face (Son's not Dawg, he WAS worried) was classic. Ah family life.......................

Well, if it’s not enough that we have the credit crunch to deal with, job cuts, money drying up, creditors phoning at all hours. But to top it all I’ve got a cold sore!

Now that IS a crisis of global proportions if you ask me. Why? Because I’m utterly selfish, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. ME ME ME!!!

It’s huge! I’m not exaggerating, well maybe a little bit. My poor nose has been running and I have wiped it with those tissues that are supposed to be soft and gentle. Well probably the first three times, but on the twentieth occasion you might as well be wiping your snout with sandpaper.

So consequently my lips have been peeled red raw and the said cold sore has grown to the size of a small planet.

Just look at this I said to Hubby. What? He said, I can’t see anything. He was only being kind. But I wouldn’t let it lie. In the end he got tired of the whining. I’ve got just the thing he announced. He disappeared off upstairs and came back down with a large paper bag and his Ipod.

How will that help I asked? Well he said, popping the paper bag over my head. This way neither of us has to look at it, and I can’t hear a thing.

Nice! Hello? Hello? Anyone there?

My new friend "http://www.blog.co.uk/user/adamantixx/" (Sorry! That's the best I can do as a technophobe.) Wrote a really good blog about bodice rippers and I commented with one of my daft ditties. He thought you should see it. So here it is. I wrote it quite a few years ago when I discovered Mills & Boon at the library as a teenager. Before I found better material, or even began writing it. Enjoy!

MILLS & BOON

I've seen the old bids down the Library
as they furtively peer through the gloom
and they shun all the culture but they'll fight like a vulture
to get to the new Mills & Boon

As reading goes it's quite harmless
it surely beats reading the Sun
though most men would agree that it lacks a page three
well it's got one but it's not so much fun

Mills and boon are quite strict with their writers
they must stick to a proven idea
their men never wear vests on their broad manly chests
and they much prefer champagne to beer

The hero must always be macho
won't wear pink isn't limp in the wrist
the women are frilly submissive and silly
pay attention you're getting the gist

Her hair must be black like a raven
her eyes must be violet of green
and he might be Italian and hung like a stallion
but they wouldn't print that - it's obscene

She always hates him at the outset
she's impervious to his great charms
but he won't give a toss 'cause this guy is the boss
and he knows she'll end up in his arms

Their eyes might just meet in a restaurant
or on a cruise on a boat out at sea
it won't matter where 'cause he won't start to care
'til at least page two hundred and three

Then just when she's sobbing and desperate
convinced that he'll marry her friend
when her hearts fit to bust he'll be conquered by lust
and it all turns out right in the end

There's no mystery no malice no murder
if there is it was all a mistake
there's no inclement weather no one dressed in leather
and no down the earth sex for Gods sake

On occasion they'll mention his manhood
as she swoons in his arduous embrace
but they never say if it gets in the way
or indeed if it finds the right place

So you won't find me down at the Library
in the queue to be easily led
about Tarquin and Florence - I'll read D.H. Lawrence
'cause at least they all end up in bed

Someone sent this to me today, and it made me laugh so much I had to share it..............

I want to thank you one and all for the e-mails you have forwarded to me over the past year.

I must send a big thank you to whoever sent me the one about rat poo in the glue on envelopes, because I now have to use a wet sponge with every envelope that needs sealing.

Also, I now have to wipe the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it all to a sick girl (Penny
Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time. But that will change once I receive the £15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft are sending me for participating in their special email programmes. Or from the senior bank clerk in Nigeria who wants to split seven million pounds with me for pretending to be a long lost relative of a customer who died intestate.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me.

I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward emails to seven friends and make a wish within five minutes.

I no longer drink Coca-Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer can buy petrol without taking a friend along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm filling up.

I no longer go to shopping centres because someone will drug me and rob me.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number and then I'll get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica , Uganda, Singapore and Uzbekistan , and even Scunthorpe.

I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my bum.

If you don't send this email to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhoea will poo on your head at 5:00pm this afternoon and fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump.

I know this because it actually happened to a friend of my next door
neighbour's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician.

By the way....a South American scientist after a lengthy study has discovered that people with low IQ who don't have enough sex, always read their emails while holding the mouse.

Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late!!!

Well it was fat fighters again tonight. I dragged my diseased body out of my pit and went to get weighed. No, No, don't gasp in admiration. I'm a tough cookie, and as we've already said, it wasn't man flu. Just the lesser female kind (a bit of a sniffle).

I wasn't expecting miracles, because mucus weighs heavy, and I am the epitamy of a snot monster right now. So I went in just for the weighing bit. I took off everything I possibly could (as usual). Wooden leg, fake boobs, false teeth, glass eye (you get the picture) I hopped on the scales, well it's difficult without the leg.

The guy that was doing the weighing made me get on twice, well hop. He was aghast (and so was I). I lost 3.5lbs. Woohoo!! Am I a happy bunny, I would say so!

I weigh 10 stone something for the first time in years. I am turning back into a babe, albeit with a wooden leg, glass eye, false teeth, and fake boobs. But the guys at the nursing home at the end of our road wake up when I go past. That might have something to do with the volume of my stereo. But I can dream.

The guy at the scales got all excited (NO. not in that way). You should stay for class he said, you'll get slimmer of the week with that loss.

Slimmer of the week gets a prize! Yey. It is all the odds and sods other members have brought and put in a bowl. I had seen the contents while I was paying. There was a yoghurt, two cereal bars, an overipe banana and an incontinence pad. Well, nothing I don't have at home then?

It's ok, I said, I'm feeling rough, I'll just go home.

So here I am. Celebrating with a nice big Vodka and (diet) coke. I love this losing weight lark. Now. All I have to do is lose another 9lbs and I will be at target and not have to pay anymore. Then comes the hard bit. Keeping it off. Mmmmmmmmmm........................

Oh dear. I woke up this morning and I have turned into a snot monster. I am snuffling, sneezing, sore throat, aching limbs. I went to work anyway.

Sympathy? As if? the blokes at work told me if I wanted to find it, I had to look in the Dictionary. Apparently it is somewhere between sh*t and syphillis. Well OK then.

I did say at the morning meeting. Don't get on my case, I don't feel well. "is it man flu" one of them asked. "Er no," I said. If it was we would have to call an ambulance and alert the media. "I'll just muddle through" I snuffled.

Well with man flu there is alot of lying about and dying and taking custody of the remote control.

Women on the other hand, even though they feel like sh*t on a stick, will carry on and take care of the kids, keep the house clean and do the cooking.

But you know what? tomorrow, I might just hide under the duvet and see what it is really like to be a man. Well not exactly. I won't scratch and sniff (Urgh), I won't fart and blame it on the dawg. He can do that quite well by himself trust me.

But. I might just claim to be made imobile by the cold virus. I will demand the remote control, coffee, snacks, magazines, massages by muscle bound men (oh hang on, most blokes don't ask for that) Anyhoo. I will be pathetic, needy, and groan a lot.

I don't expect it to get me anywhere. But it might be fun.

As for the guys at work.

Ah bless em. They need to know, that I never get mad. But I ALWAYS get even.............................

Who needs computer games? We have just been out with one of my friends and her two kids (aged 7 & 11)

We took a picnic to a local park that has a big lake. We gave the kids a couple of tennis balls and a few sticks and they threw the sticks and the balls in to the lake over and over again for Dawg to chase.

We sat happily on the bank and ate our picnic, and watched them get wet and muddy.

There was lots of laughter, and everyone went home tired and happy, including Dawg.

Better still, there were no wasps.

What a great way to spend a Sunday.....................

Did you miss me? I know, I know, only with the first shot right? We've had a terrible virus here. No, it's not what you think, it wasn't me, and it wasn't hubby, and there was no medicine involved.

Wednesday night I tried to log on to the blog and nothing happened. "Oy,I shouted to hubby, nothings happening" "Oh don't start he said" and then realised I was talking about the computer. "Right, he said scratching, (I've told him about it and it's not pretty.) "What have you done this time?" Me? I said. Nothing! "Yeah" he said, indiscriminately pushing buttons were ya? "Get in here, I yelled, my public need me! I know, delusions of grandeur, but someone has to have them.

So anyhoo. The computer was toast, dead, nada, nothing, niente. It wasn't working and it had picked up a virus. I put cream on. I massaged, I talked to it gently. Nothing worked.

It has taken Hubby until today to fix it.

So here is a quick precis of the week so far.

Wednesday. Computer went T*ts up!!

Thursday. Hubby caught me sleeping on the couch and sucked my toe on the way past (eugh) I kicked off literally, but we don't expect there to be a permanent scar. What? he said, isn't that supposed to be sexy? No, I said, I can't bear people messing with my feet, and bloody Sarah Ferguson has a lot to answer for if you ask me?

Friday. Hubby went missing for an hour and a half, while walking to the off License. A journey that usually takes 20 minutes on foot. In the end I was worried (well he had the dawg with him and I love that dawg).
Eventually I set off to look for him and told No. 1 son to phone if he turned up. I was almost at the Off license when the phone went, it was Hubby. Hi, he said, sounding upbeat, happy and frankly a bit pissed (as in drunk) where are ya. Looking for you darling I said between gritted teeth. Oh he said, I'm home now. What took you so long I asked. Oh he said, we wandered here and there. Oh did you? I said, and did you wander into the new pub that has opened at the bottom of the road? Well, he said, not on purpose (?) Some people wanted to fuss the dawg. Yeah, Yeah, and they forced you into a chair and bought you a pint? That's right he said. He does talk some b*llocks sometimes but you have to laugh.

Saturday. We took a drive into the lovely shropshire countryside and walked dawg, and then went into one of the upmarket towns to have a wander. I went into a Charity shop to look at a coat I fancied. What do you think? I asked Hubby, You look like a gorilla with a perm he said. Ye Gods man, I said, let me try the coat on first, it might improve me.

So that was my week. How was yours?.......................

Getting a weigh with it

Just got back from my weekly Fat Fighters weigh in, and I lost a pound. Don't ask me how, I have no idea, especially since I have been residing on the planet PIG this week.

Ohh well done! said consultant in her best patronising voice! You HAVE done well. I felt about 3 years old and demanded a lollipop. Did you follow the plan I suggested? For those new to my idiotic empire, she was referring to the leaflet she gave me last week entitled "Let's starve ourselves" the way to eat yourself from the inside!! Erm, no, I said, I did something else. Oh what was that then? Well alot of liquids I said. Good, Good, she said clapping her hands together so her chins wobbled in a very intersting way. WATER is a marvellous aid to weight loss!!

Yes, I said, but this was Vodka and it seems to have done the trick! The Paprika crisps were lovely too, although I can't find them on the plan. Oh and I did enjoy a whole bowl of chocolate Angel Delight on Saturday. Do you think that might be the secret?

She looked shocked (no, she did!). Well it might catch up with you next week she spluttered. Well, I said, I have a plan. I intend to run very very fast for most of next week, I'll text you and let you know how far I get shall I? No response. Oops I thought! Gone too far this time, but no, she was examining a hairy mole on her big toe (how they get in I don't know? We had bison last week!) I put my clothes on (well, it's not good unless you're naked is it) and slunk back to my seat.

Needless to say when she went around the room she didn't ask me to tell the class how I had succeeded in losing weight this week. Don't know why.

I skipped into the house and yelled Yippee, I lost a pound. Hubby looked up from his colouring book. AGAIN? he said, you really ought to be more careful with your money.....................

I am a bit of a magpie (well, I don’t steal and I can’t fly) but I love anything that sparkles, or has beads on it or shines. So a perfect shopping trip for me would be a big old fashioned market where there are jewellery stalls, and handbags, and trinkets and candles. You get the picture. Hubby isn’t a fan of these trips at all. He shuffles his feet and sighs a lot, and looks longingly in the direction of the pub.

But take him to a food market and he’s in his element. That man just loves food and will eat anything (I’m not kidding). He loves looking at food, buying food, cooking food and most of all eating it. He is a foodie through and through.

His family originate in Eastern Europe so he is very fond off Hungarian, Polish and German food. A branch of Lidl has opened recently close to where we live so on Saturday I suggested we go and have a mooch around to see what they had on offer. We know how to live us eh? Can you bear the excitement??

So off we went and we were no sooner through the doors than a huge smile lit up his fizog and he was OFF! Practically skipping down the isle, picking things up and oohing an arghing. All sorts of delicacies were thrown into the trolley with gay abandon, (gay being used here in it’s original context, happy excited etc) I don’t want anyone, least of all hubby thinking I am implying that he bats for the other team. Ye gods!!

So pots of Hungarian goulash were chosen, German sausage, smoked cheeses, olives, nuts, and paprika flavoured crips. You name it in it went, with his smile getting bigger by the minute. At one point he became mesmerised with a small tin of something, so I took a closer look. Octopus in its own ink. Er No, I said. “Why not” he said, “you don’t have to eat it” “I know” I said,” and I don’t really want you to eat it either”. “Why not” he said, “I won’t eat it in front of you”. “Honey” I pleaded, I’d really rather you didn’t eat it at all, the thought of it was making me feel quite sick. Octopus in its own ink is only a step away from Poodle in its own pooh if you ask me. He relented thankfully and went off and had a good look at the beer section.

We took our booty to the till. That will be £29 please, said the cashier. “Blimey” Shrieked Hubby, “How did we spend £30 on snacks?” looking at me accusingly. “We didn’t”, I said. “This is the only thing I put in the trolley”, I held up a small pack of bread sticks priced at 49p.

Humph he grunted, furiously gazing at the rest of the items hoping to find something else he hadn’t chosen. He couldn’t, because it was all his. I just smiled and helped him pack it all into bags.

I do hope he remembers this little incident the next time I buy a few “bits & pieces” at the rag market. He won’t of course. But not to worry. I shall have lots of fun reminding him…………………….

I went into a bakers today.

I said "can I have a wasp please?"

Baker said "We don't sell wasps"

"Well" I said "You've got one in the window"

I'll get me coat......................

Well. It's clearly time for bed. Dawg just came downstairs, sniffed me, and tried to nudge me off my chair. Hubby has been snoring for the last hour. I offered dawg a drink, not interested. I offered him a walk outside. He looked at me with an "are you kidding" expression. SO I guess he came downstairs to round up the pack. Time I packed it in then? Goodnight.................

I am sucker for anything on the telly. Just ask Hubby. He despairs. If it cleans my toilet more efficiently or gets the stains out of HIS underpants then I'm getting it tomorrow. I am an Ad mans dreams.

Recently I have become interested in the coverage of Tena Lady. No. I don't have a "Sensitive Bladder" and I haven't had an accident in the last two years. (oops sorry that might be the ambulance chasers. My aplogies)

But, what I have noticed is that these women always have successful lives, a flock of grandchildren and a up to minute bicyle.

Ok. I'm thinking about buying some. I don't want grandchildren right now. My life is fine thanks. But I wouldn't mind a new bike................

No.1 son and girlfriend have spent the last week on holiday in Tunisia.

I got a text from Son on Tuesday morning that said. “Mum, what time is our flight on Wednesday?” What?

I don’t remember agreeing to fly them home on the broomstick. Another text followed shortly after. “We can’t get through to the number on our phone”

Ah, the penny dropped. It was very likely TOO EXPENSIVE for them to call the information line. I can hear the conversation now. “Should we call and find out what time our flight goes?” “We should, but it’ll cost shed loads from here. I know I’ll text Mum, she’ll do it”.

I looked across at the chap who sits opposite me at work. “Do I have sucker written on my forehead” I asked him. He nodded, I shall always regret getting that tattoo. So a few more texts later and I had the flight no. so I called the information line. “Hello and welcome to let us lose your luggage.com. To book a flight press 1.
To change a flight press 2. To find out which flight your useless half wit son and his girlfriend are supposed to be on, press 3. I pressed 3. “Your call may be recorded for training purposes – you are live on Channel 4 please do not swear” “When making an enquiry please have the surname of the lead passenger, and your booking reference ready” Aaargh!!! I had the booking reference alright, but Girlfriend had booked the holiday in her name and I had NO idea of her surname. It’s just never come up. They have been together for 2 years now, but there has never been an occasion when I have said ere Ethel, what’s your last name?

It was a lot easier in the days of Jane Austen if you ask me. Then Son would have brought her around to a formal tea and said “Mater, please allow me to present Miss Pebbledash” and I would have said “Charmed I’m sure. Do take the weight off your parasol, and have a fancie. But it didn’t happen like that it was more a case of Mum, this is Ethel, any beer in the fridge?

Fortunately the airline also had a website. It was the .com bit on the end that finally gave that away, so I went on there, and you didn’t need surnames, just a flight number, so that was alright.

I must have got the right information because they got home yesterday, and called around last night for a visit. “So how was it?” I asked? “Hot”, said Son, “The food was awful and covered in flies” said girlfriend. “There were horrible big ant things all over the beach” said Son. “The shopkeepers were really scary” said girlfriend. “They would drag you bodily into the shop and not let you leave until you’d bought something” Hubby looked up from picking his toe nails. “Sounds familiar he said, looking at me. Do you have any Tunisian ancestors”? Laugh, I didn’t. “We’ve not really eaten anything but bread all week” said Son. “We got bitten to death by mosquitoes” said girlfriend. “Right”, I said “so you didn’t really enjoy it then? “

“Oh No” they said, “we had a GREAT time”. Ok then?. “And”, said Girlfriend, “we had the trots for 3 days so I’ve lost almost a stone”. That perked me up. “Fancy Tunisia darling” I asked Hubby? The look said it all. He doesn’t………………….

Well I attended my weekly fat fighters meeting last night for my “official” weigh in. According to the scales I had put on half a pound. Well I demanded a steward’s enquiry. The scale teetered about for ages before it finally decided that I had gained half a pound. Which tells me it was probably only a couple of ounces? Pah!

Consultant, looked at my record card and said “Mmm your weight has been stuck here for a couple of weeks hasn’t it. Perhaps you’ve reached a plateau” Well I misheard her and thought she said Platter, I wondered if she had me under surveillance when I was communing with that plate of sausage rolls. “Tell you what” she said brightly, “Would you like a challenge?” What? For a moment I thought she was going to make me eat three cream crackers while balancing a glass of water on my head. But no. She whipped a leaflet out from her vast basket of stuff and thrust it into my sticky palms. “Try this” She encouraged; it might just give you a kick start.

Apparently it is the Fat fighter’s equivalent of “drastic measures”. So I flicked through the booklet, it didn’t take long. I can’t remember the title of this particular programme; something like “Die of malnutrition the painful way” There was a picture of a skeleton on the front.

The regime was as follows

Breakfast. Clean your teeth; you may swallow half of the toothpaste.

Lunch. 2 prawns and a segment of grapefruit

Dinner Stand outside Kentucky Fried Chicken and inhale deeply.

Snack Half a peanut and a glass of water.

Well tempted though I was, I deduced that there was more nutritional value to the leaflet so I ate that, then felt guilty and asked for another.

I took it home and showed Hubby. He glanced through it and said “What is wrong with these people?” “Here, have a bun.”

You see, I have already lost two stone, and I don’t look too bad now. (If you close one eye and drink a lot of alcohol) Hubby’s eye’s light up when I come into the room. Mind you that might be more to do with the LED bulbs I had fitted to his glasses. And he has started shopping in La Sensa and Ann Summers for skimpy undies. They don’t really suit him, but the look of confused pain that crosses his face when he pulls up that thong is priceless and only the thin end of the wedge if you ask me.

So I have decided to give fat fighters another month and see what happens. If I stay the same so what? It’s obviously God’s way of telling me that my ass is the right size. Besides which, we’ll probably all have disappeared into a black hole by then. So I might just as well stuff my face. Pass the biscuits……………………..

Someone sent me this joke today.....

Couple on their wedding night.
Wife says to Husband. "darling I have a confession, I used to be a hooker"

Husband replies, "well never mind darling, that was all in the past, but I find the idea strangely erotic. Tell me more"

"Well" say's Wife. "My name was Nigel and I played Rugby for Wigan"

I'm still sniggering to be honest....

Have you ever had those days when you wonder if you really ARE insane, or if it is the other bloke (or woman).

Today I hadn’t prepared anything to bring to work for my lunch, but there was some left over chicken in the fridge. So I thought oh good I will go into our little cafeteria at work and get something from the salad bar to go with the chicken. Easy Peasy. Well not really as it happens. I went into the cafeteria only to be told by the smiling, cheerful, always helpful person behind the counter, that they no longer do a salad bar. What? You did one yesterday, I had some. Really I did. She gave me a look designed to make small children cry (I lied about her happy personality) grunted, wiped something unspeakable off her nose with her apron and said “ well we’ve stopped, nobody was buying it” “Apart from me, I was buying it!” (I’ve always feared that I might be a nobody, but to have it confirmed so bluntly was a bit of a blow I can tell you.)

She sniffed some more and had a bit of a rummage beneath her bosom. She didn’t find any Salad and I have to say that I was thankful for that. “We’ve got chips” she said. Oh well that’s alright then. The chip is often a popular substitute for salad, but frowned upon greatly in fatfighter circles. I didn’t want to antagonise her too much, I feared she may have a cattle prod hidden under the bain marie for the likes of me (the customer) Have you got anything else I asked with a smile. She sighed. Quite heavily actually, I had to hang on to the front of counter to avoid being blown backwards out of the door. We’ve got chips, pie, cheesecake and chocolate éclairs she said with an air of finality. She was tapping her foot by now and had all the calmness and serenity of my Uncle Fred’s bull before it is about to charge. Fruit? I squeaked, my voice having risen several octaves with the stress of the situation. She slapped a VERY ripe banana on the counter and I made a hasty retreat.

This just goes to prove what I’ve always thought. Salad isn’t always the healthiest option, and fruit can leave a nasty mark when thrown with enough force!!

I really need to have a word with myself. This dieting lark is doing me no good at all. I have this need to weigh myself ALL the time and it's getting ridiculous. Last night for instance. Having just shoveled down a large chicken dinner, with all the trimmings. No, it's not on the fat fighters programme, well not the roast spuds, yorkshire puds and gravy any road. But I have to tell you, it was delicious. I shan't be telling "consultant". I only disclose information to her on a need to know basis, and she really doesn't need to know the extent of my pigginess.

However, fatfighters meeting is tomorrow night, and I've frankly eaten too much. Now, I know there are certain poor individuals who eat too much and then "purge" I think the word is. But I have only 50% of this problem. I can binge, but I could not more stick my fingers down my throat than I could sleep with our window cleaner (don't ask).

Back to my original point, still awake? good! So it's late, I am a little "relaxed". Well relaxed as a newt to be frank, and no THAT isn't on the fatfighters programme either. So on my way to bed I decide that now might be a good time to weigh myself (why? you tell me I've clearly lost all reasoning). So I creep in to the spare room where the scales are, stark naked (oh don't! this is NOT page 3, mark you, they've got nothing I haven't got twice as much of) crouch down and reach up to put the light on, move the scales to under the window with my foot and kind of crouch on the scales. Well, you see, there are no curtains in the spare room and I didn't want the neighbours ringing the old bill and asking if there were reports of an escaped elephant.

So there I am crouching, naked under the window and peering at the dial because I hadn't got my specs on either. Hubby passing the room on his way to bed peers in and asks "what on EARTH are you doing" "Weighing myself" I replied with perfect logic. "Didn't it occur to you to put a robe on and move the scales into the bathroom" he asked with eyebrows raised. Ermmmm, well no, actually it didn't.

Still, the good news is that I was actually lighter than I thought. But then tonight I got home from work and got on again. With light clothing on, and I'm now 2lbs heavier. SO. Guess who will be crouching on the scales naked at fatfighters tomorrow. Well NOT me, I'll be sober and I'm frightened of consultant, she'll keep me behind and it's AA after us. The bar is never open and anyhow, I prefer the other kind of roadside assistance.

See ya............................

Eccentric

A couple of guys at work have mentioned it, and one or two of my blog friend too. Hubby who is Canadian (someone has to be) always says that eccentric is just a word to describe a crazy person with money. Well I only fit 50% of that description. Although I did find 2 pence today. I was trying not to tread in dog poop at the time. So maybe the money is coming.

So I looked it up, and this is the dictionary explanation.

deviating from the recognized or customary character, practice, etc.; irregular; erratic; peculiar; odd:

Ooh I said to Hubby. "Do you think I'm a mad old bat?". He thought for a minute and smiled. "Yeah, he said but you're MY mad old bat". Aint love grand.............................

Well, it must be a slow news day in our part of the universe. I just past an advertising Sandwich board for our local newspaper and the headline was "Mum to Be in Gas Leak Drama"

Well Kudo's to her, that's what I say. Imagine the scene when the off spring is born and she says to it "come here darling, while I tell you the story of how Mummy farted and made the front page"

It's something we all should aspire to. Pass the beans................

Regular readers to my little pile of cr*p, I mean me blog will remember that I get loads of spam for the most bizarre stuff. Latterly a great many offers for Viagra and something called the Penis Patch (I daren't ask!!).

Because I like to get emails, I am often fooled into opening these mails by the sheer ordinariness of the persons name. For instance the title might be Hello! from Helen Shaw, and gullible little me will think! Ooh didn't I used to work with a Helen Shaw once? So I click on it and lo and behold EXTEND YOUR PARTNERS........... You know the rest.

But this morning, amongst the list in the inbox was the following. "Greetings from Fannie Ponce". WHAT? I nearly fell off my chair laughing. I didn't open it. But I'm tellin ya, Hubby and I have just spend the last hour in high amusement trying to decide weather I should change my name to Fannie Ponce, or wether we should have it as a name for the house!!

I favour it for myself. Cause I am selfish. ME ME ME.

So do tell me. What daft or bizarre names have you encountered. I'm still looking for a name for my ancestoral pile (no not hubby) the house.

The favourite at the moment is Futtocks Bottom. I can see the envelopes now. Fannie Pounce, Futtocks Bottom. If I can move to Lower Piddle then all the better.

Have a good one.

Yours truly. Fannie........................

Yup, we have sunshine, albeit very watery. I just ventured out onto the Deck in me slippers (big mistake) and took a walk around the "grounds". OK, OK, it's a 20 x 12 back yard, but I can dream. One of my gladioli has toppled under the strain of the rain, know just how she feels. I will snip her as low as I can and bring her in to stand majestically in a vase by the fireplace. Well, it's sad to end your days looking wet and pathetic with your head in the mud isn't it (just ask me Dad).

I may wake Dawg up and take him for a quick run around before the next front moves in. The forecast is, well, damp to say the least. Hope everyone is ok and not flooded. I have bought a boat and sandbags, I live eight miles away from the nearest river with a flood warning, but you can't be too careful.

I know there is more on the horizon because the hill to the back of my house has completely disappeared. Weather this is down to the low cloud or my eyesight I have yet to determine.

Right, I'm going to take off these soggy slippers and find me waders.

Have a good day all....................

Well? As I sit here there is a strange noise coming from the upper floor. It sounds like a tyre leaking air. Kind of squeaky, kind of like a whistle. Oh No? It's Hubby. Dammit. I knew I shouldn't have bought him off the internet. Well at least not without the puncture kit any road. Dammit! Where DID I put that gaffer tape???????

Number one son and girlfriend have gone off on their holidays to Tunisia for a week. First holiday together (bless). I sent them off with a holiday survival kit. Pills for the trots, pills for the hangovers, plasters, antiseptic cream, you name it I bought it. Well, they don't think about these things, and I can't cope with phone calls at 3am along the lines of "I've been bitten, I've scratched it, it's spread and now it's dropped off" It's too stressful.

We told them that it would be very hot and maybe stay out of the heat around noon time. No 1 son said. "Nah, it won't be that hot, it's almost the end of summer" Doh! Not in North Africa Einstein. I blame his Father, FOR EVERYTHING! I'm allowed to, we're divorced.

Anyhow, this jetting off for a some sun and fun made me quite nostalgic for the when I was only a young slip of a girl, and I used to go off with the girls for a fortnight of sun, sea and the other s thing. Sangria that's it.

It would take too long to explain the all the daft stuff we used to get up to. So I wrote this little poem.

Hope you enjoy it.........

MAJORCA HERE WE COME

We're off to Majorca tomorrow
We’re going to get us some sun
A fortnight of sin and duty free gin
In a glass with umbrellas and fun

I do hope we get a nice villa
The toilets last year had us shocked
Tracy flushed down those things off the telly with wings
And half of the island got blocked

The cockroaches were thick as a carpet
Running all over the place
They got under my feet but I thought it was neat
When they helped me to carry my case

The beach was an oil slick with pebbles
I tried the paella in vain
'Cause later that night I was shivering and white
And I saw it again and again

The British blokes brought disappointment
They were rude and did nothing but brag
And Barry the Biker - should not have worn lycra
He looked like a boil in the bag

We went for a treck on a Donkey
Our antics were somewhat gymnastic
My saddle went slack but I clung on its back
Just by willpower and knicker elastic

I'm hoping to bring back some presents
A sombrero and a rude stick of rock
And some duty-free beer - unlike last year
When my gifts were a bit of a shock

I did bring my Mum back some perfume
And something unscheduled as well
'Cause in the dark Spanish heat a brickie called Pete
'Caused more than my ankles to swell

But I've promised this time I'll be careful
I've learned you must pay for your sins
So packed with the lurex are three dozen Durex
And Mum's taking care of the Twins

Someone sent me this joke today and it made me laugh

A woman has been admitted to hospital with a vacuum cleaner attachment stuck in her lady parts.

Doctors say that despite being in intensive care, she is picking up nicely.

I expect she fell on it in the shower......................

Well Monday is here again, how did it come around so quickly I'd like to know. I blame the Government. So there.

Well the most exciting event of my weekend was trying to get into a Mango, I bet you wish your life was so frenetic and fun filled don't ya?

I usually buy my Mango's nicely sliced and packaged from the local supermarket, but it is a very extravagant thing to do, so when I saw the real thing on sale in Lidl for 22p I thought BARGAIN! and bought one.

It wasn't until Saturday afternoon when I fancied a bit of mango (as you do ) that I realised I hadn't the foggiest idea of how to prepare it from scratch.

So i peeled it first, (big mistake) and then tried to attack it with a knife to cut it in half. It shot out of my hand at great speed and narrowly missed Junior cat who was minding his own business and washing his nether regions by the dishwasher. I can see the headline now "Cat killed by flying Mango, woman found with Juice still on her hands"

Needless to say that was the end of my Mango experience. I retreived the cat from off the top of the larder unit, and the Mango from behind the bin, and disposed of it (of course the Mango, oh try and keep up!) It was sadly inedible by now. I thought about washing it, but they are such slippery little suckers that I didn't want to risk the lives of any of the other pets. So I went without.

So. Can some kind person please tell me the correct way to slice and peel a Mango without incident. I need to know, I will not be beaten by exotic fruit. Besides, I've bought another one..................