Size 10 by teatime

Well really?

Hubby got a really good job this week. I can't talk about it because Daniel Craig will be jealous and we have to give the Aston Martin back tomorrow.

Suffice to say that I asked if I could buy some make up (OH please do he said). Nah, he didn't. I wish he would go to spec savers but maybe not.

Anyhow, today I had a nice girly shop. This included buying toilet paper (the toilet brush left a nasty rash) and washing up liquid. We're not sure what it's for, but our hands our very soft.

Between all this frippery, I wandered into the posh shop in town and looked at foundation creams. (how luxurious?) A child wandered over and asked if she could help? Ooooooooh Nooooooooo she was at least 23 and in charge of the whole thing.

Well, I dunno I said. "Can you make me look sixteen by teatime", she backed away (it's a common reaction). "What are you looking for" (she asked nervously") Ermmmm Eternal Youth? I said. Ahh bless her. She did her best.

So now, (she's a good sales woman) I have 60 quids worth of cosmetics, and I still look like an old hag (just don't tell Hubby, Ah, he knows I look like an old hag, it's the sixty quid that worries me!)

She applied the makeup so softly and expertly that I felt like Royalty. (William and Harry the morning after - just kidding). Then she handed me the mirror. Aaaaaargh. The makeup was perfect. But there it was. A very DEFINATE moustache. Yikes!!!!!!!!!!!

SO, WELL, couldn't be doing with that.

So I bought bleach. I cleaned all the toilets and (in the mall) and felt much better! Phew.

Then I bought the stuff you could put on your top lip to lighten the "peach fluff" Well, I wasn't going to shave it!!! Have a word!!!!

Now it's gone (well it hasn't really but you can't see it and it's a secret)

I got to nearly 50 without anyone noticing, and then realised that the only one that notice it was ME?????

Oh dear.......................

I have a really good friend (well just the one then) who has recently gone through very invasive 2 hour long surgery.

He was going along very happily and then got sick, saw a doctor and they found a large growth deep in his bowel.

That's the medical term. He described it as having the sh*ts for 3 days and feeling like total cr*p. Luckily he was with BUPA (I'm not, so that's me F*cked in the same situation) BUT for once it's not about me (isn't it? ARE you sure?) Oh damn those voices in my head.

Any old how. We all waited with baited breath. His Doctor (or Probably Professor) wasn't hopeful. He sat them down (Friend and wife) and said 1 in 20 of that size wasn't malignant and they had to be brave.

Friend was happy skippy and hoping for the best. Wife was crying on Hubbies shoulder in supermarket carpark before going home. I was sat at home chewing nails down to the shoulder.

So today, he got the results. YEY! Just a great big cyst. As I said to him, WELL in your case, it has to be the biggest, and the best, and you achieved it YET again!!!

But I am skipping around my kitchen, and SO glad that, that lovely couple can make plans for a few more happy years.

We have to celebrate the best of everything because NONE of us knows how long that will last.

Raise a glass with me, for my daft Slap head friend and his lovely missus............. x x x x

Well friends and fellow FAT fighters, I did it.

Yes, last night I got to target. In 30 weeks I lost 36.5 pounds which got me to where I wanted to be. Actually being able to look at the woman in the mirror (when I find out who she is I'll tell ya!)

The journey has been eventful. It started on a cold day in March when I was queuing with the fellow sick and lame outside my local GP's surgery. They are a sadistic bunch, so they don't open the door until the clock is at 8.35, by which time several people have keeled over and died (well, it makes the queue shorter).

There was a big sign on the surgery door (and I like to read). It said. "If you lose one pound a week for a year, you will be four stone lighter"
Blimey I thought. Well, I could do with losing a couple of stones, so it kind of stuck in my head and gave me something to think about, apart from my coughing limping (and dying) companions.

So I finally get in the see the Doc. Usual conversation. "How are you", (me) "well not very well else I wouldn't be here" So we get down to the nitty gritty, I get on the couch, he puts on the rubber glove. Then we discover that all it is, is a septic throat.

So he prescribes 3 weeks in the Bahama's but I don't have Bupa so we settle for some penicillin. "So he says, in his best bedside manner (it needs improving, if he would look up from the newspaper it would help) Is there anything else I can help you with?

Yeah, I say, have you got any slimming pills. "they don't work, say's he, never taking his eyes off page 3 (ok it was the financial times, but whatever?) Well, I said, I don't know how to lose weight. I've tried, but it doesn't work. Ummm. He say's, well It's not rocket science. You have to eat less, and move more. OK. I said, I walk everywhere. Well he said. Walk a bit further.

So I did. I walked out of his surgery and got meself a Greggs steak slice, (it helped with the septic throat).

Then I thought. Ha, I'll show HIM. So I joined fat fighters, walked at least 2 miles everyday for six months and ate only what was recommended.

AND you know what?? It worked......... Dammit.

I haven't been back, can't bear the smug look on his face. OR the rubber glove come to think of it.

And now the worst thing is. I have to try and maintain it......... bleuuuuuuuuugh.

It's alright getting it off. Keeping it off might be an entirely different ball game. Ball games are ok, but not in winter????

I'll keep you posted. Bet you can't wait...............

Cheesy? and I HATE cheese

1. WHO WERE YOU NAMED AFTER?

My Dad's Mother

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

I cry all the time. But the good news is that they are often happy tears.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

I am complimented on it often (sadly not on my looks or drinking habits though)

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

Rottweiler

5. DO YOU HAVE, OR HAVE YOU EVER HAD, PETS? HOW LONG HAVE YOU HAD PETS?

I have had, 9 cats. One hamster and 3 dogs. I don't do reptiles or spiders. (I stamp on spiders, this is a failing with me and not the eight legged critters)

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

How on earth would I know?

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit. But still the funniest.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?

Open wide? Check, Yeah!

9. WOULD YOU JUMP OUT OF AN AIRPLANE?
Only if it were on the ground. I don't fear flying. Just crashing.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE CEREAL?

Ricicles. They're twicicle as nicicle.. Ah who cares right?

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

Have you not heard of Velcro?

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?

What the smell?

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE ICE CREAM?

Don't really like it. Noooooooo don't hunt me down and kill me. I'll buy you a whippy if you don't

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
If they smile or not.

15. RED OR PINK?

Pink! Red makes me look like salami.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVOURITE THING ABOUT YOU?
My lack of patience.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?

My Mum and Dad.

18. WHAT COLOUR TOP AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

No shoes, flowery top. I sound like a pastry.

19. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
A slimming world cottage pie. (pass the doughnuts?)

20. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
The fan in my kitchen (but he's really a stalker, so the police are on their way (I love sting).

21. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOUR WOULD YOU BE?

Yellow, it's a happy colour

22. FAVOURITE SMELLS
dew on grass. Flowers, the sea.

23. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
George Bush. I had to tell him - IT's OVER.

24. FAVOURITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

Snail racing. I love anything that has a fast pace.

25. HAIR COLOUR?

What's hair

26. EYE COLOUR?

Bright blue (it's the drugs)

27. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

Can't afford them, and the glasses mask the eye bags. So it's all good.

28. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Happy endings, and I ALWAYS cry..................

29. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

Atonement, GOD was that boring.

30. WHAT COLOUR TROUSERS, JEANS OR SKIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

Flowery top and size 10 (YES! size 10 jeans, oh, they're blue)

31. SUMMER OR WINTER?

Summer, I love the sunshine and the flowers.
32. HUGS OR KISSES?
Kisses from Hubby.

33. FAVOURITE DESSERT?

Creme Caramel

34. WHAT'S OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOWS RIGHT NOW?

A dark night
35. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
A tree being split by a fork of lightening. I love extreme weather

36. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?
Nothing. We had friends around. We talked and I know, it's SO yesterday.

37. FAVOURITE SOUND?

The sea washing on the shore.
38. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?

Beatles, it reminds me of my first love.

39. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?

The States probably. But in my mind. Much further.

40. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

Yes. But it's illegal.

41. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
I wasn't born. I was knitted.

Well? Ummm. I bought a new pair of jeans on Friday. Since losing weight my clothes are getting kind of baggy (yey!) and I decided to get a new pair. So the one's I am in (too big) are 14's. So I thought right! Try a pair of 14's and a pair of 12's. (stay with me here) I tried the 12's first and they were .... TOO big! I had to sit down for a minute on the cubicle chair (not I did).

So I got dressed (not an easy feat, this gorilla suit takes some getting in and out of I can tell ya!) and fetched a pair of ten's. I was cringing trying them on. I should have taken a picture of my face in the dressing room mirror (not really, who wants to see a gorilla with a perm and big pants?) and they fit!!!! I had to have a lie down. I haven't worn size 10's since I was - well? about 10? and I was convinced I never would until I was decomposing!!!

So I fairly skipped home (I must pop back and fetch the car tomorrow). And burst through the door to tell Hubby the good news. Oh, that's great babe, say's he looking up momentarily from defleaing the dog.

Mmmm. Not QUITE the reaction I was looking for. So I phoned a couple of girlfriends to tell them the good news. F*ck Off! They both said (yes both of them). I don't think they were pleased for me

So lets put this in perspective for a moment. I'm pleased For that read f*cking over the moon delighted. But really it means nothing. OK? I now own a pair of size 10 jeans that look great!

But I also own a pair of size 14's that fit exactly the same way, and a pair of size 12's that won't do up.

Sizing is B*llocks, completely and utterly. It means NOTHING and depends on the manufacturer obviously (size 10's were from Sainsbury's
Yes only the best designer brands for yours truly!)

But it made my day! and clearly matters to other girls too? So why is this? The media, all the skinny emaciated peeps that are a size ZERO, certainly WON't get there until I'm decomposing and anyhow, that has GOT to be a made up size.

So WHY does it matter. Yes? you are the back, and YOU in the tiny orange jumper?

Thoughts please?????

Oh dear!!

I have just watched Hairspray the musical on sky one, and I am dripping with tears. I have lost the makeup of one half of my face. Yeah, I know, I only cry happy tears out of my right eye (what's that about?)

Those kids did an amazing job and I was SOooooooo happy for them. Is it a Mum thing? I dunno.

I am a soppy git, but it was worth every tear. And if you missed it, then I think they repeat it several times during the week. Rundon'twalk, you can probably find it online.

Ah, watch it, it is a real feel good moment. All those endorphins have got to be good for the soul. x

Well? No. 1 son has got a temporary job in a factory. The agency sent him down to fix locks on double glazed windows.

He walked into the place to be met by the head of HR (well she was the cleaner really, but it's a small operation)

Ay Up love, she said, they'll love you. It's all women here. No. 1 son's eyes and vital signs lit up. Until he walked into the factory proper. "Honestly Mum, he said, they're ALL your age. (elderly then. reinforced undergarments, and don't mention the gusset!)

So how is it I said. Ah, it's alright, half of them want to Mother me, and the other half want to pull me. (pull? What?) Ah don't ask.

He's only been there two days and he's getting complimentary Jaffa cakes, and lusty looks off women who should know better (but bless em for trying)

He's a babe! he's mine, and he'll make me a grandmummy someday. But please, NOT with another grandmummy. He has made me promise NOT to let the girlfriend see this blog entry. Why would she be worried? She still thinks cellulite is a battery?????

But I still think he could make a mint during tea break with a white t-shirt and a can of diet coke!!!!

Yes fat fans, I went to the weekly weigh in on Tuesday, but forgot to tell you all about it? Bet you're gutted right?

So anyhow, I decided that if I had lost the 2lbs that would get me my 2.5 stones award, I'd stop to the meeting. Well I need the adoration, the applause and the constant reassurance. However, if I hadn't then I would come home coz my mate had got me roped into a craft fair on Saturday morning, so I'm up to my eyes in glitter, glue and sparkly bits. Well a girl has to earn money where she can right? (don't ask!)

So I approached the scales shedding items of clothing as I went, boots, coat, cardigan, even me specs. When I was down to my scivvies I stepped on. Oooh well done said elderly gent who does the weighing (he isn't a member, but he's lonely, so we indulge him) you've lost a pound. Are you staying. No, I said, it needed to be 2 to stay, so I'm off. I was waylaid by consultant on the way out. I swerved to avoid her, she swerved in my direction, I swerved again but her gravitational pull won in the end (she's the size of a planet).

Not staying tonight, she asked brightly. No, I said. Look I've lost a pound, I've paid 4.50 for the pleasure and I'm a busy woman. Oooh ok she said, WELL DONE!! Yeah Yeah I said and made a run for it.

So now, I am only 1lb away from losing 2.5 stones, and 3.5lbs away from target. Must keep focused, must keep focused. You see, I'm getting a bit lax. Dipping ginger nuts in my tea last Saturday and drinking 2.5 pints of Guinness on Sunday aren't really on the plan.

Getting to target is all very well and the first time I've achieved it in years. But keeping it off is entirely a different story...............

I hurt myself today (no this isn't the lyrics of a song) this was because I swung my head around so fast that I got a crick in my neck. Don't you hate it when that happens.

Hubby and I have just watched a program about transvestites. Dearie me.

Anyhow, during the adverts he said I have something to tell you. Yeah right, I said. I like to wear your underwear. (that's when I hurt myself) Ermmmm, really I said. Yeah, he said, I wear them on my head, it gives the blokes at work a good laugh, especially when I hook the leg holes around me ears.

Oh good, I said. I use yours to clean up the accidents the cats have. I wash them afterwards of course.

Mind you, I caught the cat chewing your toothbrush the other day, and I'm not sure what to do about that really. Well? he said, did you change my toothbrush? No, I said. But I'll think about it as soon as you get my frillies off yer ead.

We're still discussing it. Who said that TV ruins conversation. Well. Not in our house...................

We’ve had the Vicar around today (no, we have).

The place I work is so big and so old (I think it was probably opened by Adam) that is has a retained Vicar on the payroll.

The party line is that he is kept on by the Company to increase morale (?) eh? Try a pay rise would ya, that would increase my morale way more than a visit from the Clergy. My friend maintains that it is discourage the workforce from having time off for funerals and the like. He says that they’re plotting to dredge the disused canal that runs through the middle and do “quickie” burials at sea, so to speak. To be honest, I think it’s a marvelous idea, and way more entertaining than your usual interment, but I’ve never been one to follow the crowd.

He’s a funny kind of chap our Vicar, sort of quiet and hairy (puts me in mind of Gorilla’s in the mist or possible Big Foot) Ah bless him, he’s a nice enough bloke to give him his credit. I just never know what to say to him, and for some reason he always make a bee line for me. Yikes!

The bloke who sits opposite me always says that the correct way to greet a vicar isn’t to say “eh up your holiness how’s it hanging? But good Afternoon Vicar, seems way too formal for my liking, and I feel it might encourage him, and then he might expect cups of tea and cake, and believe me, I will NOT be able to form the words “more tea vicar” without laughing out loud.

I blame my upbringing. All those coffee mornings, my Mum used to put on for her Church Cronies. There they’d sit wiping the foam from their moustaches and pursing their mouths like dog bottoms. Then there was Sunday School. Ye Gods. If it wasn’t bad enough to have to go to school Monday through ‘til Friday they chucked Sunday in as well.

So I’m not a fan of organised religion, but don't get me wrong, I have nothing against people who do.

I do believe in the Law of Attraction and that we make our own destiny. But really, I couldn’t be arsed into getting into a deep conversation with the Vicar on the subject.

So, I remembered a pressing errand I had to run , and left my poor colleague to deal with His Worship. Ah, I know, I’m never going to heaven. They wouldn’t let me in anyhow. Besides, my colleague has way more need of a lift in “Morale”. He has to sit and look at yours truly every day for a start. For that alone, he probably should be sainted…………………………………………….

Someone sent me this story today, it's too good not to share!

This is a quick story about the bond formed between a little girl and
a group of building workers. It's allegedly true and makes you want
to believe in the goodness of people and that there is hope for the
human race.

A young family moved into a house next door to an empty plot. One day
Joe, Steve and a gang of building workers turned up to start building
a house.

The young family's 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in
all the activity going on next door and started talking with the
workers.

She hung around and eventually the builders, all with hearts of gold,
more or less adopted the little girl as a sort of project mascot. They
chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had tea and lunch
breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel
important. They even gave her, her very own hard hat and gloves.

At the end of the first week they presented her with a pay envelope
containing two pounds in 10p coins. The little girl took her 'pay'
home to her mother who suggested that they take the money she had
received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.

When they got to the bank the cashier was tickled pink listening to
the little girl telling her about her 'work' on the building site and
the fact she had a 'pay packet'.

'You must have worked very hard to earn all this', said the bank cashier.

The little girl proudly replied, 'I worked all last week with the men
building a big house.'

'My goodness gracious,' said the cashier, 'Will you be working on the
house again this week, as well?' The little girl thought for a moment
and said...

'I think so. Provided those wkers at Jewsons deliver the fking bricks.'

A wife, a mistress and a fiancee are discussing how to spice up their sex lives.

I know says Mistress, let's dress up in stockings, basques and leather masks, that is sure to get them hot?

They all agree, and also arrange to meet the next day to compare results.

The mistress says. It was AMAZING we made love all night I can hardly walk.

The Fiancee says. WOW, he was so impressed he brought the wedding forward.

The Wife says. He walked in, patted the dog, and said. What's for tea Batman.......................

Here is a bigger picture. You can't see his Mom was a Rottie can you. Even though he has the same lovely nature..........

He's lovely!!!

I was out shopping today, and I went through a tiny precinct near to where I live. There on a park bench was a girl, and sat next to her was the most enormous Rottweiler I have seen in a long time. People were dragging their children in the opposite direction and even crossing the road to avoid walking past them. I stopped and asked "is he friendly?" She smiled. "Only the friendliest dog on the planet" So I went over, and I spent the next 10 minutes being licked, and nudged, and having paws offered to me (by the dog, the girl just shook me hand) and generally having a lovely people/dog time.

Rottweilers get terrible press. But honestly, my Dawg, is half Rottweiler, although you'd never know because his Dad was a Labrador, so all people see is a huge soppy friendly Labrador, and we don't tell people about his Mother because they back away whimpering.

Don't blame the dog. Blame the idiots that turn them into nasty, aggressive creatures by either neglect or because it makes them look "hard"

Whoops, sorry just a little soap box moment there. Er hum. I LOVE dogs and you get what you give. We have always given Dawg nothing but love and discipline when he needed it. And what we have is the nicest sweetest animal in the world. We can take him ANYWHERE and know that he will always be a credit to us. Yes he can growl, but what makes me laugh is even when he growls, his tail is still wagging. Hubby says that if anyone threatened either of us he WOULD protect us. But honestly, I'm not sure.

But we don't have him as a guard dog, or to "protect" us. We have him because he is Dawg and he's ours and we love him.

The Rottweiler today was the same. He was SUCH a handsome beast. I am just so sorry that others weren't so tolerant.

I would post a picture of Dawg if I knew how, but sadly I am deficient in many ways, and working out how to put a photo on here is one of them.

If any of my excellent friends can tell me how then please do (in idiot speak please). So Sminchin, Usky, Not Bob, Queen Mab, King Kev and all my other photographic friends. Over to you............................

I have a friend. (just the one) mustn't be greedy now. She makes greeting cards (very stylish, very nice and very in demand). She is doing a craft show at the end of November and wanted someone to go along with her. So she asked me (?)

What? I said? Why do I need to go to a craft fair. You're very creative she said. Yes, I said. Financially (I hide behind the sofa when there are creditors at the door). Verbally (I lie a lot) and sexually (don't ask).

There MUST be something you can do? she demanded. Err. Yeah. I keep offering to write poems for your greetings cards? Well, she said they're NOT that kind of cards. I was hurt (no I was)

I mean, come on? What's wrong with this.

A Poem to the Ex

Now that it's over I wish you the best
Hope the sun always shines on your head
I hope life isn't stressful, I hope you're successful

Just kidding - I hope you drop dead.

It's the last word in romanticism if you ask me (but no one ever does!)

She wasn't having any of it. Damn her!

There must be something you can do she said.

I'll do 10 minutes of stand up i said.

No! she said. It won't go down well at a craft fair. No, she's right, it didn't go down well in a working men's club full of drunks either, else I'd still be doing it.

So, I agreed to go along and stand freezing my knickers off at this event at the end of November Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Then today I had an epiphany? No, you must have one. Mind you, you need the right equipment and the right batteries. But I digress.

So i took myself off luxury shopping (Poundland) and I bought 20 disposable lighters, a few glittery bits a bit of nail varnish, and Voila!!

Fancy lighters!!! She won't be impressed. Dammit.

But I have a plan, tomorrow I shall go to the sex shop. Buy a blow up sheep, a few glittery bits and a bit of nail varnish.

This do is next to a real ale pub. I'll clean up.................

Ewww? thinking about it, I might have to! Pass the mop...............

I'm having my hair done tomorrow. Regular six weekly visit from mobile hairdresser. Well she claims to be a hairdresser, but I've seen her working on the bins. As for mobile, do roller skates really count?

Anyhow, I remembered that I had to go and get a colour for my hair. So off I went to Boots after work and got my regular colour (vibrant green) just kidding, it's purple really.

Being the sucker that I am, for anything that claims to make me look younger (it's sad, it's bad and it's the truth). I wandered down the makeup isle. There it was, the fountain of youth!! A foundation called Rewind! Yey. Promised to make me look sixteen by teatime. Well 26 then. 36 anyone??

At the very reasonable price of six ninety nine (I know but the pound sign won't work on my keyboard alright?) It was a steal. Well, it would have been but the security guard was looking...

So I took my purchases to the till and got me club card out to pay. Oooh said the assistant, this foundation is great! I use it all the time. I looked at her (ye gods!). She looked about 103, had more wrinkles than I could count, and a moustache! (no really) I was torn. I didn't know whether to run over to the waxing isle and get the sort that rips it off your face (eyes water) or the sort that would kind of tweak the ends and get her a role in a pirate movie.

In the end I just grinned and said, Oh? well it certainly looks good on you. (well I'm not cruel) Yes, I am. But not usually out loud.

So this Rewind, claims to tighten and make me glow!! (in the dark - who knows?) I am going to try it and I'll let you know.

Meanwhile, I am now worried I might have a moustache. Never thought about it before, and never waxed (in case it grew back) And if I don't have one already, will this new product give me one (no, no, a moustache, try and keep up)

I shall apply it tomorrow morning and let you know. Worryingly, I am afraid that it might rewind me so much that I need propping in a chair, have my food liquidised and have to wear super size pampers. Oh hang on, wouldn't that be Fast Forward.......................

So last night was fatfighters again. I did what I always do pre class, which is weigh myself (doh!) And this is what happened. Naked I weighed in at 11 stones flat. With underwear I weighed in at 11 stones flat. Good. With leggings I weighed in at 11 stones flat, but when I put my t shirt on it went up to 11 stones 1lb (Yikes).

What to do? What to do? I couldn't really go to fat fighters without my t shirt on, so I took my bra off (I know, really, I need looking at). I then preceded to examine my reflection, and walked towards the mirror nearly taking my eye out in the process. Decided that the two oldest swingers in town were clearly not safe unfettered, so rummaged around to see if I could find a lighter bra (!) (No I did)

So there I am stood topless on the landing weighing bra's in either hand to see which felt the lightest when Hubby appeared. What ARE you doing? he enquired. Seeing which bra weighs the lightest I said. He just looked at me and shook his head. I swear Dawg shook his head too, but that might just have been an itch.

The white one actually weighed lighter than the black one so I wore that(I can't believe I'm telling you this). Weighed myself again and satisfied that I was now back to 11 stone flat, I was happy.

Just before I went I decided to have a pee (well every little helps) and just to make sure I got on the scales once again. 11 stones 1lb. WTF???

I just went to class after that, I mean for Gawds sake, I'm clearly not right in the head.

At class I actually weighed 10 stones 13.5 pounds (Although I swear it would have been 10 stones 12.5 without the bra) a loss of l.5lbs

Why do I do it, because I'm clearly puddled - that's why.................

I had a right mare this evening. Came in from work, put down handbag, went and got changed for fat fighters (for that read got naked) and when I came back down I couldn't find my car keys. Gone, vamooshed, disappeared. I did track the little blighters down eventually. On the hook - where they should be Doh! Who'd have thought it. It got me thinking how embarrassing it would be for a "responsible person" to misplace their keys. So i wrote this little ditty. Hope you like it....

OH NO I'VE LOST MY CAR KEYS

Oh No! I've lost my car keys
What a wally what a prat
If I didn't have my head screwed on
I'd probably lose that

What did I do when I came in
Hang on and let me think
Well I came into the Kitchen
And I poured myself a drink

It went down rather nicely
So I thought I'd have one more
That was fine and now it's nine
And I've had three or four

But now I've lost my the keys
You know that ones that start the car
If they're not found by the morning
Then I won't be going far

I've searched the house upstairs and down
I'm really at a loss
If I don't find them shortly
Then what will I tell my boss

I can't come in today
Because my keys have done a bunk
What did I do when I got home
Well frankly I got drunk

I didn't need my keys last night
I know I need them now
Well I know that I'm forgetful
Yes a proper stupid cow

Of course I've had a thorough search
I'll have another look
Oh here they are - they're hanging
Where they live upon this hook

They've got a little plaque on
With my name for all to see
Head of Alcohol Abuse
Inspector CID

I work in a big industrial company. It's huge and it's mainly made up of men. I think the ratio is something like 40 men to every 1 woman, and most of the time it's great. At least the bit I work in is fun and we have a laugh.

The credit crunch has hit us and my best (female) friend on site has been given notice, because she's a temp and all the temps have to go.

She's fine with that and very employable and looking for something else.

Well today she mailed me to say that the guys she works with are being distant, and rude and not giving her anything to do because they know she's going. They are excluding her from conversations and generally acting like - dare I say it, girls!!!!

Why? She didn't do anything, she is the victim of circumstances. Maybe they feel guilty, I dunno. But it made me cross on her behalf.

Most of them sit with their backs to her anyhow. So at lunchtime, I gave her a bit of coaching on how best to deal with the situation.

She is a quick learner, bless her.

I bought her a big, big bag of elastic bands, and taught her how to flick them with great accuracy.

Some of those guys might feel a stinging sensation in the back of head tomorrow if they don't learn some manners.

And everytime it happens she is just going to smile soppily and say - whoops!!!

Ooh it was rainy today (no it was!) Dawg didn't understand. He still leapt up and down and looked out of the window, with the lolling tongue happy "come ON guys" look on his face. We couldn't deny him, we are soft as sh1t me and Hubby. So we donned our waterproof jackets, our wellies and got our golf umbrella's out of the under stairs cupboard.

You know what? we had a lovely walk. I love wearing wellies. I stamped in the first puddle I came too and paddled through it. Hubby laughed "and how old are you?" he inquired.

Today, I said, I have decided to be six! and I jumped and splashed all through the puddles on our two mile walk. I had a blast. The park was deserted, (the weather you know) so I just did what made me happy.

It didn't go down so well well I tried in Sainsbury's car park on the way home.

A woman (and I am sure she was younger than me) tutted, really loudly. She had a mouth like a dogs bottom and her nose was tilted so far north I feared (hoped) she might drown in all that rain. She also had a really miserable looking Husband. Well, do you wonder???

My Hubs just laughed his ass off, and said , taking me firmly by the hand. Come on dear, the hospital are expecting you home by three. There's chocolate cake and everything.

I skipped gaily back to the van, and thanked my lucky stars that I didn't have to go home with the "dogs bottom" or the miserable Husband.

They had a very POSH car, and I'm sure they had a five (or more) bedroom mansion with ensuites for every room.

But do they ever laugh out LOUD, so hard they are frightened of peeing themselves. I doubt it.

Real wealth isn't about material possessions. Well not to me it isn't. If it was I'd be very unhappy right now. BUT I love my life, and I didn't win the lottery again, but maybe I don't want to. Maybe I like what I have and as long as I have love and laughter I am RICH!

I dunno? What do YOU think. Answers on a postcard, the best entry gets to sort through my bin. Don't get TOO excited!!

But not pussycats it would seem. I was met this morning at the back door by a pair of very disgruntled faces. This is not an unusual expression for senior cat to be honest. He is about 103 in cat years and a charmless old git. Junior cat was just wet, cold and miserable poor puss.

I let them in, and fetched a warm towel to dry them (see I am nice). Junior Cat or JC, wriggled and purred and generally loved the attention and the warmth. SC tolerated it, and then went and spat at Dawg. I interpreted this as "and I suppose you've been IN all night, sleeping by THEIR bed"

Well, this is true, I can't deny it. But SC has had his chances, he was given a litter tray, which he dismissed with a snooty flick of his balding tale, preferring to leave a steaming pile behind the TV. Nice! JC, prefers to be out at night, (when it's not raining).

I admonished SC for his violence towards Dawg, with a toe to his furry little ass and fed the little critters.

With a big bowl of whiska's down their gullets, they have both slunk off to find warm spots in which to sleep away the day.

And SC to no doubt take a cr*p in my handbag when I'm not looking........

There! I've said it.

Well, today I had to go and pay the deposit on our works Christmas do!! Being the only woman amongst 15 men, this task fell to me.

Well it would really. It falls into the WCBA category of tasks that must be done.

WCBA, is the acronym for "We Can't be Arsed."

So yours truly, had to find the venue, book the venue, email everyone and bully the deposit out of reluctant colleagues, a fiver for them, a five for the wife.

They haven't previously taken wives. They haven't previously had an administrator either. So they had to learn a few rules. If they want me to come to this thing (and apparently they do, they have this crazy idea that I'll be even funnier drunk. God help them) Then Hubby comes too, which means wives also attend.

I said to them. Give a girl a break. I am not going to get my head kicked in on your behalf.

Waddya mean they asked? No one will kick your head in with us there. We'll protect you? Against your wives? I asked? "Um, er, well" they said!! So the girls are coming too (and Hubby). At least I'll have someone to dance with (wives) I mean. While hubby can prop the bar up with the "Fraternity" and bond.

It should be a night to remember. If anyone has a brain cell not destroyed by alcohol, which is doubtful..............

Please come and visit me in the institution.

I swear it's getting worse. I was watching a trailer for a documentary tonight (I love em). About a girl who falls asleep spontaneously without warning. Ooh, I said to hubby, there's a documentary on about Necrophilia, I must watch that.

He laughed (no he did) and when he had taken a deep draw on his inhaler and finally stopped rolling about on the floor. He explained to me that the term I meant to use was narcolepsy.

I'm losing it. I swear, I'm dead worried, or worried and dead or maybe just asleep. Who knows anymore? ...............

Well, my latest weight loss strategy is soup. Yep you heard me right. I need something to give me a kick in the pants, and hopefully fool my body into dropping a few more pounds.

So, last night I had broccoli and cauliflower soup (very nutritious, made life a little windy, so nothing new there then)

I also took the left overs for lunch today. Blokey who sits opposite stared at the bowl and said "eww - what's that"? I have no idea I said, I bought it off ebay.

He looked at me in a strange way (so nothing new there either). He tried again. No really - what is it? I sighed, actually never do that with a mouthful of soup, it makes a terrible mess.

Well, I said, it is a seaweed and moss compound, scientists have found that it cures piles, and eradicates dry skin on your feet.

Oh, he said. Are you supposed to eat it? No, I said, you're supposed to rub it on, but I'm hungry.

He lost interest after that, and looked up the number of the company psychiatrist.

Tonight I am having tomato and bacon soup. I thought I would add the bacon for protein. There WAS a fly around earlier, and although Hubby managed to swat it, DAWG ate it, so we're back to the bacon idea.

I'll let you know how I get on. I am actually hoping that by the time I go back to Fat Fighters next Tuesday, I will be so thin I will have fallen down me knicker leg and hung myself. But I'll keep you posted....

Well it’s that time of the week again. My regular appointment with the scales and the “fat fighters” consultant. Despite losing 3.5lbs last week, this week, I managed to gain 1.5lbs back. So a net loss of 2lbs then. Consultant wasn’t happy (when is she). I tried to explain that since I had lost 31lbs over the last 26 weeks that I wasn’t too worried.

Humph, she snorted (yes snorted), that’s not the attitude is it? You had a gain this week and that means that you did something WRONG. Yeah, yeah, whatever I shrugged. I don’t like bullies. She glared down at my record card, and didn’t move for ages. That is when I realised that she had actually mislaid an M & M down her cleavage and was trying to locate it. Bloke who takes the money came running over to give her a hand (dirty git). In he dived, we nearly lost him. All the women had to form a human chain to stop him disappearing for ever. That woman has a bosom of biblical proportions, honestly, he parted it like the red sea, and along with the M & M found 5 loaves and 3 fishes, a kebab, and a dog eared copy of the current argos catalogue.

I don’t know whether she is just clumsy when she eats (and reads) or whether this is her shoplifting strategy. Crisis over the meeting started, and Consultant asked around the room whether anyone had any specific problems. One girl (lets call her Fatima) has been coming to group for the last 18 months and has lost and gained the same five pounds in that time. The rest of us are a bit fed up of her to be honest. She does nothing but whine and moan that she never loses any weight, but then regales us with tales of her weekly escapades with the girls that include 42 flaming sambuca’s and a fish supper. She regularly text’s consultant to ask how many calories there are in a mars bar/chocolate gateaux/gallon of ice cream. AFTER she has eaten it. You get the picture. Not really a committed slimmer.

Anyhow my friend Sharon had PMT, I could tell, I saw the handle of the knife sticking out of her handbag. She generally nudges me and raises her eyebrows when this girl starts. But last night she had, had ENOUGH.

Oy, Princess of Pork she said (no she did). If you kept your mouth shut, you might lose some weight for a change. Instead of opening it to whine or shovel down chocolate and booze, and if you took your lardy arse to the gym instead of the chip shop, and spent more time on the dance floor instead of at the bar, you might be slimmer.

There was a deadly silence, although to be fair, Sharon did get the thumbs up from most of the other members. We didn’t stay for the raffle, it was a shrivelled up lettuce and the most nutritious thing about it was the large slug in the centre.

I led Sharon out gently, and bought her a fish supper and a Sambuca. Well if you can’t beat em, join, em.