Rosie Goes Crazy

A new year and a new dilemma

2012-01-20T13:48:00.002Z

What diet do I choose and will this finally be the year where I get it right and never have to diet ever again?

I’m now 40, married and happy, so happy in fact I’ll munch away on anything but try to change 40 years of good living and there’s bound to be some resistance so this year I’m celebrating a little bit of what you fancy does you good.

Now I have the ingredients and principles for that down to a fine art, what I don’t have is portion control. I have a diet plate that hosts Chinese meals on a weekly basis, an exercise ball that makes a great table, weights that may be useful if the bed ever breaks and a set of shiny kitchen scales that look good in the kitchen and hold my spare car keys.

My bodyweight scales are tempremental and so is my floor. I can weigh myself in two different places at the same time and there’s a stone of a difference. Of course I’ll say I’m the smaller of the two, open the fridge and munch into a healthy high carb snack ahem.

Yes I love carbs, they’re cheap, cheerful, make me smile and very very tasty, especially deep fried. But I also love protein, especially steak. The thing is one complements the other, don’t tell me to eat steak with healthy salad, I’ll do that anyway but its sacrilege to bin the onion rings and French fries and the peppercorn sauce,

My work routine is a bit mental, I can’t cook bacon and eggs for breakfast, can barely get the dog out a walk before getting ready for work and quite often I travel around. Well there’s another dilemma, have you seen the price of tasteless airport food? So cheap as chips is handy in these situations where a bottle of water can quite often bankrupt you. All these yuppy duppies in their business suits eating high class meals on their expense accounts! Meanwhile as a charity worker I’m looking for bargains in WH Smith. I’d be lost without a ginsters sausage roll and a grab bag from Walkers.

So come pay day, I aim to use my new diary to the max, organise the ass out of everything, exercise till my legs don’t work (this week’s target is already in the bag) and swim like a fish to get a waist Kate skinny witsherface would die for.

Yawn, is it time to wake up yet?

Bless me

2011-07-08T22:56:00.003+01:00

I’m 10 months blissfully married but still not 10lbs lighter. I’ve blamed the thyroid, the hysterectomy but really it’s just sheer hysteria for grub and wine and I love it. I’m sitting here planning my training schedule for a 13 mile charity walk with a bowl of cashews and a vanilla slice with a contradictory bottle of diet irn bru.

And yet I still wonder why I can’t lose weight even though it’s so obvious I’m sharing it with my diary. I’m full of contradictions and accidental hypocrisies (not a nice way to describe oneself but still). After 10 blissful months of legal marriage I decided it was time to have it blessed allowing me to practice my faith and look to god to forgive my sins. The weight off my shoulders after the first confession in over 10 years was indescribable. I felt forgiven, relieved so much so that I had to celebrate – well wouldn’t you?

So off to Gills with two bottles of wine and plenty of chat and somehow somewhere I lost the night, I’ve no recollection of events, I was thrown out the local dive (that’s a serious achievement if you’re not fighting) and I forgot I had my own house and woke up on my parents sofa the next day.

Bless me father I aint half sinned. Blessed on the Friday, pissed on the Saturday and missed mass on the Sunday. If I didn’t believe in the devil before I do now. He is available 2 for £10 at a Scotmid near you.

The green machine will tell you all

2010-10-30T12:54:00.000+01:00

Here she comes, laden with gym gear again to throw onto my back end and no doubt stay there unwrapped. Terry the tyre squeals every time she throws something in there, it hurts his tread but she doesn’t seem to care. It’s all me, me, me, fat fat fat, wedding, wedding, wedding. Maybe if she left me at home once in a while she would lose some weight. I burn more petrol than she burns calories. Everyone knows her. Here comes Rosie and her green machine. Green Machine? I was christened Clio, a beautiful French name that this philistine has chucked away. I’m more than a machine, I look after her with sheer devotion, swoon when she takes me to see the nice men with the soapy water and polish, squeal with delight when I get to stay over at her dads – my Papa. In fairness she does treat me really well but she’s off her head. I don’t know how many times I’ve hid her round the back of the shops so she can indulge in chocolate, chip butties and crisps.

She then tells M that she’s been really good. I used to give him a jolt every so often but he has a sore back so I’ve stopped that now. He’s a decent guy right enough, and in fairness likes his share of the takeaways. Her excuses are classic though.

I’m not jealous of the wedding, well I am a bit because I’m not invited. She’s only gone and booked a Rolls Royce to take her to Gretna and back. I mean really I can do that journey with my headlights off. I’ve been up and down there so often now I could be your sat nav. And Mr Rolls Royce will never take care of her the way I do. I sometimes get so annoyed at her that I refuse to open the door to let her in. She squeezes the button so hard that the look on her face is hilarious and still I don’t budge. Only when she’s at the point of begging do I relent.

Just after the proposal I was so furious that when she started the engine and got out to scrape the ice from my eye I pulled the door shut, pushed down the button and left my engine running for over an hour. The whole street was out trying to help her get inside, meanwhile I was heating up nicely. What idiot puts their spare car key in their bag and then sits it in the car. Now wonder she couldn’t get back in. I still get a right good giggle when I think about it and it cheers Terry the tyre up no end.

A nice man tickled me with a coathanger so hard that I had no choice but to let her back in. I was almost leaking petrol it was so funny.

Anyway, she’s not as fat as she thinks she is and I love it when she gets done up and sits inside me and takes me out a run. A great day out is when Harriet hairpiece comes along to play, that girl is so glam and a real scream, she’s not invited to the wedding either and I don’t think she’s too happy about it. But Rosie being Rosie has a vision of how it should all be, personally I think I should be Chief Bridesmaid and Harriet the flower girl but she has so many females in her family the competition is fierce. I know I’ll be involved in the run up to the wedding though, so that will have to do, wouldn’t mind a wee photo with me in it though.

Oops I did it again.

2010-10-11T14:01:00.000+01:00

I played with the calories and they won again. Since the wedding I’ve stuffed my face (literally) I’ve devoured every calorie like it’s a long lost friend and I’m overjoyed to be let loose. My waistline however disagrees and marched me to the top floor of the building I now work in to join the gym.

I have come to the conclusion that I enjoy the one to one attention of the gym induction. The process of registering me, telling me all about it, giving me that little plastic card that provide access into a brand new gateway. Oh its bliss, putting on the trainers, getting down and dirty well that’s where I fall apart.

But I need to you see I’ve landed myself in the middle of food heaven. Greggs, Dominos, Subway plus so many food outlets I could never starve but then again will I ever slim.

So either I’m spinning yet another tale or I’m spinning for real tomorrow night. You see as soon as dominos and friends have closed down their lunchtime offers (did you know they do a personal pizza – does it have my name on it – I really should find out) I’ll be getting the lift (one step at a time) to the top floor to work my butt off and I’ve signed up for Zumba on Friday night – finally I get to shake my booty and see what all the fuss is about.

I’m surrounded by M&Ms, baked potatoes, toasties, bacon rolls, sweet smelling pastries and although its having a positive affect on my mood, its killing my bank and cholesterol balance – something has to give and I reckon the extra baggage I’m carrying around should finally disappear – this time I mean it ahem.

Watching the weight

2010-09-28T15:06:00.000+01:00

Well for the first time in god knows how many years I am not on a diet, but I can’t resist a bargain. So when I found WeightWatchers Spaghetti Bolognese for £1 in Morrisons well I had to buy it.

It wasn’t even worth a pound, there wasn’t a calorie in it and when it landed on my plate I grabbed the car keys, swung into top gear and headed for the nearest chippy. I’ve often wondered why I love the chippy so much but those glass cabinets with their warm halogen glow invite me in every single time – especially when the temperature has plummeted and the smell of winter is overpowering.

So weightwatchers well done, you single handedly took me from no diet to the land of obesity in the space of the seven minutes it took to cook the string that hides the mince in your £1 ready meal.

Swan song

2010-09-12T20:17:00.000+01:00

Its a new dawn its a new day and I'm feeling married. For the last year I have documented my battle with the bulge, I've lost and gained and although I didn't trim down to the highly expected size 10 I gained so much more, a new family, a stepdaughter, two sister in laws, a brother in law and a niece - who cares about weight when you've got everything else going for you.

The day was perfect, in every single way not a hitch. I'd like to say not a cloud in the sky but the heavens opened, it is Scotland after all so plenty of brollies and loads of smiles even though my dress brought home a substantial amount of Gretna. I was warned not to drink but hey come on this day has been planned for over 2 years and I was determined to have a ball and I did, so much so that I slipped and fell on my arse on the dance floor - that's what I call a good wedding. I love stuff happening out of the blue, Irish dancing, raving, 80s and bacon butties all in the one venue - what more can you ask for?

I'd like to round this last blog off though by saying thank you to so many people:

First of all my lovely new hubby

My best friend Andrea for always being there

My friend Adele for being herself and making me laugh

Andrea for calming me down when the going started to get tough

Gillian, for putting glam into everything she touches and being so creative

Yvonne for sharing her experiences with me over the last two years - it feels like we've done this together

My lovely sisters and nieces

To all my friends and family who support us every single day and for all the lovely gifts we received for the wedding

Mrs P and P - what a girl and I'm delighted to have met her

Kirsty - a true artist her floristry is unbelievable and she's a great friend

To every' fat' bride out there that laughs in the face of size zero but still tries to get there

Carole Anne for sorting out my balloons

No doubt the weight loss fight will continue after all I don't want to be a fat 40 year old xxx

Take care, may every chip you eat never be your last and enjoy enjoy enjoy

Its been a pleasure knowing you all xxx

What a week

2010-09-05T22:38:00.000+01:00

and where to start? Well how about with my head down the toilet bowl after my none liquid lunch on Friday? I excelled myself. For someone who is trying to lose weight for her wedding I was shovelling it in like I would never see it again and like a right glutten paid the price. I rolled around on Friday night feeling sorry for myself and generally panicing about my faux pas and the pounds just waiting to attach themselves to my hips. A great big rip is on order for Friday morning when the dress that fit like a glove two weeks ago tries to run away from me - as far as it can in the other direction. If you see a mad bride in hold ups chasing a dress down the M74 then please catch it and hand it back to me.

Of course being a bride means looking good but what pressure. So to calm the nerves some nice lingerie was called for however who in their right mind whats to wear a thong on their wedding day? I don't want a belly crusher either but honestly something normal with that something a bit extra would do nicely - no can do, thankfully I found something but not quite what I had in mind, so Armani Diamonds stepped into save the day.

I don't want to eat, I'd like to pre-order some anorexia for this week please (I joke of course, I wouldn't and couldn't have that at all). I worry that my dinner spills down my dress, that I eat something daft that morning and my insides want to escape and the very thought makes me feel ill all over. Why am I the nervous one? I'm usually the calm one but not recently, the devils got inside me and is looking to beat up the next person that dares to suggest I haven't thought of something for Friday - too late if I have.

I'm diving into that pool tomorrow morning and if you can't find me then you know I have a date with a guy I met seven years ago to finally exchange rings and vows, just keep me away from the rosy and the dress should be fine.

You scratch my back

2010-08-24T14:39:00.000+01:00

Well I’m no prude but I’m also not in to telling the world about sexual activities either. Take my hen night – I wouldn’t thank you for a stripper at all – and neither would my mum or my friends. Instead we enjoyed a game of irish bingo, musical statues, pass the parcel, had makeovers and readings from a psychic and most of all had more fun with toilet roll than the Andrex puppy.

It was a great night followed by the walk of shame the next day from a friend’s house in broad daylight and a hangover weighing heavily on my wee body ready to go in for the kill.

I finally arrived home in the wee small hours of the afternoon to be greeted by a wedding present – oooh the excitement. We opened it together to reveal the silky softness of the velvet bag hiding some delights inside.

Well here’s a full blown invitation which would have Tommy Sheridan trading in his working class roots for a quick fake bake to get ready for the action. Inside this delicate little pouch we found a concertina of scratch cards – suddenly the black velvet bag made sense and a quick read of the instructions alerted us that we had just received 52 weeks worth of sex tips from an 18 year old boy.

I know I don’t talk about it but surely that’s a fair indication that the subject is well off limits and if this young boy really really knew me he wouldn’t even consider it.

Designed no doubt to shock but the biggest pay back will be the lack of information coming his way on his delightful little present.

2010-08-13T00:02:00.000+01:00

Ok so you are aware that this blog is about my constant psychosis around food and the battle to eat what ever I like while trotting down the aisle looking like Cheryl Cole (oh I wish). For the past year I have been self obsessed, panicked about looking good, desperate for my dress to transform me into a princess.

So while I have been so self obsessed i've paid little attention to what's going on with the wedding party. I can't stand these programmes that highlight major bridezilla's (M has started referring to me as godzuki but I might tell you about that another day) making huge demands on their bridesmaids. Rules about hair, weight, tans, hair, nails. My bridesmaids are gorgeous and I want them to look they way they want to look but one little surprise has taken me by surprise.

SPANX - yes spanx have entered the bridal party and it aint me wearing them. My tiny petite size 8 sister has been stocking up on food and is sporting a lovely new figure that no longer fits the lovely size 10 dress hanging up in the wardrobe for her. So to recap while I'm gibbering on about weight loss and my difficulties she's tucking into Italian home made carbonara, feasting like a queen and rubbing the pot belly that won't allow her zip to go up in glee. She's delighted with it - she's far from fat she just doesn't fit that dress any longer and by sheer luck we have managed to get her a bigger size.

So the diary of a fat bride has now grown to include a very satisfied bridesmaid who will no doubt enjoy her grub on the day.

Before you think I'm mean, she encouraged me to write this and is delighted with her new figure.

Journey South

2010-07-29T09:26:00.000+01:00

I feel like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards, my hairs limp, the skins gone alien and I’m eating enough for a small mansion. Why, why, why? I’ve got my dress fitting this weekend, it fitted two weeks ago but a lot of calories have been shoved down my throat since then and I don’t think two days is enough time to rescue it. I will behave. I am prone to stress, I believe most of us are and those who say they don’t get stressed as in ‘I don’t do stress’ stress me all the more! Perhaps the other end of a cricket bat would change their mind.

Anyway as usual I digress, I do do stress unfortunately. I am yearning the solitude of the swimming pool but the call of the Fort shopping centre, writing invites, sorting out money, knowing what’s happening is getting in the way of distressing and my skin is showing every jumpy nerve.

A cluster of spots has camped out now on my forehead for the past few weeks and their daddy is residing quite happily on my chin. The two nieces came shopping with me last night and low and behold we looked for 2 and a half hours to find the first pair of shoes we seen grrrr. I bet my mum loves this story when she hears it, it was always her gripe with me.

I’m throwing so much water down my neck I may drown, I’ve ran out of invites as the other half decided to invite extra people I’ve never heard of, I’ve decided to decorate the hall myself and I will bet you I’ll be running around after everyone on the wedding day itself. This is what happens when you let your bridesmaids off the hook and the chieftan is in another country soaking up the sun and generally chilling out. Meanwhile I’m freaking out trying to guess if shoes will be comfy for her, what tiara she might like and what her hair should look like. One of the others is about to upstage me with more bling than Puff Diddy so much so there will be a search party out for the bride.

I haven’t had a chance to read a book, Eastenders has all but disappeared, my long walks are non existent and I can’t face the prospect of alcohol to drown it all out.

So spare a thought when I finally make it to Gretna because its more of a journey than you may realise

Sugar, aw honey honey

2010-07-23T13:50:00.000+01:00

SUGAR AW HONEY HONEY

I think I’m about ready to hit a diabetic coma, why am I indulging too much when my wedding is literally 7 weeks away – its almost as though I want it all to fail, which I don’t. So I pulled myself together today and I’m eating healthy again – bananas, apples, seeded batch bread and I’m trying to talk myself into going swimming tonight.

I wanted to walk to work this morning that the warmth of my cosy bed won and I lay there hitting snooze for ages to make the most of it.

A new regime starts now – not tomorrow, not Monday but now. I have a few weeks yet to get the dress altered and I’m determined I am going to look my absolute best and I know I will, however in the meantime I need to chisel down a few mountains that are residing on my chin, hitch a lift to my forward to smooth out the bumps and trim back any stray hairs that threaten to get in the way.

What else can I do? I was in the local beauticians last night and this girl was waxing lyrical about Scottish Slimmers etc etc – well it’s a bit late for me to be honest. I’m going to have to walk 500 miles to shift this butt and if that’s what it takes then so be it. So if you see steam coming off my trainers, and see my fading in front of you – do not under any circumstances feed me chocolate.

Chips

2010-07-19T15:06:00.000+01:00

I wasn’t kidding when I said that if a restaurant can’t make chips properly or don’t give you enough then its au revoir to you and your frites.

I went to a local establishment yesterday, of the Brewer’s Fayre variety, and the meal was horrendous. I counted six chips on my plate and the chicken had more fat than my waistline. I’ve never really had an ample excuse to eat chocolate fudge cake but in the name of hunger yesterday I did.

What do you want me to do send it back for people to do unthinkable things too? I wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of that these days I’d rather walk out the door and never come back.

Cheap as chips was the service I got not the bill and the amount of red onion on my plate to fill in the white space was ridiculous. Why try to fool the public like that? I could’ve spent the same money making a roast for four and the chips would’ve been spilling off the plate.

I’ve had more satisfaction from a Big Mac than I did from that meal and as I glanced out of the window of the restaurant the golden arches beckoned to me – I managed to resist though but for how much longer.

My lack of frites has however put me on the right path and I’ve decided I’d rather eat ryvita than a chicken that needs a good workout.

Dry your eyes mate

2010-07-15T21:19:00.001+01:00

How's a girl supposed to keep fit in this weather? I love swimming but Niagara Falls outside my window doesn't really appeal and apart from that swimming down Second Avenue with bits of road following me isn't my idea of getting healthy.

I settled into a nice little routine, swim one day, walk the next and then god turned the taps on. I've reconciled myself that the day itself may very well be wet but in the meantime I want to stay dry - if that's not too much to ask. Talk about teasing us with sunshine. Its not even playing peek a boo at them moment, its put its hat on and gone on holiday.

Swimming last night was far from productive, I'm lucky if I swam six lengths and that was only because I was able to duck and dive out of the way of oncoming traffic. Just as I feel I've mastered it 'geronimo' - incoming little people jumping right in front of me just as I get into my stride.

I recognise that the little darlings really do own the pool, I'm just a guest - an unwanted one at that. But those little people grow up and some of them are doing the same thing 30 years later, I'm up for fun but smacking us when the swim past isn't going to make me roll around laughing anytime soon.

As for this weather well the waterproof trousers are on standby, the flowery cagoul is hanging by the door and I've got a paddle ready in case I need to use the wheelie bin as a raft - lets hope it drys up soon.

Kick my butt

2010-07-09T13:08:00.001+01:00

I do have a self destruct button, I know what I should be doing but something inside stops me dead in my tracks. I missed swimming on Wednesday and I haven't been out walking all week, I'm finding it hard to get out of my bed every morning and I don't understand why.

Until I realised Miley Cyrus strikes again or at least her character Ronnie in the Last Song did anyway. I haven't watched the film but its been such a long time since a book was had such powers over my emotions, crying, laughing, bubbling and you guessed it eating.

I couldn't put the book down, I would lie in bed night after night until the other half turned out the light and then couldn't get out of bed the next day. The lasting effects were unbelievable, its almost as if I allowed my body to slow down and it grabbed the chance with both hands to tell me it needs a rest.

I've been eating all the wrong things again, cakes, sweeties, crisps, chips, chips, chips and more damn chips. And this reaction after I try on my dress and its perfect. Its almost as though I want to get to the day itself and prove it doesn't fit - what's that all about?

I want to look amazing, I truly want to glow but shoving grease into my mouth every two hours isn't the shine I'm really looking for. If I keep this up I'll need to be greased into the dress itself.

I love food unfortunately and to pull myself into line I made a trip to buy good ingredients for some good old fashioned cooking, stovies, meatballs, stir fries - there's plenty there but of course I trundle of to Greggs for chicken pasties and fudge doughnuts.

I'm on my way to look like a meringue on the day itself because toilet paper might be necessary to cover the parts the zip can't touch.

The dress fits, yeah.......

2010-07-05T21:30:00.001+01:00

After two years of visiting it, caressing it lovingly and being scared to try it on again I took the plunge and donned the dress and OMG it was perfect, cliche alert - it was made just for me.

So I celebrated with a bacon and scone roll this morning however i tried to burn it all off at swimming tonight. I think the bacon won though as I started to sink after 18 hard felt lengths.

I tried to balance it all by eating turkey filled pitta breads for dinner instead. So rather than have a big dinner I worked it in reverse. Although the sneaky packet of processed cheese and onion crisps might mean I have to take the plunge on more than three occassions this week.

I love swimming, my worries melt away, the only thing on my mind is reaching the end of the pool to tag it and move onto the next lap. The water gently caressing my hair and just as I feel like I'm somewhere different entirely the belly flappers turn up and so does their friend the Waverly Steamer. Splash, bang, wallop - get out my way or else. Then there's the professionals - in with the goggles and the swimming cap, dreaming that they're David Walliams swimming the English Channel and woe betide if you are in their lane. How many lanes do people need for swimming?

My observations on the dying art of manners is confirmed absolutely in the pool. Very few people take others into consideration before they begin to swim, its akin to being on the M8 - 'Your first after me mate'.

I've tried private gyms in the hope that with expensive memberships come manners but lets face it they can't be bought.

I was careful this morning to make sure I kindly thanked the man who prepared my bacon butty after all that part really does cost nothing - although my mother would disagree and say it might cost me the price of a new dress if I get a bit too laid back on it.

hey rosie leave those muscles alone

2010-06-17T18:52:00.003+01:00

Well I have a lot of catching up to do, I've been out of action for a while but this week I've renewed my gym membership and I've been swimming more times in the past two weeks than I have in the passed 20 years.

To be honest the first few times were treading water but I managed to do about 18 lengths on Monday and my bones have been killing me ever since. Muscles I ddin't know could fit in my arms are screaming at me to stop and then I undo all the good work with rewarding my hard work with a sausage supper.

Honestly what's my problem, if you can answer that then you deserve to be a millionaire. I haven't a clue how I work now. I'm on the constant hunt for rewards and the more instant the better. How can a lovely pack of M&Ms be so friendly but an hour later you want to grab the little fellas by the ankles and throw them round the room?

I'm so fed up with myself, I decided to take action and I walked to work today, two and a half miles later my bones almost seized and I limped into work only to be met with a sea of faces who had driven passed me in their luxury cars.

Instead of rewarding myself with chips and curry sauce I hit the supermarket and opted for a lovely healthy sandwich. I hope this is finally the start of finding the bride inside me - otherwise it may all end in tears.

Lucky White Heather

2010-06-07T21:06:00.000+01:00

Did I kill someone in a previous life, did I? If I did then I wish they would come back but then again I might be tempted to do it again. Karma is a bitch to me, she really doesn't like me. The car is giving me some amount of grief at the moment and the amount of things going wrong is crazy. I used to be a girl who would salute magpies but ever since I stopped my luck, if you could even apply that word, has gone downhill faster than Micky Rourke on speed.

The sun shines and I end up spending quality sunbathing time trapped in my car. Over the last few weekends I've broken down in the biggest tailback ever after crawling 20 miles in first gear. Been re-admitted to hospital (thankfully the out-patients department) with a gob stopper of an abscess, fallen out with my dentist for preferring a MacDonald's instead of treating my crippling toothache, ran over a rock while avoiding a cow- I kid you not, let a mad mechanic pull on my handbrake to the point its now broken.
So in true Rosie fashion I've self medicated with food - KFC, Chinese, M&Ms, MacDonald's, Subway and any high fat content I can get my hands on. The next magpie to jump in front of me without its partner might find itself on the barbie.

Yes I have a dress to fit into and my carefully planned schedule to get fit at all times was thrown into complete chaos - again - when I had to take the car to once more be fixed. Low and behold they couldn't fit me in so I need to take her back tomorrow afternoon. I'm going swimming tomorrow night - I have three months left to look good and I intend to look damn good.

I just wish that voice would take my appetitie and put a cork in it. And karma - do me a favour - move on!!!!

You've got the limo out front

2010-05-13T11:52:00.000+01:00

The key to recovery is Hannah Montana and plenty of water.

I’ve decided it’s time to get down and dirty and air my dirty laundry – although the other half will no doubt argue that it’s my time to do a wash – but I will probably retaliate that it’s his turn to buy the powder.

I digress. I’ve been on this weight fighting journey for as long as I can remember. I play table tennis with the same stone every month - up, down, back hand, front hand and then just as I get the hang of it - out! Usually it’s nil poi to me at the end of each weigh in.

Its not just lack of portion control, exercise blah blah blah that makes us heavy. I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome when I was 22 and even then that was after a five year fight. Back then it was merely a label, no one knew the effects, the cause, the anything. Packed off with a ten year supply of Dianette (a very strong and evil pill) I was more or less forgotten in my fog of blurry months and tearful tantrums. Cruelly PCOS can make you look pregnant and ironically it’s the biggest challenge for someone with that condition.

PMT? You have no idea. PMT doesn’t mean you will fight with the world for a reason, it means buy me the wrong chocolate and pay the consequences, give my sister more chips and watch me scream, tell me to do the dishes and then duck. Smile at the wrong time and woe betide you. But there is a rational voice inside wondering how to calm this monster and luckily it managed to move my legs in the direction of the bedroom to have a wee lie down and practice my breathing techniques.

Fast forward to 2009 and 38 years of age – the PMT is now so bad I can’t even argue, the foggy brain has given me a right glaikett look about me, the pain now lasts almost the full month, I can eat for Britain and the taste for wine is insatiable. Month after month doctor visits mean nothing and yet sleep is upon me like an enemy.

Finding some practical nous within I managed to pull together a diary that unbelievably revealed a pattern of events that would come to change my life forever. PMT was now with me for three weeks of the month, periods would last almost two weeks and the little relief I did have for a couple of days – well watch me go. I could climb a mountain, run a marathon, join gyms, walk miles each day and cut down my eating. The PMT was so unbelievable my life was in limbo, I wasn’t living at all. I barely existed and worse still I looked incredibly pregnant. In fact I looked overdue.

The outcome? Early 2010 brought about a hysterectomy and three months off work. I bet you read this and think how lucky – three months off work, well think about this – no chance of a family, the internal feeling that something’s missing, the knowledge that I’ll never need a pregnancy test ever ever again and yet the relief of it all can be uplifting when I let it.

I didn’t talk much during the first few weeks of recovery. Hannah Montana did the talking for me. Everyone should have a drop of Disney when they’re ill. I watched two full series on catch up and begged my friend’s four year old son for a shot of the film. No one gets upset in the world of Disney; I only got upset when series three wasn’t on catch up before I came back to work.

Just before the operation I read an interview with Danni Minogue in one of the big magazines. She said ‘I thought I was going to be that woman who couldn’t have children’ – no Danni that’s me and yet I wish her and all new mothers the very best with their little bundles when they turn up.

The joy of being a woman is never ending. I no longer take the pill but I do now take HRT and although one little white pill doesn’t contain enough calories to make me the size of a house; it doesn’t exactly suppress the appetite either. So now I walk two miles nearly every day, the gym ball that doubled as a laptop table has become my best friend and I’ve got sudden bursts of energy that make me want to run until my life is behind me, to run away from tomorrow, responsibility, to find a beach and cultivate my own land – the stuff dreams are made of.

Hysterectomy is still pretty much a hushed word with women, although like many other conditions, you only have to mention that you are having one when the flood gates, pardon that awful pun, open and its surprising how many women have gone through it, are in discussion about it and can fully empathise with you about the physical and psychological associations of one of Britain’s routine yet major operations.

The Hysterectomy Forum became an online bible to me during my recovery period. Every twinge was explained, techniques and remedies recommended. Before you can think up a question, there’s the answer in black and white telling you that your not alone – someone somewhere has been where you are now and they can help you get through it.

Can I have a bath, how do I get in and out of bed, how long do I have to wear the sexy hospital stockings they’ve given me? What can I expect afterwards, will I put on weight, sprout chin hair, cry with frustration, feel alone, and feel unattractive?

My life now divides itself neatly into before H and after H. Before H I was tired, tired of life, tired of me and definitely tired of everyone else. Glam turned to glum and my hair was always scraped back from my face in a ponytail. Make-up faded into my grey complexion and I couldn’t be bothered looking good.

Maybe it’s because I’m fighting to hold on to my femininity – my organs may have been removed but I’m determined to remain all woman. The straighteners have been replaced with heated rollers, jeans with skirts and pretty dresses, trainers with shoes I was keeping good. The constant strain has left my face and its feeling and looking softer than before and happiness is shining through.

I used to long for people to tell me I looked great again, yet now when they say it I feel it’s loaded with expectation. Although what I expect them to expect I really have no idea.

I’ve met women in supermarkets who feel inspired though that I’m doing so well and I’ve given them hope for themselves, that feels unbelievably good. Equally women I met who went through it before me inspired me to realise that life continues and in many ways its better.

Thankfully I have the wedding to focus on, but one things for sure, if I’m not supposed to give my life for someone else then I am damn sure I’m going to enjoy the life I have been given to the full.

Oh and did someone say cake?

Hello again hello

2010-05-04T18:13:00.001+01:00

It really has been a while since I blogged properly and I think it’s because Amey is really my inspiration or at least the old boys in my office are. In I waltzed feeling good, after three months off, that finally I’ve started to shed the weight and yet when I look around me the room seems to have shrunk by a cumulative four stone.

My they’ve been hard at work, here’s me feeling proud of my ability to stay away from fried breakfasts and this lot have given cakes the boot and showing off their svelte figures. Me, well I had to have body parts removed to lose any inches and to be honest they are putting me to shame.

It feels nice to step on the scales though and see the numbers coming down – at first I thought it was a joke, but if it is then it’s a long one. My energy levels are crazy – suddenly around Eastenders time I take the urge to go out a walk. Last night almost developed into a sprint and I couldn’t stop. I felt like a bike with no brakes (that doesn’t sound right to be honest, so take your mind out the gutter). For the first time in years I feel free. I can’t bear to sit on my backside for any length of time and I envy the guy from the Mastercard advert running around the world like that – although I prefer Mr Barclaycard and his big flume.

I even resisted a cake yesterday. I’m on the pitta bread diet and loving it, its tasty. Think the cereal needs the bump though but then the urge to grab a bacon roll might come back.

See you all hopefully when I’m another stone lighter. I long for the day that you can’t see me because I’m hiding behind a pole.

Its life but not as I know it

2010-04-26T18:26:00.000+01:00

Life as I know it is coming to an end, full of expectation, energy and most of all change change change. As I blow off the shackles of singlehood and prepare to enter into married bliss I wonder if I will finally grow up. Although arguably the last three months have made me grow up quicker than any moment in time over the course of my life.

Hiding my cares away behind cream cakes and chips is slowly, and I mean slowly cause their still lovely, fading into a distant memory. Friday is D-Day. The day I say hello to the world again, slip on the heels and roll down the hill to work. Its a scary prospect. I've been coccooned in my bubble for three months now and as you would expect they have been the quickest three months of my life.

I've started to enjoy long walks, just me on my own, lost in the music while helping my body mend and the result has been unbelievable. Walking lets your thoughts wonder, helps you see the world clearer, slows down the brain to the speed of a small car and slowly relaxes to take in nature. Trees that have lived longer than all of us, never stress, know that tomorrow is a brand new day and that the darkest hour only lasts 60 minutes. Its fair to say I've had plenty of dark hours over the passed few years and lost myself in the indulgence of food. Learning that nothing is as bad as it seems mends the soul, helps us live and most of all realise that this isn't a dress rehearsal at all. Its not even an audition. Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber and his rubber faces is put into perspective.

So what if you don't become a millionaire before the age of 40, get married before you're 30, have a five aside football team by the time you're 35 or see your name in lights. I always wanted to be more than a mere existence, to mean more in this world than someone shuffling from day to day but now that's changed. Priorities are different, my feminity is back with a vengance and altnough the fear is swimming around inside me I know its time to take that step back into the world and rejoin the human race.

It pays to stay fat

2010-04-05T22:06:00.000+01:00

well for the diet industry it does, the sceptic in me wonders what would happen to all the Marjories from Fatfighters if everyone lost the weight promised on the posters. I know how to lose weight, my brain and my stomach aren't listening at the moment right enough but I do know its a case of shutting my mouth and stopping any more food accessing it.

Most of these classes advise that you can lose weight without feeling hungry but to be honest you really do need to feel the pinch before the weight drops off. Listen with mother, let your stomach shrink and the calories will have no where to go and the weight will drop off along with that fabulous subscription to wee Jeannies slim to win class.

I'm five months away from the biggest day of my life and it would be dangerous to grab the laptop, google weightwatchers and enter the magic code posted through my front door earlier this week. 'Sign up now and get three months free' - except you need to pay £30 to sign up so what's free? One things for sure the food for their recipes is far from free.

I'd rather buy chicken fried rice and split it three ways than pay £30 to an online club that calculates calories for me. Well I know me and I know anytime I've been on one of those sites I casually omit a chocolate biscuit here or there. Red day, green day, easy day, eat all you want day, pretty much what you were already doing before paying a weekly fee to be told to do it. Enticed with colourful marketing, pretty little diet books, cute little measuring tapes and cute little organisers. All appealling to the organiser within every one of us.

So mum, finally I'm listening, plenty of fruit and veg (but not at the one time, small meals and plenty of water and exercise. If that doesn't work then book me in for lipo because one things for sure if I keep paying to lose weight I might aswell pay the biggest price of all.

Oi Carb Face

2010-03-17T17:20:00.001Z

All morning I've been looking in the mirror trying to decide if I have a carb face or a moon face as its otherwise known. According to a personal trainer on supersize v superskinny they can tell if you have eaten a bowl of pasta the night before.

So I don't think I have a full moon face all the time but I think it happens quite often.

I love carbs though but not enough to walk around advertising them to the world so I'm cutting down ,it will break my heart but it has to be done.

In the meantime I am battling a very substantial chocolate addiction. I asked M to get me my favourtie M&Ms and he came back with a small bag. With a brave face I told him that was ok and it was more than enough.

I pat myself on the back, plugged in the Ipod and both of shuffled our way round the nearest industrial estate to give me my daily dose of fresh air and rehab. However the said industrial estate has a fabulous poundstretcher with lots of lovely sweeties on offer and in the interest of saving money I bought the family bag of M&Ms to keep me going for a few days.

So I popped them down my jacket (paid for of course) and made my way home. Forgetting myself I unbuttoned my jacket and the M&Ms fell on the floor right in front of M's face.

Ach well, I never said I was never ever going to eat them again

Four Weddings

2010-03-13T20:24:00.001Z

How bitchy is that programme? Has anyone watched it? It would be lovely to win a £5000 honeymoon but I'm not into slagging off other weddings or having mine picked at on TV.

Its big business of course and very much a big topic on TV at the moment. To me well its about the wedding day itself and if I let myself get carried away then Carrie Bradshaw would look like Cinderalla in comparison.

I've organised it all myself - call me a control freak if you like, but when you organise events for a living it would really be silly not too, its not any different, it just more expensive - if you let it. Thankfully I know what's involved, what's expected and how much everything will cost - but please - I don't need two cakes, I don't need imported dance floors, I don't want a freezing castle with no lid on it and I definitely don't want over inflated bar prices that have all my mates hiding under tables to pour a wee hawf instead of having a wee laugh with me.

I'd rather have a fantastic venue that allows people to be themselves, let their hair down, enjoy the food and toast me and M into happiness. As long as the honeymoon is warm then everything is sorted.

I see some of these screaming harpies on TV and think OMG who on earth proposed to you with that attitude? I must have it abroad, I want five honeymoons, I must have two dresses and I want to do it all again when we get back home. It must be on DVD and I am going to torment every visitor that walks in the door with photos, videos, keepsakes, memories you name it until my dying day.

Gees peace. I love a good wedding but I love a good party too, and if ours can qualify as just that then it should be a right good night.

The September Project

2010-03-13T14:36:00.001Z

On my fridge is a list of foods I need to steer clear of for the foreseeable future. Chips,crisps, dips, chocolate,cheese, pizza, curry, pasta- all delicious but so heavy I'll be heaving myself up the aisle.

So with a new lease of life today I found my long lost friend, my ipod, and both of us got to know each other again while taking the biggest walk since all this trouble began. It was liberating, feeling the fresh air on my cheeks, no one checking up on me, casually ignoring the mobile phone, although I daren't leave home without it, it would be my luck that I needed help and find myself stranded.

So every days a new day, every days a challenge and that beautiful gown is in sight.

No cakes till the day itself and the only time I want to see a chinese is in the Olympic Games, not at my front door tempting me with their lovely but calorie laden, fat inducing food.

Of course a girl needs a treat and I will make sure this happens but once a week is a kid on, it will be once a fortnight and then and only then if I feel I deserve it.

I've been shouting about getting in shaped for two years now, so money where mouth is time - its only six months to the wedding (agghhhhh) and if the stress doesn't peel the weight off first then my determination will.

Wish me luck and if you know a great surgeon that's willing to do a freebie - pass him my number

Supermarket Sweep

2010-03-10T11:12:00.000Z

The Supermarket is my social life and like any social situation I'm really needing a change. I know every aisle, every product and could give Dale Winton a run for his money up and down the aisles of the local Scotmid.

The house isn't giving me cabin fever at least I can change channels, read books, feed my facebook addiction and listen to some music but when I go outside the only place i have to go is the local supermarket or industrial estate - all leading to money and feeding my chocolate obesssion.

In saying that I have exhausted catch up TV, I've consumed two series of Hannah Montana in the space of three days and I really look forward to Eastenders, I've so far managed to stay away from Jeremy Kyle, I would end up in a psychiatric unit if I watch too much of that, and anything that involves buying or selling but my secret pleasure is Loose Women.

I've caught up on 10 years of Neighbours (although to be honest that was never going to be hard), Summer Bay however is not the same place it used to be, when did they get so many residents?

I'm starting to live the characters in my books, I know them all intimately and eventually I'll get to the stage where I will wonder why you don't know them.

Fresh air - new supermarket - definitely what I need.

Going Nuts

2010-03-04T10:43:00.001Z

Great I get to have all the symptoms of a pregnant women, the munchies (although I had them already), the swollen belly (well I probably had that too) and the creaky bones getting off the couch ( aye ok, enough)

I've got what's known as the menopausal munchies and the craving for peanut M&Ms is incredible. Let me loose and I'll be fighting every monkey out there to secure enough nuts (easy) to make sure my craving is forever satisfied.

I'm buying fistfuls of magazines at a time to read the best way to lose a stone. I found one this morning which seems very easy, should deliver what it says it will deliver but my penchant for those lovely chocolate e-flavoured delicacies is standing in my way of becoming the next Kate Moss (ok so I'm a few inches short and more than a few inches wider but I digress).

Part of my rehab is to walk a little more each day - at the moment my walk is taking me to the nearest shop and its taking all my strength to walk out of there without clutching a treat bag of my colourful little friends. Ok I should buy a paper and get out of there quick, but my hands shake, my insides go weak and my legs get heavy.

Before I know it a force of gravity has turned me round, put one foot in front of the other and pushed me straight into the family bag stand to try hard not to lift one bag and take it to the counter.

I hate failing at anything but if the sweet taste of chocolate is the punishment for failure then I might be able to live with it.

Hanging on the telephone

2010-03-02T17:38:00.001Z

Through the darkest nights and endless days – words that have shaped my entire life and yet laughter, real belly laughter is never far away, and thankfully I don’t have to look for it. M keeps me more than amused and he doesn’t even need to try. It’s effortless but more often than not Karma comes back to bite him in the ass.

Not so long ago he changed my ring tone to that infamous little ditty from Real Radio ‘I love the boaby’ and then rang me at work much to my embarrassment. I begged Real Radio to help me trap him but my pleas fell on deaf earphones.

But it seems karma sits patiently in the background and waits for the precise moment to deliver its message with a punch that just can’t be ignored.

I jumped the NHS queue and was admitted through the pearly gates of one of Glasgow’s private hospitals to have my operation. I felt like I was in a premier Travel Inn currently undergoing a Hiltonesque upgrade. My own private Idaho – own telephone, freeview, buzzer on tap and once I woke from my operation free morphine at the touch of a button. At times I felt as though I was auditioning for a part in Tim Burton’s version of Alice in Wonderland. The hours felt like seconds and when my parents and M came to visit I was flying high.

Not high enough though it seems. M decided to text his mum to give her an update on my dopey condition. The nurse came into to check on me and suddenly the room stood still. The saline drip came to a halt and every breath of air disappeared in a flash. ‘Get back ye bastard, I’ll break your legs...... beep’ ‘Get back ye bastard I’ll break your legs.....beep’ filled the room. I turned my head to watch M trying to stop his mobile phone jumping to life unsuccessfully as Max and Paddy screamed obscenities across the room. Seconds later it happened again.

A month before being admitted to hospital I hit the town painted it red and landed head first in a plate of toast crumbs on the living room carpet snoring for Britain. M decided to video this and show it anyone willing to laugh at my expense. Me, well I chalked it up to yet another reason to find a witty comeback, but I had more or less given up trying.

Laughter really is never far away and its maybe just as well as the past two months have been testing for us all. My neighbour died after a long hard battle with her health and we paid her husband a visit to offer our respects. As is tradition the open coffin was in the living room for those who wished to see her one last time. Due to earlier misdemeanours M thought it best to turn his phone off as it had landed him in hot water a few times recently.

Once again the room fell silent, the clock stopped ticking and the sound of snoring could be heard within the room, it was low but it was hard to ignore none the less. Fear gripped each of us and we didn’t want to stare at the coffin for fear of what we might find.

It turns out M had kept his finger on the button of his phone too long and switched it back on again and I in my drunken sleepy stupor filled the grief filled room with my snores.

Every rose has its thorn

2010-02-28T18:29:00.001Z

There comes a time in every woman’s life where change is not only imminent its inevitable. I started 2010 with such optimistic hopes – dreams far beyond anything I ever dared dream before but life doesn’t take you in the direction you think it should. It shakes you from your dreams, sometimes harshly but it builds you into a stronger flower, taking you from a weed that gets everywhere into a rose that’s fought its way through the storms, standing fiercely against the elements while retaining all its beauty.

I’m surrounded by roses at the moment each and every one wrapping the folds of their love around me and protecting me against anything which may upset me. Helping me grow from a weed into delicate yet robust blossom that can look life straight in the face and realise the paths I’m not supposed to take and surrendering the fight to understand that something more lies before me.

My cousin and my fertility died in the same week. Both leaving unknown legacies, both tied up in a tangled of mayhem which has become life in this new decade. Endless hospital visits, graveyard prayers and with every piece of news received the understanding that life is still in reach, its still there, its mine for the taking and its reaching out to me, providing me with the thorns necessary to keep the beauty alive.

Who cares about weightloss, who cares about any of it and yet through all of this I’ve found my femininity, the need for beautiful dresses instead of ripped jeans, the longing for trips to far off places and most of all my wedding. The union which will seal how special 2010 is destined to be.

In need of therapy

2010-02-17T19:09:00.001Z

Just what you need in the year of your wedding, a trip into hospital with a three month recovering period. I’m trying hard to focus and I want to emerge from the cocoon of my bedroom as a brand new woman but with the amount of cake and chocolate chapping my door every day I don’t stand a shadow of a chance.

It’s now two weeks since the op, time flies, I feel like someone has spun the clock hands. I’ve piled on 3lbs lying in my bed and I don’t think its going to come down anytime soon. I’ve not been allowed outside yet and if anyone even catches me trying to flick a crumb off my pj’s I’m given the ultimate death stare and told to behave.

What I fail to understand is what level of recovery I’m at because everyone is different. I look healthier than I probably am and that makes it hard for me to justify sitting on my butt all day.

Thankfully I’ve had loads of visitors, I’ve got more books than the National Library and I’m managing to avoid Jeremy Kyle - although I found myself shouting obscenities at the TV this morning when he was on. Who does he think he is? What an angry, angry man. He’s a prime candidate for a cake – it might sweeten him up a bit, although, I think Mr Kipling might have to go some to put a smile on his face.
Time is starting to slow down now though. The last two weeks have been a hive of activity but now I’m able to negotiate the stairs I can see some normality in reach again.

For once I don’t want to visit my wedding dress – what if it doesn’t fit? I know me only too well, I would commiserate with a cream bun or a double helping of chips, the big day is within reach now but my target weight isn’t.

It should really be the least of my worries at present – I know I should concentrate on getting better but losing weight to me will be a massive sign that I’m on the mend and its not coming quick enough

So what’s a girl to do –well there’s a nice little bit of chocolate cake left over from this afternoon’s lunch which might just take my mind off it.

Feels like heaven

2010-02-09T20:49:00.000Z

I know I’ve been looking to lose weight but landing in hospital is drastic by any weight loss standards. I’ve not overdone it on the dieting in case your wondering but sometimes in life we all have to pay the men in white coats a visit and off I went last week into Glasgow’s finest.

As shallow as it seems I did think to myself well at least if I’m off work I won’t eat cakes - who was I kidding. We never have cake in this house, not even a chocolate biscuit. The latter disappears quicker than Augustus Glup getting stuck in the waste pipe. February in my world is birthday time though and that combined with my hospital visit has resulted in an abundance of cakes, flowers (not edible thankfully), chocolates and goodies.

The Bargeddie old boys would get a sugar rush just thinking about the cakes lurking about in here at the moment. Just as I polished off a piece of coconut cake in popped Gill with a fabulous box of Lily O’Briens. If the commas are missing from this piece then please note there have been plenty of pauses to savour the delicacies beside me.

I’m laid up in bed with only the TV for company so its no wonder the chocolates are becoming a good friends.

Shrink that

2010-01-30T19:05:00.000Z

I’ve not just fell off the wagon. I’ve fell off the back of an artic lorry. Takeaways, chocolate, pizza and of course chips. Bad news spells danger for me. So you can more or less tell by my waistline the amount of bad news I’ve had in my life. I can lift one bit and that’s the great break up on 1995, the other side is the cataract operation of 2005, the big bust is just, sheer greed.

Some people get so stressed they lose weight and look amazing, of course that’s probably because their nerves are dancing all over and hitting calories with a baseball bat before scoring a few home runs. Me, well my nervous energy lifts me out my chair, puts one foot in front of the other and takes me straight to the nearest fridge or vending machine.

When it comes to having pizza and potota croquettes on a Saturday night then its time to really think about where this will all end up! Tears at the altar in September if I’m not careful and a mad search for the holy grail of great big swarovski safety pins to keep it all in.
I’m not ashamed to say I stress the way other people do, but if I must then why can’t I burn it all off instead of piling it all on.

In the meantime I’m saving the tinfoil and cling film from my takeaways to make an emergency shrink wrap before the wedding.

5 A Day, makes you work rest and play

2010-01-25T21:40:00.001Z

I seem to have it in my head that as long as I’m eating grapes or something that’s not junk that I’m not overdoing it. Except after it I still feel the same way – mince. Thankfully I’m not a big fan of that though. I’ve just swallowed my five a day in one sitting – a whole punnet of grapes and of course the fruit with the most sugar.

It’s almost like I think eating them will undo the damage from the pizza and chips I had earlier. Thinking on it rationally all I’m doing is eating even more food. But if fruit is full of anti-oxidants etc then surely that means it can only be good to counter act the bad stuff.

I’ve got into a habit of eating cardboard every morning with toppings varying from hummous to spreading cheese or flora. I’m probably only supposed to eat two but a mouse would be squeaking for more so before I know it I have five pieces of corrugated cardboard on my plate and it takes me all morning to eat it.

When the phone rings I have a dilemma, it’s not the easiest food to munch on quickly and I pray someone in the office knows the heinlich manoeuvre in case I get into trouble one morning.

Porridge is fine but the milk thief in the office puts paid to that when there’s a dribble left and before you know it the coats on, the money’s in hand and Mr Roll man is smiling all the way to the wholesalers.

One thing’s for sure I’ve tackled the breakfast and lunch monster all I need to do now is get dinner right and success should surely follow.

Who said it was supposed to be easy.

Do you want the truth or something beautiful?

2010-01-16T20:24:00.001Z

Well I want to look beautiful but do I talk a good game or what. I'l lose weight blah blah blah. If I could invent calorie free delicious pakora and calorie free chips I would be worth a fortune. Please don't tell me about shoddy alternatives like parsnip chips or vegetable pakora - it has be chicken and the deeper fried the better. I bought that spray oil but its terrible - I end up skooshing it about four or five times - maybe more and apparently you only need to do it once. Nonsense nonsense nonsense.

The wedding is just another excuse in a long long line of weightloss gibberish. I'm needing to learn to love me a little bit more but every photo has me running to the fridge to cheer me up. Kate Moss once said nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels, but then we all know how she curbs her appetite and that's a bit extreme. I want to lose weight on my nose, it annoys me. I play with in the mirror so see what it looks like thinner but doing a Daniella isn't an option. Knowing my luck I would end up snorting sugar and the pounds would just keep coming.

Truth is I love my food, I can't help it. I honestly love tasty grub and yes in the long run its cheaper to cook your own, but only after you've spent a mint buying all the tasty herbs and food you can't eat on its own.

As for going to the gym every night - well you may have already guessed that my life doesn't roll that way. Its a busy old life but I probably wouldn't have it any other way.

Key to my success will just need to be move more, eat less and ditch the chocolate. But then again it really is beautiful

New Year – New Me

2010-01-06T14:48:00.001Z

Everything on January the first is new – new year, new challenges, new resolutions and new ways to break them. I’ve decided to put the last four months down to a warm up at the gym and I’m upping my game big time. I’ve made no resolution except for curbing my facebook addiction which is leading to lazyitis and if I don’t act soon I’ll soon resemble a couch potato.

I know I’ve been waxing lyrical for months about losing weight but I’m going to pat myself on the back here, normally I would have given the gym a wide berth by now and I would be looking for loop holes to get out of the 12 month membership but I’ve not done that. I’ve attended regularly since September although December has been a challenge. I don’t think I have a busy social life however I’ve learned a few things about myself and one of them is the speed at which my life goes – turn on facebook and before you know it its almost midnight and although I’m yawning my head off I still can’t resist one little refresh to see what’s been written.

I’m not sure what I expect to see – something that will change my life forever? The holy grail of weightloss? Christmas was bad – not only did the time off exaggerate my time on the internet but each time I looked round I had a pile of chocolate wrappers beside me.

So time to book into the hypnotherapist again and get me back on track – I was doing so well, the inches had fallen off, the weight was coming off gradually and I re-discovered the joys of fruit but two weeks of rich dinners, selection boxes, days out and sitting on my butt has taken its toll. It’s so frustrating that you can pile on a stone in the space of two weeks but it takes six to get rid of it – grrrr.

Ach well – chocolate now binned, gym membership resumed – wedding plans firmly on track and a dress to dream about and I’m fighting the flab harder than ever before.

The final countdown

2010-01-03T22:23:00.000Z

So it’s the final countdown, well almost and apart from a few hiccups at the very start of the year I remain positive that I can stay on the diet treadmill (literally) and start operation bikini as of tomorrow when I am so determined to exercise every single day. Whether it’s the gym, sauna, housework or a brisk walk time is running out and that stone I lost during November wasn’t longing in knocking my front door over the Christmas and New Year festivities in the shape of selection boxes, bumper maltesers packs, Bacardi breezers a few little vinos and of course dinners to almost die for – well at least sleep after.

Nothing but nothing has me running to the selection pack quicker than a car problem, the weather, the sweet smells of food drifting through the window from the neighbours kitchens and a bumper edition of sweet depression in the form of Hollyoaks, Eastenders and the thought of Celebrity Big Brother – mind your the latter has me reaching for needles to poke my eyes out quicker than running to the fridge door.

Why is food so gorgeous at this time of year? I wouldn’t dream of buying two selection boxes because they are buy one get one free or biscuits for cheese – and of course buy those and you then need the cheese – by the way if you haven’t already tried them then its a must to get your hands on appateasers – they are amazing and squeezed between two Jacobs crackers sends the calorie counter within into complete overload and I can hear the number crunching accountant inside totting up the calories as they enter my mouth. He doesn’t need to though, my tongue can count them for him.

Certainly doesn’t stop me though, I had to make a pot of soup to try to get some balance back but then I remembered I hadn’t wished the local Indian a very merry Christmas and so gave them a wee call and decided a wee portion of pakora wouldn’t hurt with one or two chips and maybe a wee bottle of sprite.

After all it’s Christmas and as by next Christmas I will be a Mrs, which brings on the traditional role of being an excellent cook and wife, then its only fair that I understand the role of Christmas preparations completely – doesn’t it?

Final blog of 2009

2009-12-31T14:42:00.002Z

I might be cheating here a bit but I just wanted to share with you my best parts of 2009. The latter part of 2009 has taken me by surprise. I started to share my innermost secrets and with the internet world and the response has been brilliant to say the very least so I hope you don't mind if I take you back to where it all started and share my first entry with you all again.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, and I’m feeling……

Fat! Its little over a year to the big day and my waistline is getting bigger with every bite of Green & Blacks – I thought that chocolate was supposed to be good for you? Surely I’m not the only bride out there feeling like a whale? I keep seeing great weight loss stories, where you could make a whole new person from the fat they’ve shed, but I’m a foodie – to quote the old cliché ‘I’ve never met a calorie I didn’t like’.

I bought my dress a few weeks ago, it’s a size 16 – double the size I want it to be but I’m struggling to imagine my size 8 days anymore, and sometimes wonder if they ever existed at all. It’s hanging in all its glory in my mother’s wardrobe, tempting me with its sparkles to tighten it up, make it look neater and be as gorgeous as its adversaries, desperate to make an entrance, for me to do it the justice it deserves.

When the going gets tough I make a phone call, jump in the car to pay my dress a visit and then sit and chat with my mum about wedding plans till teatime, munch toffees while shouting that I’ll lose enough weight and burn enough energy to power the national grid, until I realise I’m hungry and I jump in the car to go home to make the tea.

But the hunger takes over, I can’t think straight, my mind goes dizzy with the sweet smells emanating from the local Indian takeaway and I’m hooked. I’m in the door, I’m salivating over the menu and I settle on chicken pakora. But, what about the other half? Should I share it? Of course I should but I’ll need to buy chips to make sure there is enough, don’t I? And I can’t possibly buy a takeaway and not have a can of irn bru, or two…..

Before I know it I’m punching the digits of my life into the lovely Indian’s money swallowing machine, leaning in eagerly to receive the mouth watering, calorie laden treats and I’m out of there like a dodgy criminal, hiding my shame in a white plastic bag while running to the car to make a quick exit and think of excuses quick smart to the other half of why I’m once again not cooking. At least if he gets half he can’t really complain.

I didn’t buy the dress a size too small, that would be tempting fate, but if I keep eating like this and drinking too much wine then it won’t be long before the dress is squealing for mercy and I’m reaching for shrink wraps, maple syrup diets or a great big safety pin to keep it all in.

Every Monday brings a new challenge, I’ll climb my next Munro, yes I’ll do the 10k, I’ll join little Jeanie’s slim to win class at Tubby Hall and I’ll finally look good in clothes from Prada Mark where only the super skinny can afford to buy cheap and cheerful and look a million dollars.

So its back to cheap fruit from Aldi’s, tap water and stir fries and I’m joining the Alba Military Fitness class on Saturday morning to get fit with some hunky soldiers while running wistfully through Strathclyde Park. After all if Claire Richards is prepared to knock seven bells out of herself in the name of looking good on her wedding day then it would be an absolute tragedy if I didn’t give it a go too.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-22T21:24:00.001Z

When was the last time you experienced a little bit of magic? Was it Santa when you were young, the Easter Bunny, Disney movies. It probably explains why films such as Home Alone are just as popular with adults as kids every year.

I’m lucky enough to have tasted a little bit of magic last Christmas and this Christmas. It was made all the more special when the snow fell, we looked out the window and the beauty of Loch Lomond’s hills were bathed in snowy white powder. All we needed was a pair of moon boots and a waterproof jacket and it would have been snow angel heaven.

We love Loch Lomond, it’s not only stunning but its tranquil, magical and every twist and turn in the road unveils a new experience. The Drovers is set in Inverarnan near Ardluie. It was built in 1706 and is the best night out and hotel experience available in Scotland. I’m all for a fancy hotel room but I also love character and the Drovers have this in abundance. It’s got the XFactor. Where else could ten girls descend on a group of people sitting sharing a 2 for 1 pizza offer and start singing Christmas songs, dressed to the nines while the checked shirts and Arran jumpers look on in amazement? And yet it’s not an irregular occurrence in there, it happens all the time.
My only complaint – it’s over far too soon. I don’t want to get out the bed to go home, I want to savour the tales of the night before, pour over photos, examine the walls, the fields next to it, talk to the locals, drink in the beauty of the scenery and keep the hangover of leaving just that little bit longer. I’m allergic to coming back home. I start to sweat, I feel ill and I get restless.

I love the folklore, the regulars, Banjo Mick will be forever in my memories and friends we haven’t yet met have a special memory compartment with its own special key called the Drovers. Bobby the Bear winks at us girls when we check in, he knows he’ll get some free cuddles later in the night and the headless Knight shines his armour in our direction to let us know we’re more than welcome. Better still the photos show orbs dancing around our heads, joining in the fun and wishing us no harm.

So bonny bonny banks, we’ll haste ye back in May to experience a little bit of summertime magic.

Merry Christmas everyone xxxx

The Diary of a Fat Bride Part 3

2009-12-22T10:09:00.002Z

I’ve gave in, it’s Christmas and even fat brides, or sorry skinny brides to be, need to give themselves a break. So I have. I might have taken it a bit too far mind you but I’ll lose it again.

For all those doubters out there I’ve taken on another gym membership to pull my weight together. I have got to the stage where weight is just a number mind you but I do need to realise that the only pounds I’m losing are from my purse and not my trunk every time I speed dial the local Chinese. Even the name of the takeaway hasn’t put me off – it’s called the Shatin but what a paradox, the food is adorable and unfortunately for my waist line there’s plenty of it.

Aren’t the shops fantastic at the moment? I mean the supermarkets, the delicacies are unbelievable and my mouth waters just thinking of them. I go for my second induction tomorrow morning but lets face it, I’ll be maintaining instead of losing but I think I can handle that.

The biggest gift I can get this year is to give myself a break, chill out and stop worrying about how fast my weight loss is. I have polycystic ovaries plus an underactive thyroid two conditions renowned for making weight bounce back on quicker than it came off and both have a habit of inviting more friends round to play on my ever expanding trampoline of a stomach.

The calories are on an elastic band as soon as they burn off they just bounce right back on again. It’s the true meaning of yo yo dieting. If I want a roll and bacon I’m going to have one – but I’ll miss out the potato scone. If I want chips I’ll have them too but I’ll have a lot less and if I want a Chinese well I’ll just need to make sure it’s only once a month and a pay day treat.

I’ve had my big nights out now and my waistline lives to tell the tale, its just has a bigger story to tell at the moment. Watch this space because it just might decide to tell you one day.

Toilet roll sponsored by........

2009-12-20T18:18:00.001Z

I’m not a huge fan of advertising tripping me up everywhere I go. I have my boundaries, I do expect to see it, albeit through wavy fast forward lines, on my TV, newspapers, billboards and on buses, trains and bus shelters. Adverts on my facebook drive me crazy and those pop uppy ones that take over the whole screen when you’re trying to read something sends me into orbit, I end up playing find the little cross to close it down. By the time I’ve closed chased the mouse around the desk, my IP address has been recorded, my email address found and hintful tips about Viagra for women is winging its way to my inbox. Checking emails used to be a joy, I loved seeing a closed envelope on the screen and never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I would receive so many generous offers of marriage, shared millions and a free pair of straighteners, how lucky can one girl get.

About five or maybe six years ago I bought a new phone – all singing all dancing and it had the then new Bluetooth application. Bluetooth immediately gives me images of school dentist visits, with everyone walking about with blue or pink mouths. I didn’t know how to use it. I walked past the Men’s Store in Sauchiehall Street and this image flashed on my screen telling me I could get 10% off any item at the Men’s Store. Do I look like a man? Why would I be interested? How did they get my phone number? I could feel the annoyance turn to anger and before I knew it there I was in the shop demanding to see the manager and asking him how he got my details and if I wanted to be bombarded with advertising then I would sign up for it. I’ve ditched most of my favourite magazines because I was finding it so hard to find the stories. So who did this bunch think they were? You know they had the cheek to tell me to turn my Bluetooth off, otherwise I was fair game. I’ve never had it switched on since.

Tonight brought a whole new world of advertising straight through my front door and into my kitchen. As I reached into my little bag of treats I removed the delicate carton of chicken and fried rice and there on the white cardboard, the whitecard board that keeps the heat in while it’s travelling was a great big advert for Yorkshire Electricity. I don’t live in Yorkshire, the fact I’m ordering from my local Chinese means I’m saving money on gas and electricity anyway so why would I want to see an advert for an energy firm?

That’s what the newspaper is for – adverts and stories. What’s next toilet roll sponsored by Sharwoods? And Sharwoods if you do want to use this idea then you better get in touch with me first

Booking in for therapy

2009-12-14T16:15:00.001Z

Its probably not hypnotherapy that I need, it’s probably more like a lobotomy. A full frontal lobotomy that stops me seeking anything nice in life. Taste is the best gift given to all of us but it’s also the most fatal. I reckon smokers only lose weight because the evil weed kills their taste buds. I get so disappointed if my food is tasteless so I seek taste in the most evil of places.

My breakfast of late has consisted of cardboard (otherwise known as ryvita) with a slight scraping of humous. Lunch is a bit more substantial but then I get home and the devil hunger within me takes hold of any common sense inside me, engulfs me with temptation and walks with me holding my hand to the nearest carry out shop.

I’ve been so busy of late I haven’t even been able to get to the gym, the fat cells are having a party of their own and the Indians cash register is ringing off the hook. So I have a reprieve, I’m going back to the hypnotist after Christmas to make all junk food taste like cod liver oil and I’m going to take on a spin class or two every week.

Those fat cells might be partying now but their hangover begins when mine ends and that’s a promise.

Christmas time, mistletoe and wine, Rosie’s dancing all the time

2009-12-07T12:30:00.000Z

But not enough to burn the calories needed to get rid of the wine consumed in the first place. I’ve cut down on junk, fizzy juice and sweeties, substituting them for other, as it turns out, more fattening alternatives. Why tell me yoghurt is good for you when it clearly isn’t, don’t tell me to eat fruit then ruin it by quoting sugar statistics at me and back off telling me that a bottle of Miller is just as bad as a can of coke.

It’s almost Christmas and its getting quicker and quicker at getting here every year and my waistline is only just beginning to adjust when it rockets straight back up again after one night out. I’ve another three before the day itself and I’m honestly contemplating stapling my lips together in between these events to salvage any weight I have lost. Keep this up and it will soon be the diary of a huge bride and I’ll be long to just be fat.

Again the photos turned up. I walk out the door feeling like Cheryl Cole and come back looking like Cheryl Baker before her transformation. My non existent midriff suddenly gets 10 inches bigger in every photo and my long curly hair is hanging like Jordan’s old extensions. I could definitely audition for the Hebs advert and no diet class in the world is ever going to rescue me because I’m on permanent self destruct.

My red lipstick is everywhere except my lips, my balance is still sitting where I left it and I’ve smoked enough fags to keep Mayfair in business for another year.

And yet I’m jigging about the dance floor like my life depends on it, everyone around me is on the same mini planet as me and nothing else in life exists except for that moment.

I go out every time looking a million dollars and come back looking like a discarded Scottish pound note. My one faux pax was standing outside Lanarkshire’s OK Corral wearing a fur coat and smoking a fag. I must have looked as though I wanted to earn some money for my night out.

Hypnotized

2009-12-03T21:37:00.002Z

I've lost a stone, not the precious stone from my ring, not a stone from the house but a stone in weight - a whole 14lbs of fat has faded away - its taken a lot of hard work and set backs this landmark but still I'm celebrating. I've written down my objectives and I've promised to reward myself each time I get to a landmark - first slip up a shared chinese takeaway tonight. There was a breakthrough though - it done nothing for me whatsoever, I wasn't excited by it and I know I can now live without it.

I've been to a hypnotist twice now, the first session concentrated on my love of diet irn bru. You see I couldn't have a can without having something to eat along with it. The bloatedness has gone down and although I've bought the odd 7Up, I can't finish it and I throw it away.

The second session concentrated on helping me crave healthy food instead of junk and I have to say since Monday I've done very well ( of course tonight was a mere blip).

The fizzy juice is almost gone, my craving for fast food certainly has, I even sat through a MacD's advert without getting jittery and my need for chocolate has just about left. I know life is about balance, but I reckon if I lose another stone I'll be able to balance a bit better, my bank balance will be healthier and I'll be on the road to looking fab on the big day. I now want to look fab every day though, not just one.

Eat junk - look like junk, that's my mantra now, remind me if I forget to remind myself

Diet intolerance

2009-11-29T15:42:00.002Z

I am officially allergic to the word diet. It has me running to the nearest takeaway before you can say eat what you want - these faddy diets do say eat what you want, as long as its cottage chips, parsnip cheese and tomato porridge. As I've mentioned before I can't bear the thought of cooking anything when I get up in the morning, tipping microwave porridge into a bowl almost has me coming out in a rash but sometimes I just about manage it.

During these dark dieting days my dreams become erratic too - not erotic but very much erratic and poor M suffers as I toss and turn and talk to him in my sleep. Funny enough its the one time I don't think about food but I bet he wishes I would. A few weeks back, I spoke to him in my sleep, telling him about a well known shortcut, then I slapped my hand on his shoulder, dragged it down his back and then pinged the top of his shorts. This poor guy still wants to marry me, even though I punched him in the face the other night and then apologised.

He would love to think I did that to him deliberately, it would give him the ultimate power to either get shot of me once and for all or cast it up forever. I'm ashamed of my actions, I've emailed the Glasgow Sleep Centre to see if they can cure my snoring, my restlessness and my chattering in my sleep.

I talk a bit too much during the day anyway so it makes sense to me that some of this would seep through to night-time but I don't think M is buying that.

So in the interest of this not becoming the Diar of a fat dumpee, i'm ditching dieting, taking my mother's advice of not eating big portions and begging my hynotist to to get me off chips once and for all.

Last night I had a dream that my precious green machine was stolen and the first thing I did when I woke up was run to the window to make sure she was still there.

The Diary of a Fat Bride - yes again

2009-11-25T20:50:00.000Z

Wind and rain are consistent in my life and so is MacDonald’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken but I draw the line at Pizza Hut. I don’t hit the hut, I look like one. I’ve taken absolute leave of my senses. I bought my lunch for a full week and it only cost me £3, but two days on the soup and I’m limping to the car in a daze, shaking with excitement that I’m paying a visit to the golden arches.

My mouth waters as I steer the green machine through the drive in – I stare at the menu and take nothing in. A MacDonald’s salad after all is laughable but a quarter pounder with cheese meal large hits the spot and today there’s no remorse.
The office table is littered with gorgeous Danish Pastries and muffins from Costco and I try, not very hard, to refrain. I think you would call today the absolute dictionary definition of a blow out.

But I consider what I’ve done and think – back to soup tomorrow, after all it’s not healthy to lose too much weight all in the one go and when you fall off the wagon, well you just get back on.

I often hear them talking about the 12 steps to recovery in films and TV programmes, maybe I should take 12 steps away from the fridge, 12 miles away from the nearest takeaway, 12 hours away from my mobile phone and then maybe then I’ll be a desired size 12.

But, and it could turn into a big butt, I had the cheek to have dinner. Not just any dinner, but bbq chicken and chips and a can of full fat tango.
I promised to be honest dear diary but sometimes I wish you would stop looking at me to feed you with my failings after all I feed myself enough of my own.

My camera never lies....

2009-11-23T19:11:00.001Z

Grrr Why is it that the mirror and the camera tell a different story? I look in the mirror and feel great, I’m able to wear clothes I haven’t wore for a while and yet it only takes the click of a camera and I want to scream. I’ve noticed that if I pull my hair into a ponytail it gives me an instant facelift and I lose about ten inches off my face but if I let it hang loose, they way I love, then I have a big baw face.

Nothing has me dialling the local Chinese quicker than feeling – ah to hell with it, I’ll start again tomorrow. So tomorrow’s here and even while I’m writing this there’s a packet of cheese and onion McCoys winking up at me. Why is my metabolism so bad? Ok I know it wouldn’t be half as bad if the diet was a bit better but even when it is better I don’t lose anything dramatic.

Why is that, why is it that some people get the hangover from hell and lose half their bodyweight – me I retain all the gassy beer I’ve consumed the night before and it stays with me for weeks. Silly season is upon me and I know I should be thinking of maintaining my weight just now instead of losing it but I want to look amazing this Christmas.

I’ve cut out the fizzy juice and despite it being diet I thought I would have lost half my body weight by now – I thought that when I started taking thyroxine too but that didn’t work.

So I’m going on a soup and baked potato and salad diet for a few weeks with a bit of fruit thrown in for good measure. I started eating peanuts last week and despite everyone shouting at me that they were fattening I chose to ignore them and listen to the fact that it was good fat.

So finally I’m upping the ante despite Christmas season being near. The wii fit’s getting dusted down, the curves attendance increased and I’m walking as far as my wee legs can take me.

Failing that I’ll be pulling my ponytail so tight I’ll do Jordan proud.

twittwoo

2009-11-22T15:42:00.006Z

Olivia and Olli owl settled on top of number 22 for the night, watching out over Thurston Manor. There had been a bit of strange activity earlier in the evening and Ollie couldn't settle. Seven women had descended on his home, it's not that he wasn't used to people coming and going, but in November who in their right mind takes a caravan break? Yet those seven women where full of joy and laughter and although they had upset his routine he was intrigued by their presence on the site.

Olivia was equally intrigued and had paid a visit to their caravan to get some clues. She came back slightly annoyed. 'Well Ollie full of fun and laughter is one thing but their a bunch of litter louts - and it's the worst type - plastic bags. They ran across the grass wearing them on their feet and then hid them in a tree.' Ollie looked over and said 'I'm not surprised Livvy, their feet would get wet on that soggy grass'. 'Well devil mend them, they're not getting them back, this is our home.

'I was speaking to Old Tam Owl and he told me that bunch are down the High Street bouncing from pub to pub. God knows what they'll be like when they arrive back'

Ollie understood Livvie's concern but old Tam was nothing but a gossip monger and anyway they all looked like good fun.

He heard rustling in the bushes, a wind was getting up, just then a taxi turned up, its lights brightening up the park with seven women looking the worse for wear. He heard the words chocolate cake and champagne and strawberries and decided he needed to pay them a visit. Just then two of the party found him and Livvie and started shouting twittwo at them Twittwoo - who says that - talk about insulting. But still this strange bunch of women peaked his interest and once they were safely inside he perched himself outside with a good view into the caravan.

'Why is there strawberries in my wine?' Good question he thought - why was there? And what's Tesco - if it's taking over the world should he be worried?

The champagne was popped, choruses of Happy Birthday belted out above the wind and the chocolate cake looked devine - wasted on that bunch though - would they even remember eating it? People are crazy creatures, they inhabit the land, make decisions for all of nature and then drink substances that alter their mind so badly that they say and do the silliest things.

Ollie believed in reincarnation though and hoped that he and Olivia would come back some day to party on down with those seven women. However he did suspect they might be in zimmers by that time but doubted that would stop them.

Has Rosie gone crazy?

2009-11-18T17:06:00.002Z

Harriet hairpiece hadn’t been out of the house for a while and was starting to feel a bit upset about it. The glitzy parties were quickly becoming a thing of the past as her owner Rosie had finally grown her hair to such a length that Harriet was almost redundant. Night after night she had visions of taking scissors to Rosie’s long locks so that she would once again bask in the compliments and the limelight.

One bright Tuesday afternoon Rosie removed her from her place on the dressing table mirror and fixed Harriet to her own ponytail. Why was this happening? She only comes out to play at night so what was this all about? Rosie’s obviously taken leave of her senses. Next thing she knew she was wrestling with one of those great big red gym balls before dangling backwards on it and scraping the ground below. Why was that man pointing a camera at her? Harriet was far from pleased, she needed a good wash and blow dry and here was Rosie parading her to some paparazzi guy flashing his bulb at her while Rosie tried hard to smile and pretend to exercise at the same time? Who exercises in their jeans and a hairpiece in their hair?

Eh why am I in the local chip shop? It will make me stink of vinegar for the rest of the day. She knew Rosie had a fondness for the strange little fried things but why was she there, and worse still that man was taking photos again! I think Rosie’s gone crazy, she’s definitely lost the plot over this wedding. Harriet realised she wouldn’t be at the big day but neither would the green machine. But maybe she would get to the hen night – at least her wee green pal wouldn’t be able to go there.

A few days later while lying on the living room floor she glanced over and noticed she, Harriet Hairpiece, was a centre spread of the newspaper – wow fame at last, her a centre fold. Who would’ve thought it.

Maybe Rosie’s not so crazy after all.

The Diary of an old wrinkly

2009-11-17T13:08:00.001Z

I was asked yesterday what on earth made you open yourself up to the world and start telling them about your weight issues. In short I haven’t a clue but I do know it stops me lying to myself.

And in the interests of honesty and after giving myself a big pat on the back yesterday about my weight loss efforts I have an almighty confession to make. I had porridge for breakfast made with water (not because I’m being healthy but because the milk had gone out of date). What a great start to the day. But I was so hungry so when I finally jumped back in the car to go home I stopped at the best little chuck wagon in town, Tams, and treated myself to a cheeseburger. Well after all I was going to the gym that afternoon so where’s the harm? I can live with the odd cheeseburger but somewhere in depths of my mind insanity creeps in and before I knew it, I left the gym, picked M up from work and headed to the local KFC which was a disappointment but it didn’t stop me munching down on the crispy deep fried chicken.

I couldn’t face water based porridge this morning but I did stop off at the shop for something healthy. I’m so unorganised when it comes to me.

I am losing weight though but something does worry me. What happens to the skin that maybe left over – and will it be. I have a plumpish face – not too plump but there’s enough meat on it to fill out most of the wrinkles, if I lose too much will my face collapse? At the moment I've got more chins than a chinese phone book but I could end up with more lines than the London Underground.

What’s the point in being a slim bride if I look like an old hag? I feel the diary of a wrinkly coming your way anytime soon.

Where am I going?

2009-11-16T18:36:00.000Z

If I had known that at the tender age of 26 all I had to do was write a blog and admit to my weight gain to get on the much desired airwaves of the BBC I would've put pen to paper long ago. Of course the diary wouldn't have been about a fat bride though it would just have been about a fat wannabe and probaby no where near true as it is now.

Isn't it amazing that when you stop trying hard things come to you and happen for you. I've always been in a rush to get to where I want to be and I've been guilty of not enjoying the journey, despite being the type of person who appreciates a right good detour - well it feeds my nosiness and I get to see places I've never seen before.

I met M when I least expected it - cliched maybe but very very true. At the time I was heading to a dark place. I was gaining weight - if you know me then you will probably agree that this in itself doesn't dent my confidence but this was different. This was more than a few takeaways and a little overindulgence, this was a metabolism that had taken the huff and was determined not to come out of it until I paid it some attention.

I met M when I really didn't want to meet anyone, I had plans, I was conquering America and I was putting the feelers out right there and then, in the meantime I was trying to get Glasgow to notice me but to be honest, why should it when I couldn't even really be bothered myself.

But while one m was taking the huff another M was really paying attention and I liked that. I was honest with him from the off - that I didn't know if I was sticking around or what was happening and all he said to me was 'well I just want to enjoy your company while your here'. Six years later I've still not left but the weight I've gained is starting to. So maybe small m is coming round and feeling a bit happier about me.

My detour has let me appreciate whats important and to live in the moment, as much as I can allow myself too instead of my head running ahead of itself.

On the subject of detours you would think someone who works for a roads company would know where she was going - literally. I got lost going into the BBC this morning. I took the wrong lane in Clyde Street, turned left over the bridge, adopted the just go straight ahead approach - even although I knew that was far from right, found places I always wanted to find - but I could've been doing without the today. I even managed to head for the Clyde Tunnel but after taking a deep breath I found where I was going and I got there in time.

My time on air felt like 3 minutes but apparently it was 15 - time flies when your enjoying yourself and from now on I'm just going to enjoy where any of this takes me. I didn't meet Pudsey but I did meet four lovely women who made me feel at home.

Nip tuc

2009-11-14T22:07:00.001Z

and tuc and tuc and tuc some more. Those lovely little saltine biscuits with the cheese filling are taking over from the diet irn bru craving. What on earth is wrong with me that I have to find myself attached to something? I think I'm pretty stable - disagree at your peril - and I don't have a clue why I do this to myself. I'd bankrupt Freud in two weeks if he ever came near me - all his theories would be tested and thrown to the wolves.

So tell me what's the secret - is it high protein, low carb, peanut cabbage diet or do I stick firmly with my garbage diet? Even my salmon was accompanied by chips tonight - I fully recommend Home Fries Crinkly Cut chips, fluffy on the inside and crispy on the outside, the way nature intends them to be. Although I did have yogurt, some fruit for brekkie, some tomato soup but all the good I've done is demolished with the flight fluffy gorgeous smelling bloomer screaming to be dipped slowly in the hot red tomato cream soup providing the type of dish designed for this dreich horrible weather.

I try to balance this invasion of the food cupboard with my outing to the gym this morning but my focus wasn't on the reps on each machine designed to beat my target - every rest station all I could think of was tomato soup and crusty bread.

My workout is pretty much interval training and so far so good its working but maybe I should do interval eating - you know absolute garbage one day, lettuce leaves the next. I laugh in the face of diets that tell me I can eat what I want. Really, well here's the thing I don't want beans on toast for breakfast, stick your cottage cheese right in your own .... fridge and leave me alone and as for prawns and anything that involves a lot of preparation first thing in the morning well forget it!

Although I'll reach for all the niceties to eat there is nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing can come between me and my bed. So maybe that's the answer - the bed diet.

Goodnight all, I'll see you when I wake up and I'm a size 8

Do you want to know a secret?

2009-11-12T15:54:00.001Z

Do you want to know a Secret?

I did apparently and not only that I wanted to know the secret to the secret. I love secrets, stories of mine from years ago focus on secret keys, hidden gardens, magical places and the idea of the world having a secret that I’m not aware of is almost too much to bear.

I found out about the secret from a friend so I found myself on play.com and before I knew it, I ordered it. It’s a beautiful book and the packaging had me reaching into my bag for my life numbers, and let’s face it, the hope of doubling them.

I love to be the first to know, the first in the know and the thought of this little elite club happening somewhere round about me was almost to much for me to take. So with that in mind I quickly signed up to a free seminar regarding a practice known as the Sedona method. Why did scientology immediately jump into my mind – is it because they both start with S or was I doing what Sedona actually tells me to and to look inside for the questions and answers?

I think it might have because although I laughed along and listened to every word David Ellersly was telling me, I couldn’t quite muster the saccharine atmosphere the majority the room appeared to have of their adopted ‘messiah’. Cultish maybe – although no money has passed hands and I do agree with him that our emotions dictate who we are as people and our past lives shape our future lives and to a certain degree we need to let go.

But yes I’ll live in the moment, and yes I’ll face up to my anxiousness but taking it all into account, my past is me, my present is me and my future is very hopefully me.

I don’t hold grudges or hold onto anger. I can get teary but tough really I can’t and don’t want to change it. Every tear reminds me of who I am and that I can’t do it all. Of course I’m being a realist here not a pessimist, if you beg to differ then feel free to pay £250 for the full workings of the Sedona method and lets CDs dictate how you should feel.

The secret to being happy for me is to know who I am, enjoy who I am and if I want to feel and hold onto those feelings until I’m absolutely done with them then that’s who I am too.

The secret to last night was to realise that I already hold the secret, I know how to be happy, how to be sad, how to let loose and how to party. I know that the guy standing at the front of the room is just the same as me – except he’s getting paid to tell me that and I’m not, but I could if I wanted to, isn’t that what this is all about?

I don’t need to go on Oprah, jump on a couch and throw my hands in the air to tell the world I’m happy, my smile will tell you that every time and it won’t cost either you or me a penny.

Rabbit stew

2009-11-11T15:54:00.000Z

I used to share a house with Nugget the rabbit. I always wanted a rabbit so I had no hesitation sharing my home with him. Except Nugget had a bigger room than me and more plush bedding. I had a blow up bed which went down every single night and my wardrobe was a chest of drawers with bin bags on top of it. Every night while I went to my room, Nugget would make his way out of his conservatory and explore the rest of the house.

He chewed the handle of my favourite red bag, munched through one of my pictures and chewed my favourite shoes. While watching TV one night Nugget decided to join us in the sitting room. Have you ever seen a bunny hop? This one could almost fly through the air. One minute he was at the other side of the room the next he was almost rabbit stew when he decided the flex of the lamp look appetising. His little teeth blew the electricity and almost had his fur standing on end. And yet he was non-plussed or non-plummed. He just hopped away back into his conservatory – but I reckon it was his pride that was hurt more than anything else.

For me it was sheer Karma – after all every morning I would wake up to Nugget droppings which didn’t seem to bother his owner and he had almost single rabbitedly eaten my possessions. So it was time to pack the rest of my belongings and move in with another fiend – sorry I meant friend (the one who poured vodka down my neck).

The Greatest Love of All

2009-11-10T13:50:00.001Z

A new life cycle has begun and although it’s sorrowful to let go of a loved one, when the relationship is detrimental to your health then something inside clicks and a strength from somewhere within emerges to move you on a different path. A path that is free of slumps, depression, ultimate highs and all time lows.

Sweet love disguises itself in fancy wrappings, embracing each of us in a moment of weakness and oblivion laying us down gently to eagerly wait on the next time it caresses us in its sweet calorie laden heaven. Real love beckons when we least expect it to, enables us to face up to our misgivings, forces us in front of the mirror and lets us face up to the demons staring back at us. Sugar love takes our bodies to another dimension and saying goodbye to the ultimate highs is only achievable when remembering the self confidence blows.

That feeling of failure when your favourite trousers no longer fasten is not love – its greed, greed that’s overtaken our hearts and souls and turned us in to sugar monsters looking for our next fix. A vampire walking undetected among our peers, sniffing out sugar in our local supermarkets, hiding purchases from those who despise the sugar cane which grips our lives and dictates our life path.

Without that sugar cane my life would be glamorous, it would lead me to the most glamorous parties of them all, I could stand with my head in the air without wondering if the buttons on my blouse were popping open and I could see the recognition in people’s faces that I’m a contender, not a sugar cane addict looking for her next cake or visit to Greggs.

The muffin top has almost disappeared since giving up sugar, my lunch now consists of a very healthy salad and I’m ignoring the waft of sugar coming from the table in the office, trying to win me over, promising me the world and yet failing miserably.

Learning to love yourself is definitely the greatest love of all.

Leave those chips alone

2009-11-09T10:17:00.000Z

A few months back I couldn’t have pulled my fat ass out of bed on a Saturday morning if my life depended on it. Promises of hillwalks, military fitness, swimming, cycling, ice skating, walking couldn’t compare to sleepy dream world and a lovely fried brekkie as soon as I woke up.
So can someone tell me where the old me went to please. I went to a party on Friday night, didn’t drink, was up first thing yesterday for my weigh in at the gym and then went along to see a hypnotist to cure me of my fizzy drink and chip addiction.

First things first, I’ve now lost a total of 5lbs and 5 inches since joining curves and I jumped round that hall like a maddy when I found out, but best of all I took my addictions confronted them and then – slightly wimped out. I did go for the fizzy drink addiction but I figured the chips could wait till next time. There is method in my madness. I don’t like drink fizzy juice on its own, it has to be with a takeaway or a bar of chocolate so by my understanding, eliminating this will help me get rid of the other bad stuff.Some people reach for their ciggies when they wake up, others for the coffee cup, for me it’s the diet irn bru and a roll or a croissant to compliment it. I think its the caffeine that’s shouting on me but I don’t like coffee so fizzy drinks it is.

Linda, the hynotherapist, took me on a journey to rid me of my toxins. I’m terrified to open a can of diet irn bru as it could very well taste like liver, which I detest.
The next session concentrates on chocolate and I may be ready to give up my chips but its hard to say goodbye.

Reflections of my life

2009-11-06T10:49:00.000Z

It’s amazing how differently people treat you when you put on weight. I put on a lot of weight a few years back, so much so that many people didn’t recognise me. I went from being an average size 12 to the top end of a 16 and my once glossy highlighted hair was lying limp around my face and at times was falling out in chunks. Luckily enough I’m blessed with very thick hair. Although no one noticed my hair getting finer, I knew. I could tie a bobble round it three times instead of two.

I wasn’t working at that time either, well not in a career role anyway, I was temping for a bit. I’d just left TV and when I left it my weight rocketed. I couldn’t get to grips with the reasons, I was still eating what I would normally eat. The weight started to creep on me back then and I remember a presenter (who I won’t name) calling me to her dressing room and gifting me her hand me down size 18 tops – at that point I was a 14 – it just shows you people’s perception of themselves and you. She had lost weight but was very much still heavier than me and if I had any doubt whatsoever I only had to try on some of her tops to realise this.

I temped for a bit when I came home to Glasgow, I had to have money coming in the door but let me tell you this, leaving TV and trying to find another job is almost unforgiveable – why would you? How could you and it’s either downright stupid or very, very brave. I’m no stranger to taking chances, or opportunities as I like to see them. I moved south on my own to a town that had a Royal Bank of Scotland but hadn’t met a Scot in their puff.

I got an assignment with Scottish Power in Newarthill when I came home and the staff were vile. I have to admit my ego hit the deck when one of the girls called me her office junior. All that experience plus 12 years on her and she was calling me a junior. Her and her cronies would disappear into the store cupboard to talk about me and I overheard her on the phone to people saying ‘Where did you get her from’. She looked me up and down constantly and I decided there and then that enough was enough. I booked a visit to the doctors, was finally diagnosed with a major thyroid problem and started to pull my life together again. Ok so I had to start at the bottom but I see no shame in that whatsoever. I work damn hard and I’ve came a long way in the past six years since leaving the glam life of TV, designer gear and Toni and Guy highlights.

This year has literally been a homecoming from me, I’ve received Special Commendations, Silver awards and part of my work was recognised at a prestigious awards ceremony recently – not bad for someone who was tipping the scales at 13 and a half stone a few years back with her confidence suffocated by her rolls of fat.

People are quick to tell you when you have lost weight – which really means I noticed you had piled it on. Forgive me if I don’t jump for joy when you say it to me in a condescending manner. I know, my clothes know and that gorgeous wedding gown will know too. I’m getting there, it’s a slow burn but I’m prepared to take each day as it comes but more importantly no matter what size I am now, I will never ever let me confidence be dictated to by someone else’s remarks ever again. Go and eat Quark all you like, whisper in cupboards about my weight, look me up and down – I don’t care anymore.

So everyone who walks passed me and whispers ‘She’s let herself go’ my message is this let yourself go and have a life and stop worrying about mine, after all I’m not.

The Missing Link

2009-11-05T16:33:00.001Z

Imagine if you were the last woman left on earth and it was up to you to re-populate the planet. Difficult to imagine, of course it might conjure up images of incest and all sorts of other pictures you wish I’d refrained from sending your way, however it all started somewhere and someone somewhere got it on with someone else to have a family and their family must have populated again.

This is just a few of the thoughts spinning through my head, what if it gets to the end of time and I’m the last woman standing – that’s my luck and what skills am I going to use to benefit from my time as last woman on the planet? After all I work in the Comms game and who would I be left to communicate with - men? God help me, please. I try and try again to communicate with M but he has more fun taking videos of me snoring than to listen to what I have to say. I try to communicate on a level playing field but I’m generally battered with socks, laughed at or worse ignored – hmmm, maybe I’ve found the missing link.

I’m having none of it so I’m going to have to get wise and quick, although its taken six years to realise that so maybe my quickness needs a bit of work.
I thought maybe M was a one off but then my niece told me her other half bought a helicopter and he flies it round the living room tormenting her and trying hard to get it to land on her nose while she tries to read the paper.

I’m not setting the world a light by revelations that men are children at heart, all woman, and to be fair men, already know this. But can you imagine if you were the only woman left on earth and had to deal with them and to breed more?

Slim pickings

2009-11-04T12:46:00.002Z

This morning is the first morning I have woken in quite a few years where I have felt slim. I’ve been here before on a smaller scale but normally by lunchtime I’m a bit bloated again. Today, miraculously I’m not. This can be dangerous and it’s taking all of my strength to beat the demons and focus on becoming even slimmer.

I’ve not paid my dress a visit in a while. I think I might need to just to re-focus my mind and keep me on track. The past two weeks have been a challenge and I’ve only managed to get to Curves twice each week, however I’m making up for it by going four times this week and four times next week, maybe just maybe I’ll have enough energy to up my routine to the four times each week. I’m not going to give myself a hard time for missing those sessions though – a girl has to have a social life and my sparkly shoes don’t get to see much in the way of an outing these days.

I tend to be a bit rough on myself as far as weight loss is concerned and almost obsessive in the past. So maybe its time to dust down the wii fit – auction off the DVDs I’ll never use, put good use to the gym ball and give the weights away. After all I can’t do it all but I’m seeing good results from what I am doing. I’ll keep the trainers and there’s a new fitness shop opening nearby soon so it might be jus the excuse I need to buy some new gym gear.

Curves are introducing a weight management programme so what the heck I’m going to give it a go.

I don’t deny that the urge to find a quick fix is still there and when they find a chocolate that is amazing without sticking to my insides I’ll be a the front of the queue.

Dream a little dream

2009-11-04T11:18:00.000Z

The biggest dream in my life is to write. I’ve taken on quite a few projects in my time but writing is where I want to be on a full time basis – I have to admit it has eluded me so far. I do write for a living in my communications capacity but I love living in the bubble in my head and it’s flattering to think that other people would like a peace of that too. Its only recently I’ve started to show people my writing and that’s through the blog but I’m silently typing away stories behind the scenes and building up the confidence to air them to the world. The blog is pretty much out there for everyone to see and I don’t mind that at all. I’m happy to give you a glimpse into some other work but I won’t be publishing it in its entirety, a girl has to have something up her sleeve to bargain with.

All I will say is I’m looking at children’s fiction right now and given that I have a very young brain – I’m giving it a go. I’ve never been a five year plan kind of girl but I reckon that’s where I really want to be in the next five years – I would say fingers crossed but then I can’t type so I’ll cross my legs instead – oo er – perhaps I better think before I type if I want to write for a younger audience.

P.s if you follow me, I'll definitely follow you x

Girls night out

2009-11-01T12:00:00.000Z

Ye cannae beat them with a big stick and I love catching up on the gossip the next day. The night started off with the end in mind and to say I looked like I should have been the star of the HEBs advert is a bit of an understatement but I wasn't the only casualty. After Thursday nights winefest, last night reminded me that although I was out and about acting like an 18 year old my bones are much older and they don't take kindly to hitting the town two nights in a row anymore. I haven't a clue how I was able to hit the town four nights a week and it doesn't feel like that was very long ago.

Food, drink and a whole lot of laughter is the best tonic for anyone but the last couple of weeks have been a bit rough for me. That doesn't mean that I drown my sorrows in a wine glass but its great to blow off a bit of steam, dust the cobwebs off the going out gear and let the hair down for a night of great company. Last night was special. When we meet up its always special anyway but last night raised the bar. Gillian couldn't make last nights do because she was at another party but she sent us all a message to say we should dress up for halloween.

That's the only encouragement Adele needs. Before I knew it me and 5 others had cushions on our heads. When Gillian got the pic she went one better. She quickly dressed as the wicked witch of the west and had a house on her head - I'm scared to ask where the house came from. So with that challenge in mind it was time to pull out the chin heads. Andrea volunteered, a dishtowel was put on her head, two miller lager caps on her chin for eyes, we decided she really didn't need a nose and a bit of paper was under her chin for hair. Easy amused? You have no idea. Next up was stair heads but when we tried to lie upside down on the stairs we just kept sliding down them. So next best thing Dickheads.

The hilarity continued when we remembered the karaoke option on virgin. The hits just kept coming and before we left to paint the town red I was serenaded with Crackling Rosie by Mrs B and had a wee dance round the living room. It was a night I just didn't want to end and I can't wait to the next one.

Lil ole wine drinker me.....

2009-10-30T16:51:00.000Z

Potatoes give me a hangover – a bad bad hangover and they should not be mixed with wine. I’ve had three separate occasions now that proves this point and it’s always at award ceremonies. In the past week I’ve attended two ceremonies with the same disastrous results. A few years back I was at one (and I hasten to add here that I only had one glass of wine) and before I knew it I was talking on the big white telephone to anyone who would listen. The past twice hasn’t been any different. It’s not just any old tattie recipe – its potato gratin which is gorgeous but it doesn’t like me.

I generally suffer from invisibility when I drink wine. Well I become invisible to myself that is. I forget I have internal organs and if they could speak I’m sure they would turn the air blue with abuse. I also forget that M is very much sober when I get home and is more than happy to perform a post mortem on my unconscious state. There’s a look which comes across his face that tells me I’ve taken it too far again. Everyone finds me funny when I drink wine – I don’t. As far as I’m concerned everyone is in the same colourful world as me.

I love potatoes though so it’s been a bit difficult to understand why they don’t mix well with wine and then I realise – potatoes are the starting point for vodka which as I’ve said before hates me and I hate it right back.

Never mix the grape and the grain is what I’ve always been told. I may as well have poured a vodka soaked tattie into my overflowing glass of wine.

Just passing by

2009-10-29T12:35:00.001Z

I shouldn’t be allowed out of the office at lunchtime. My planning was going so well but recently it’s fell apart. As the MacDonald’s narrator says I was just passing by – via two roundabouts and my own house with a lovely pot of homemade soup on the hob. I’m finding it hard to get out of bed in the morning, even harder to have a decent breakfast and forget planning for lunch – that’s just silly. I envy these people with their pristine little lunch boxes. I buy them in good faith then I lose a lid or the lid no longer fits. Worse still I’ve known it to become so stained after one serving of pasta that I can’t bear to use it again. Silly attitude given my tardiness for other things, as long as its clean it really shouldn’t matter – but it does. All of this perfection and pressure gets too much and I opt for little cardboard boxes with mega calorie content but I did resist the urge to give it large.

I’m an all or nothing kind of girl. If I’m going to adopt the pristine attitude to life then the whole house gets it – I am feeling one of those episodes coming on – I’m ready for buying a special toothbrush to clean the grout at the shower and the bedroom is just about ready to get a bomb placed under it. It’s the one room in the house that still need re-decorating and I would much rather close the door on it than have to look at it. Only a man could put green walls with a pink carpet – I’m convinced it gives me a restless sleep. The wardrobes are so heavy that I could lose a limb never mind calories by moving them (that’s without the clothes) and there’s wires appearing from everywhere. It’s very much a boy’s room and pretty bedspreads look silly in it. It’s the next project after the wedding but for now I’ll need to abide by the clashing colour scheme and focus my energies on burning calories and looking fab.

I’m in the middle of silly season right now though – birthdays, awards ceremonies and Christmas party season are almost upon me and yet I feel I’m the same size I was last year, Shout Christmas at me and my waistline increases by 3 inches before I even put a morsel over my tongue.

The lion sleeps tonight.............

2009-10-28T09:16:00.001Z

M really likes to wind me up and with naivety my strongest trait he gets away with this on a daily basis. I have to admire the tenaciousness of this guy and his staying power and god help him if this story ever turns out to be true because it will most definitely be the classic tale of the boy who cried wolf, or in this case lion.

That lion doesn’t have a name but it met M one spring day in the local park and challenged him to a stand up fight. Young M punched it in the face and Mr Lion took his stick off him to beat him up. I never ever hear how he escapes his four legged friend because by this time I’m usually rolling about on the floor laughing so hard that he’s managed to keep this story going for six years. Even his best friend couldn’t stop laughing.

Eventually (after five years) I told the story to his mother who couldn’t stop laughing either. He swears it happened but with his wicked imagination I reckon that his tender years have tricked him into thinking the whole thing is true. I even phoned the local paper and had them in stitches. Part of me wishes it was true but a bigger part of him wishes that I had picked up the phone to his mother right away to sympathise with her sons plight.

When he eventually told his friend that the lion escaped from the local zoo he laughed so hard – his mother used to work there and no lion had ever escaped.

My lovely horse

2009-10-25T20:11:00.001Z

The definition of the name Rosaleen is a variation of the french name Rosalee (although I swear its Irish) and in laymens terms it means - wait for it - 'gentle horse'. I'm trying to take this on my big horsey chin and I've been looking in the mirror to see if there are any characteristics. Apart from having long hair and brown eyes I can't see any, although I do think I have saddle bags. My jaw is quite normal so with this in mind I have decided that the horse association ties in nicely with my appetite.

Food most definitely defines me and I'm trying to stop thinking that exercise means more food to eat and less guilt while doing it but when my brand new dress decided it really didn't want to go out to play on Friday night I've had to reassess that. The difference a week can make in inches is really quite incredible. Although the dress slipped on nicely again on Sat so I can only gather that my determination not to eat too much while out on Friday night (supplemented with some nice food beforehand) led to the dress screaming at me to give it a break.

But how can I put on just that little bit to stop my dress fastening in the right places? After all I plough my own farm, run a successful little cafe, network endlessly, strut my diva ass and join in to lend my mafia buddies a hand I manage this feat effortlessly while munching kettle chips and humous while clicking away on my keyboard to keep my scores up.

last week wasn't a good week that's for sure - there were some personal issues going on which led to the fridge, birthday cake to indulge in and an awards dinner and a trip to see my favourite comedian going on. All of course revolving around grub. I can't go to the SECC without visiting Maccie D's and the awards ceremony involved empty wine calories and rubber chicken.
Maybe I should join my friends in the paddock and munch hay while galloping around playfully. What a life that would be.

Every rose has its thorn

2009-10-18T23:41:00.003+01:00

I don't think I have any horns but my favourite tipple definitely has. it tipped me out of one of those small caravan beds last night, threw me into the fireplace and almost sent me up in flames. How can something that tastes so nice be so evil? Rose wine is definitely my achilies heel. The green machine made her maiden journey to Port Seaton yesterday for an overnight with the soon to be in-laws at Seton Sands (I really need to mention that my two sister in laws to be have the exact same name - what are the odds - no wonder I like a wee tipple). We do like a caravan weekend in our family and this was just another step into that adventure. The site is lovely, really well kept and clean and the chippie is to die for. The caravan - well one of the sales guys told us he wouldn't keep his dog in it - that about sums it up. No central heating or double glazing, mankey couches and carpets and free hypothermia in the shower and bedrooms. Thankfully the weather was nice so we could get out and about.

It would be rude not to try out the clubhouse and off we toddled to the funhouse to sample the nightlife. The bar was busy with only one person serving. Two out cleaning tables and one guy behind the bar- obviously annoyed at having to work on a Saturday night. If I had a rocket it would have been up his butt. I might have expressed my annoyance - just slightly - and in doing so was rewarded with two half pints of wine instead of the very very small wine glasses we should have had and arguably stuck with. My fondness for the pink stuff landed me with ear-wrenching hiccups, set my balance rocking, thankfully didn't damage my bankcard too much and left me about worse for wear this morning. My fondness for the pink stuff really needs kicked into touch but why does it have to taste so damn good. I drink it too fast because it's like drinking cherryade and the effects come on me quicker than anyone else.

The loud guitarist and old toilets had me reaching for my next glass a bit too quickly - well that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it but the site and the chippie would bring me back in a second.

Borderline

2009-10-15T12:58:00.001+01:00

Borderline

Think that I’m going to lose my mind you just keeping on pushing my life over the borderline. It would appear I am on the border of life. Since school I was always in the class that would undergo pilot programmes. The year above and the year below never ever did but my year would. We bordered on new exam structures, new methods of teaching, suffered at the hands of teacher’s strikes, shared one old BBC computer between five and didn’t have a clue what the media really was never mind media studies.

Even at home I lived in the border area between Viewpark and Birkenshaw or depending who you are it would be Viewpark and Tannochside. I’m borderline for diabetes (although that I can definitely live with). I have a Glasgow postcode despite being just over the border to qualify as a city dweller and my jobs have always been on the border of immediate success. To explain, my love of TV could’ve propelled me big time and just as I was about to take the next step the guy who recommended me for a role at The Big Breakfast packed his case for good and took his Sky TV experience literally. Big Breakfast to me now means a doubler from the van with a wee can of diet irn bru to compliment it. My TV career down south didn’t quite reach London, although I had my moments, my TV experience was always borderline over qualified or borderline underqualified.

I’m often found in the waiting room of success for the next big thing, it’s usually within reach but my borderline qualities would appear to be defining my life. I’m borderline obese, my height isn’t even a definitive quantity. I am 5’13/4 tall, in other words bordering on five foot and two whole inches. My hair colour is bordering on dark brown but has that little twinge of mousiness and my diet is just the wrong side of right. My borderline age group has always put me just out of reach for new opportunities. New schemes would appear and low and behold the cut off age would be a year younger than me. Growing up job roles used to be a year older than I ever was – although they aren’t allowed to do that anymore.

Someone, probably me, needs to push me that final step right over the borderline to stop me losing my mind.

Oops I did it again

2009-10-14T20:29:00.003+01:00

I know food is linked to emotions. I've felt like an emotional void over the past few months and I sometimes wonder if I'm still in there. Something's functioning because I'm here, I'm typing and I'm generally functioning. Although my rational thoughts have been replaced by road cones, speed limits and diversions. My life is a motorway that's come to a standstill at rush hour and I'm wondering the direction its going in next.

I got a fright yesterday morning when I suddenly realised that I couldn't remember locking the front door and getting into the car. Why is that? I know we do things on autopilot but I don't generaly have complete unawareness of my actions. I was glad to get to curves tonight. I've been doing so well but low and behold I slipped up tonight. Every night I'm there I'm burning between 500 and 620 calories and I'm delighted at that. I even bagged a free t-shirt for my efforts. On weigh in day I came up trumps. Three pounds off, 2 inches lost and 2.5% body fat gone. so why oh why did the old demon come back to haunt me tonight. Was it autopilot that took me to the indians for pakora and of course chips? Or is it the self destruction within me that makes me do these things.

What I failed to realise was that I was still wearing the brand new curves t-shirt which says on the back

Warning The wearer of this shirt may exhibit elevated levels of health, happiness and well-being.

Maybe it should read Warning: The wearer of this shirt is deluded and hungry.

Fairweather friends

2009-10-13T14:49:00.000+01:00

It’s amazing the things that hurt, things that you thought were buried and yet they turn up every so often just to let you know they’ve not gone away. Very often its old friendships and I’m not arrogant enough to feel that I haven’t played a part in their demise but I very often think that some friendships are pretty much false. I know who my friends are now but I did go through a period a few years back where I thought I had more friends than I really did have.

I’ve always found it easy to make friends so when I realised that once I left TV that quite a few friendships left me it came as a huge surprise. You see I was producing and I didn’t realise at the time that a lot of people will do anything to befriend you when you are in that situation. It’s not you, it’s your job they are interested in and once you leave well then so do they. I’ve known people who can now turn to me and say oh I think I remember you. Really? I’m sure your phone bill remembers me because it must have been exhausted calling me, sometimes at all hours. The other thing with that role was the ability for people to feel that they could befriend you and call you at any hour they liked and being young, keen and desperate to make it in the glittering world of showbiz I joined in. I’m not saying I didn’t have fun along the way, but tell someone you would rather stack shelves in ASDA than work for a pittance 24/7 then its like rats deserting a sinking ship.

I’ve known a few who would quite happily come on the phone talk endlessly about themselves and then as soon as you mention something about you, their signal breaks up or they have to go. It wasn’t too obvious at first but as soon as my eyes opened they where like saucers. Friends are there when you get ill, this bunch couldn’t even spare a text to say thinking about you. Friends will be there when you’re at your lowest and do you know what, they’re the ones I want there when I’m at my highest and I want to be there at theirs.

Everyone has there ups and downs but I have to say I’ve met some nutcases and some real me me me’s. Some people’s narcissist qualities can be too much to take – whether that manifests itself as a photo obsession (of themselves) whacky clothes to stand out or facebook status updates telling the world they’re having a peanut butter sandwich. Yes I’m obsessed with weightloss but I would like to think you’re laughing along with me than behind my back and yes I’d love to have a photo taken these days that I’m happy with but I promise I’ll hold back from having 90 albums. If you’re a friend then you’re a friend for life.

Fair-weather friends are not for me.

Who pressed fast forward....

2009-10-11T20:08:00.001+01:00

On my life and turned me into a 38 year old woman? This year has been a real turning point, there have been a lot of truths to face and the one I can’t get my head round is how my appetite for Glamour magazine and Marie Claire have turned into Pick me up, take a break and chat!! I’m even nodding in agreement with Jeremy Kyle and yet when I coax myself in the local newsagents to grab that holy grail of glamour my hand moves involuntarily to the weekly mag section. It must be a thirst for good luck stories, empathy, charity and the top tips roadshow, but I can’t wait to read the five minute fiction every single week and I rush to the local shop to get my fix.

I wonder if it’s the constant advertising, each time I pick a glossy up these days I have to flick through 10 pages of adverts, bin ten more supplements and struggle to close the mag for perfume samples. When I do get to the stories I find they’re not relevant to me. I don’t want to know sex tips thanks, I don’t want to do quizzes on how we met, my numerology or how wonderful Kate Moss is (so over-rated – berate me if you will, it’s not jealousy, she’s never reinvented the wheel and she must have a whole load of blackmail stories to tell the world otherwise someone would have spilled the beans big time on her). I’m sick to death of the Beckhams, Andres and big brother, strictly, xfactor wannabes and I probably have a thirst to know about real people. I don’t really care where their fake tan comes from, how much their over-priced goonie is or the price tag of those killer heels.

My Clinique/Benefit/Prescriptives/Chanel/Stilla obsession has left me and I would rather pick up a bargain in Boots thanks. All of this I can deal with, in fact being 38 allows me to reassess my life, it’s an invisible age. It’s very much the wrong side of 30 and it’s within grasp of 40 but it’s just sitting there under the radar, metaphorsising into middle age but it gives the opportunity to rewind life so far and admit who you really are.

No I’m not a house music diva – blow your whistle next to me if you wish but be prepared to speak that way forever, shove your hands up in the air but be prepared to sing dancing queen while your at it and don’t drown in your own cool to the point it gets in the way of a right good party. Give me a mic, my friends, a speaker and a tune and we will turn any glum night into a party – don’t like it, then don’t stay but trust me, we will party on. And yes we might look like your mother out there swinging our handbags but think of it this way, unless you want someone to press fast forward on your life then you best grab that remote control and press pause double quick, but then again – do you really want to?

Oh baby

2009-10-09T16:18:00.001+01:00

How are you supposed to react when people enquire about your fertility position? Worse still what if they don’t ask and yet you know you need to tell them something mainly because they are family and it just wouldn’t be right to say nothing. Or would it? It makes me question why people are so inquisitive about life. I’m not against it in principal, but when someone asks you if you’re getting broody, or they ask when you are having a family or worse still they say ‘you’re getting on a bit, no sign of the patter of tiny feet’ I honestly feel speechless and I don’t want to go mental because I know they would die with their feet in the air if they knew the truth.

At the tender age of 22 years old I was advised by a specialist that if I wanted kids then I better get pregnant quick. Despite my ditziness, love of food, complete knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I am very pragmatic but I’m also very stubborn. I left the hospital fuming, how dare he say that to me. Surely that’s irresponsible. On the face of it yes maybe it was but in hindsight throwing caution to the wind back at that tender age might have changed my life forever. But I didn’t want it changed. I was partying hard, I had a life to lead, I didn’t want anyone in the world telling me when and how to have children.

At 22 children children were a nuisance, I was still a child myself. The 21st birthday teddies are testament to that and I was not sharing my little paradise with anyone but me. I didn’t even want a boyfriend. There was a boy I fancied and wished he would be my boyfriend but as I’ve got older I realised that actually I didn’t want him, I just immaturely wanted what I couldn’t have. What if I had adopted that attitude to childbirth – what do you mean I can’t have it – don’t tell me what I can’t have.

I know this is not going to sit well with a lot of mothers – I know a lot of people will feel that it’s my duty to fight for that, that it would be selfish not too. But I throw this consideration back, wouldn’t it be equally selfish for me to attempt pregnancy under all the wrong circumstances, especially when I had put the demon to rest in my mind already. My nieces filled the void, if there even was one and I’ve loved both of them as my own. Their closeness and neverending love has given me as much as a child of my own would – if you don’t agree with that then I can accept that, however I’ve not had a child of my own so how would I know?

The fight is over, at 38 I know the odds are against me and one little tiny injection has put my resolve to the test too. The choices, if they where ever out there, have gone. The fight is over before it’s begun and the next time I go to the chippy and I’m asked if I fancy having a child instead of a bag of chips I’ll look them straight in the eye and let them know that as much as I would love to – chips will do nicely thanks.

Wedding fever

2009-10-07T17:02:00.001+01:00

Have you ever felt the gods are working against your plans? It’s almost as though your choose a date, time and place and they howl with laughter at your choice – nudging each other and saying ‘she thinks she’s getting married on that date – no chance – I’ve got something else in store for her.’

We booked the wedding at Gretna in good faith over the internet – little did I know that there is more than one venue in Gretna and that pretty much everyone of ‘them hangs on to when they where established. I fell in love with the gazebo, the kissing gate, the carriage in the blacksmiths shop behind the anvil and I loved the quirkiness of having a wedding there. Come the turn of the year I thought it might be an idea to pay it a visit and see it in person.

I was led through a museum – which I found rather odd and I was told to stay back from the curtain as a wedding was taking place? Sorry I thought I was in Gretna not the wizard’s castle. At that moment I wished I had my own toto to whip back the curtain and show me the beauty behind it. Well toto wasn’t there but I recoiled in absolute horror when I was finally allowed to pay the room a visit. I’m all for keeping the integrity of somewhere but please a coat of paint doesn’t cost very much at all. So basically while you are standing there starry eyed, looking into your intended eyes to say I do, kids are pressing buttons in the museum next door, the carriage has disappeared, the kissing gate is nowhere to be seen and it’s not quirky, it’s dirty. The photos are hanging on the walls in old teak frames and I’m about ready to freak out.

My mum and M’s mum where with me and god love both of them they tried not to say anything. They must have thought we had lost our minds. If I wanted a barn I would hire a nice one. After a little bit of fuss I secured the venue I originally wanted and went home happy. As M had never seen the venue and my Dad was desperate to pay a visit we jumped in the green machine a few months later. I approached the staff and asked them if we could get in. ‘Of course you can – when’s your wedding’ ’10 September 2010’ I replied ‘ah that’s right 2.30?’ Deep breaths – no it’s 1.30. ‘Oh I’m sorry you’ve booked it for 2.30’ After a few meaningful exchanges the paperwork was brought out and there it was, in black pen 1.30pm. ‘Oh apologies, we’ll get that sorted.’

So content that all was well we went on our merry way, enjoyed a fish tea at Biggar’s finest chippie and made our way home. All was well until today when I noticed the registrar had the day of the wedding wrong – it said Thursday 10 September 2010. I can’t help feel the gods are against us and I’m contemplating a visit to a psychic.

Dear Diary

2009-10-03T23:17:00.001+01:00

I think I've had a breakthrough. I often make fitness promises to myself that I just can't keep. I fantasise about running romantically in the wind and rain, feeling exhilarated at the end of it, idolised like Gregory's girl and then I wake up to the sound of the alarm and think manyana.

In my commitment to Curves I promised to attend 3 times a week and if I thought for a second that they were not watching then I was really underestimating the commitment of the staff. Sheree the Manager of the Motherwell branch was on holiday for a week and she took great delight in telling me that one of the first things she did when she got back was to check my attendance record. Thankfully I've been a model gym attendee.

This week has been a challenge though, every excuse that I could use and would normally use was within reach and yet I gave each of them a gentle shove and completed my third workout this morning. Whether I was fully awake is a different story but I made it and I got round that circuit. My excuses would range from I couldn't make it on Monday, oh I'll just go next week, I must start the fitness on a Monday or I just wont go. I'll just do two sessions this week, I can't do two in a row - yes I can, it will nearly kill me but I managed just the same. Monday was a bank holiday you see and it only takes something like this to knock me off my stride. And I'll admit it was hard to jump in the green machine and point her in the direction of Motherwell 3 times this week instead of feast of local takeaways in the area.

I worked my ass of at that gym last night, like a demon. I've been kidding myself on for years that I've been working out. That machine doesn't lie and I became obsessed with lighting up the monitor and making it flash to prove that I was beating all the targets that I've so far set myself. Today was hard, I only burned 498 calories (only ;) )as opposed to 540 but I would've burned none by pressing snooze and turning over.

Tell you what though, I conked out on the couch for a few hours when I got home.

The Green Machine

2009-10-02T13:14:00.000+01:00

There is nothing in the world that makes me want to reach for the biscuits, greasy doublers, chips and chocolate more than parting with money for sensible options. The green machine isn’t very well and although I love her dearly she’s costing me my savings this month (what savings).

Off she went for her yearly check up yesterday and was given a full bill of health with of course a few strong recommendations – two new tyres and a replacement timing belt. It begs the question how can she have a full bill of health if the timing goes, the engine breaks and then she’s stuck permanently at the front door? Well apparently the timing belt is not covered by an MOT it’s just a case of, if it works then so does your car, if it doesn’t then walk.

I have to admit that I was a good walker before passing my test and I always chastise myself for my petrol fondness, but when you have gone without for so long it would be just wrong not to indulge in the pleasures of getting places in five minutes that would normally take half an hour. Of course I then burn more petrol than calories but the satisfaction is immense.

‘Get a new car’ comes the shouts from the office, your car qualifies for the scrappage scheme’. Well how dare they, I love my car, for a ten year old gal she’s got plenty of miles left on the clock and has been very very well looked after and she looks after me too. So it’s the least I can do to give her a clean bill of health but at £300 well that’s half of what I paid for her, but as Loreal would say ‘it’s because she’s worth it’

Sunshine on a rainy day....

2009-10-01T21:52:00.001+01:00

Every day in summer in Scotland – well once it manages to burn through the grey crowds. Despite being brought up in the wet dreich land of Lanarkshire I’ve never known how to dress for the weather. I rarely use an umbrella, haven’t quite mastered layering and break every pair of sunglasses ever bought, its just as well I’m not a designer clad chick.

A few years back I joined a creative writing class, it’s always been a huge ambition and one I’m quite protective of. But I thought I need to do this, soak it all in and see where it takes me. First Bus (here I go again) have never caught my attention with their communications, a black bin bag over their bus signs means nothing to me. I’m small, I strain my neck looking straight ahead so what do I want to look into the sky for? After all it’s usually grey or worse full of seagulls ready to do their business and that is far from lucky.

I don’t know the south side of Glasgow, my mum is from the north of the city and I pretty much know it like the back of my hand. We grew up there every weekend in life and it brings back vivid memories of chocolate limes, fry’s bad boys, hot peas, mars bars, irn bru, fish suppers and Peter Orr’s park in Springburn. So I was lost when I got off the bus. I was directed to another bus stop and I stood and stood and stood in the pouring rain, with no brolly (I might have had the sunglasses instead), no waterproof jacket and a pair of open toe sandals. I was born for warmer climates. After pacing, huffing and puffing for a while I suddenly wondered what the black bin bag was for and then the penny dropped and the traffic cones came into view. If I didn’t notice a traffic cone these days I would be done for it’s my job! The bus had been redirected and while I was standing there protecting myself against the rain, in the dreamy Rosie land of notebooks and scribbles I realised I needed a taxi quick smart to get to my night-class on time.

I got there puffing and panting, running to reception. ‘Hi sorry I’m late, where is the creative writing class?’ After looking at me with a bemused look on her face she replied ‘Oh your not late dear, you’re early, a day early in fact , it’s tomorrow!’

Hanging in the balance

2009-09-30T11:32:00.000+01:00

If life is about balance then I’m struggling to find mine, not just on the odd Saturday night but in every other aspect. M is off down south for a few days with work, it’s a bit strange to see him go because it’s usually me who packs the case and heads off out the rain to enjoy a bit of a nicer climate.

Waking up this morning wasn’t too easy, pressing snooze became an obsession – anything for a few more precious minutes in that lovely double bed on my own. I meandered downstairs, took my time to get ready, watched a bit for Frasier and really couldn’t be bothered pouring the Special K into a bowl and eating it. If life is about balance then the same cereal every morning is really going to get a bit boring.

I jumped in my little green machine and in auto pilot she took me to the bank to collect much needed funds and before I knew it I was at the chuck wagon ordering a doubler. Oops, oops maybe but it was enjoyable and sometimes, just sometimes these things need to be done. I’m a bit of a reformed character, a doubler would come my way more than once a week before, that was including the chips, cakes, chocolate and takeaways.

I’ve not had a cake in weeks, the takeaways are all but gone and as for chocolate – well it’s a battle I’ve won before and I will win again (fingers crossed). If Jonathan Ross is to be believed then the world’s supply of chocolate could soon dry up so the quicker I banish it from my system the better.

It takes a while for my laptop to boost up, bit like me in the morning, so while waiting I indulged in my purchase and it largely went un-noticed. Until one of the over 50’s commented ‘what are you eating?’ ‘Food’ says I. ‘What kind of food?’ ‘Nice food!’

With that he walked over to the bin, took out the little brown bag and started to smell it. I smell bacon – well if sausage smells like bacon then I want my money back. Of course by now the whole room is alert to my misdemeanour.

‘Oh come off it, if I turn into a Gillian McKeith worshipper then this office is going to get a bit boring.’ With that they agreed and got back to work.

It’s not just them who feel they need to watch every morsel that passes my lips. I paid a visit to the sandwich lady and the banter continued. She also delivers to M’s work and she commented on how good he has been recently. In other words better than me. He’s not bought anything from me for ages, he’s doing really well. He used to buy a can or two of full fat coke or irn bru off me every day, now he doesn’t

Little does she know that his personal taxi driver takes him to LIDL to buy 16 cans for £4.

I'm not 18 anymore

2009-09-29T22:23:00.001+01:00

And neither is my constitution for the bevy. I don't know what possessed me on Saturday night, one minute I was watching X Factor the next I was banging ice cubes off the kitchen work top and sinking vodka like I'd never shook its hand before. Except I have, I stay clear of it and yet it finds me every so often to take me on, turn my guts inside out and remove every memory I may have owned that particular evening.

I don't know why it happened, I sank a bottle of wine, descended on the Budweiser and once that little lot was demolished out came the vodka. I know what vodka does to me and yet I stare it in the face, challenge the uninviting clear substance to become my friend and then pay the price -every single time. I don't get much change out of a bottle of vod and I certainly don't get no satisfaction.

But the question is why? I've known this phenonenom a few times in my life and it seems to be when I decide I'm not drinking. I'm not drinking turns into a wee glass of wine and so it goes on. On oneoccasion my crazy ass flat mate tipped my head back, held my nose and poured the poisonous substance down my throat. Did she not believe me - well if seeing is believing then she will never forget it. Needless to say she is no longer my flatmate and funnily enough no longer a friend. I lay in bed for two days wishing the demons would disappear.

I'm not a binge drinker. I normally can't consume very much. Wine makes me bounce, vodka makes me sick and beer makes me fat so why do I do it? If they were still recruiting for the HEBS advert then I would surely be in there.

Ms Betty Ford do you accept Provident Cheques because only you can help me now?

Loony TV

2009-09-28T21:39:00.002+01:00

Rosie looked over her shoulder at the imposing twin clock towers ushering her away from the asylum. The same institution that held her captive for the past 3 years. Ironic really that something so sinister could look demonic yet beautiful in the mid October sun. Hartwood Mental Institution stood tall and firm within the vibrant countryside of it’s neighbour Shotts, governing the area for over 100 years and providing employment to the hamlets and villages around. The tree lined drive leading up to the main house wouldn’t look out of place on a Scottish postcard and many beautiful creatures turned it into their home. She marvelled at the deer dancing in a nearby field while the local peacock walked around the yard strutting it’s feathers with pride while eyeing up a hen in the next farm.

Rosie wondered why that beauty wasn’t and could never be shared within, why the inhabitants and ghosts fought and screamed at each other relentlessly, finding new ways to belittle each other. Over the years it savaged her own beauty, dimming the sparkle in her eyes that once lit up her face making others smile while slowly eating away at her self esteem, turning her into a shell of the girl she once was. The building gave nothing but stole everything and yet on this still October day it decided to give her life back, to release her into civilisation, to mix with new friends, appreciate old friends and find the courage to try new experiences.

She looked down at her appearance, her once slender size 8 figure now spread into an unbecoming size 16, at 5’1 she wasn’t round, she was almost square. Only 3 years before Rosie entered Hartwood with rosie cheeks and a twinkle in her eye. Looking to make a difference, hoping to set a career in motion and light up the neighbouring skies with fun and laughter. Maybe Hartwood was the best place to be after all, because only someone with that ambition could ever hope to bring anything other than sarcasm to the concept of a local television station set in the grounds of an old mental institution.

On the day of the station launch, the Sun’s headline read “Asylum TV”.

A wee bit of dignity please

2009-09-28T02:19:00.000+01:00

There’s a man I know (of), lives down my street I haven’t a clue where he works but he is needing to find another job – one that’ll at least pay him the price of a shirt. I’m not against people enjoying their food. I’m right there with them, but please, I know to some it’s their pride and joy and they’ve paid a lot of money for it but do I need to see overweight men let it all hang out?

On one of the rare hot days we have in our climate challenged part of the world it was the usual mad dash for the sun – tan me, tan me – you can almost hear them shout it out. I like getting a bit of colour but I wouldn’t die over it, I won’t tell you to get out my sun and I certainly won’t bare all. Why do men have to take their tops off anyway?

So this man down my street now thinks I fancy him. It’s amazing how people read reactions so wrongly. My double take followed by wtf? was interpreted by him as ‘look at that fine specimen of a man right there with his patchy sunburn, huge white belly and terrible taste in football teams.’ Each time I pass him now he nudges one of his mates. I swear I hear the echoes of ‘she wants me’ reach my eardrums over the rumbling sound of the car engine while competing with Real Radio but I know he’s saying it, bragging about it and loving it. Yes I want you...... I want you to put it away.

Last week while talking to a friend she shouted over to him, there he was bare chested again. It wasn’t freezing but it was far from sunbathing weather either. He wasn’t just bare chested – he was lingering on the door frame trying to either look sexy or cool and failing at both miserably.
Passing him today again he gave me a look which said ‘I know you want me – question is do I want you?’ Agggghhhh what a wee horror. For him to even think I’m interested and then dare to believe he could have the opportunity to knock me back is just unbelievable.

Why is it the wrong people who have a problem with self confidence in this world?

A wee pick me up

2009-09-25T22:52:00.001+01:00

Today started slowly, very slowly. The car was being serviced but I managed to pull my weary bones out of bed and up to my parents house to collect it and head to the gym. Its a public holiday here so I was keen to get the exercise out of the way quicker than normal. I landed there at 2pm to find it closed for lunch. Ach well I'll come back tomorrow was my first thought but I surprised and surpassed myself and went along again around 4pm. The workout was unbelievable, and my bones are really sore. It has made me realise that I was playing dress up to hit the gym for years instead of doing anything seriously.

After dinner I yearned for a bath and decided on loads of bubbles, toasty hot water and a good read. So I had a wee browse at pick me up through the bubbles and started to read all the insane stories in the world. From huge babies, to little princesses who can do no wrong. I love a bath but I like to hide the wobbly bits with a mountain of bubbles and shed the day to relax fully into the night. I turned the page - pick me up - if he was trying to pick her up then he might die trying. Here was the story of a woman who is a professional squasher and charges $200 for 45 mins to sit on top of skinny men. One of her clients, a doctor, told her that if he died that way then he would die a happy man.

i'm no legal expert but please enlighten me as to how you get out of that one in court - 'your honour, he loved my 30 stone mass sitting of top of him and I was saving for a gastric bypass' The poor man may very well need a triple heart bypass if he keeps indulging in this squashing habit.

Suddenly my wobbly bits have disappeared and I've never felt so toned.

So Macho

2009-09-24T21:26:00.000+01:00

I’ve discovered muscles I didn’t know I had never mind the name of them. I was breezing away at Curves enjoying the workout and then they pulled the rug, upped the ante and made me work like a demon. My heart-rate was so high the machines took pity on me and even gave me a bit of a rest.

Very clever system they have going on in there. If you don’t know it then it’s a 30 minute workout and believe it or not I burned about 580 calories in the space of half an hour. I could eat that easily in half a minute but working it back off really makes you think about the work you need to do for a moment of pleasure on the lips. It’s not just the hips that get the workout, it’s every single muscle in your body, no exceptions.

Curves smart involves trying to beat the machine which I have grasped is impossible, the harder you work then the harder it works against you. But there I was, little smart card in hand on every machine in the place, working my pecs like there’s no tomorrow and trying to keep the light on the monitor green. If it goes amber then you ain’t working that butt hard enough.
I was impressed at the end of the workout. I knew what muscles where weak and the machine identified them too. Every muscle worked to the max was in green and the weaker ones in yellow. Unsurprisingly it was the muscles I thought it would be, and yet they are the ones that are sorer than any other.

My real fait a complais though was resisting the urge to indulge and count the calories like I had money to spend. I wasn’t spending on this occasion, I was saving. Saving all my energy for tomorrow’s workout and to go through it all again.

I could've danced all night........

2009-09-23T17:11:00.001+01:00

And skipped and jumped for absolute joy, the size 14’s are now a size 12 and no for once I didn’t celebrate with a greasy doubler from the van, I stuck with the special K and cracker-breads and I’m looking forward to trimming down further.

I could feel the trousers slipping yesterday and a member of the team even commented on my continual hoisting of the garment. I was pulling it so hard I almost beat Simon Cowell in the waist-crunchers department but every time I thought I had it sorted they slipped again. At one point I thought I’d cracked it, I tried to put a charity badge on my trousers to get them to stay up but a senior member of the management team approached me at that point and the back of it flew into the air. Thankfully he didn’t notice.

As joyous as this is, it would be very embarrassing if my hips disappeared just another half inch and my trousers fell completely. So to avoid total disaster I made myself an appointment with New Look and for once I wasn’t sweating walking through the door. I was jumping for joy – me a size 12, forget the top half for now – Curves can help me with that but I could actually see the tops of my legs in my new purchase and I wanted to sing and dance round the shop. Being Glasgow that’s not a good idea, you get funny looks for riding a bike in my neck of the woods so forget singing and dancing. Admittedly I used to play my recorder while walking down the road to school every morning – well a girl has to practice to hit the big time – the school choir.

I digress, my point here is that the blog is working. I’ve only been going to Curves for a week and even with their promises 3 sessions didn’t cause this little gem of a miracle but I now know it will help the rest.

Food for thought

2009-09-22T12:39:00.003+01:00

I’ve been almost as good as gold with my new eating regime, it has involved cutting back on the fizzy juices, substituting crisps for crispbreads and taking fruit when I can. But one full day on the crispbreads was enough to send me back to the Indians for a kebab (and chips). Oh come off it, what would I write about if I became a food saint. The fact is I halved the meal with M who despite his slaggings of ‘this is a great diet, well done you’ it fell on deaf ears and once more I was typing my personal number into the little terminal with its green screen winking up at me and urging me to complete the deed.

And I did, and oh it barely touched the sides. But the remorse is just not worth it. You see chocolate is missing (one step at a time) and the little chocolate swirl I was enjoying of a morning has now become Special K. Off to work and of course the hunger pangs are there. I know they’ll be there for a while yet because my body will take a while to adjust but that doesn’t stop my brain shouting ‘roll and sausage, roll and bacon – come on you know you want to’ I had to eat, I’m scared in case I see people as food, it’s taking over my life. It always has taken over my life. My first roll and chips was at the Wednesday market when I was at primary school and I’ve been hooked ever since. It led to my salt fascination and probably the little pot belly that I’ve been carrying out since (although not that little anymore).

I’ve been offered hypnotherapy. I think this will be interesting as I’m a born sceptic. I’ve always found it difficult to fully relax and in these situations, so it will be interesting to see if I succumb first of all and then if it works for me. I’m needing to imagine a chip as something I hate and maybe that’s what will finally work.

The 50 somethings in the office give me such grief. If I refuse a cake they make it their mission to drool and torment and if I succumb to any cravings then I’m told off. Left to them I would be a size 8 bride wearing my wedding dress in my coffin. I did have the crispbreads instead of the bacon roll but cardboard would have tasted nicer, despite the lovely topping on it. So when the sandwich lady turned up so did I – first in the queue for a lovely croissant filled with cheese ham and tomato.

Walking back through the door I was met with three of Strathclyde’s finest inspecting my purchase and telling me off for the cheese content. My trousers are slipping a bit though so I must be doing something right and after all you can’t cut these types of food out your life forever. After all food is life – isn’t it?

Teenage Kicks

2009-09-21T20:03:00.001+01:00

Teenagers live in their own little world, it’s not a selfish place, its just there own space where they can start to figure the world out, realise the butterflies in their tummy are to do with the boy in their chemistry class, experiment with make up, try out the local disco and really start to work out life and yearn for some independence.

Well 15 year old Rosie lived in her own world too and arguably still does. At 15 years old pocket money wasn’t dished out on a whim, it came from chores round the house and certainly wasn’t enough to buy the latest fashions. The essentials where always there, but when she wanted the latest craze well it was a case of save for it, or borrow it from her sisters wardrobe when she’s not in (the fights weren’t worth that mind you, not that they where a huge deterrent for Rosie, the art of borrowing just became more creative).

So to combat the lust for living the night life, wearing the latest fashions and experimenting with her first taste of cider then there was only one thing that could be done – get a job. No shyness there, after traipsing around the city centre, chapping doors and leaving a contact phone number the world of work soon opened up. After a few years it was time to find a job with a bit more decent pay and Rosie got a job cleaning tables in one of the big department stores. It was full of young people and the social life was fun. The butterflies in the tummy turned up and while having a fly chocolate doughnut she soon realised that the bin boy was really quite cute. It wasn’t a case of falling head over heels but it did give the day a bit of an edge and she found herself looking forward to bin times.

One day while shopping in town she spotted him across the road and was keen to get across for a chat. Being no expert on body language she might have started to flirt a wee bit from across the road. The green man wouldn’t appear and the flirting must have gone into overdrive.
Thud, ‘You bitch!!!’ She turned to see an old man (in his 70’s) lying flat on the pavement pointing at her. ‘It was her, she tripped me up!’ Rosie couldn’t believe it, the only thing she had been guilty of was getting a bit flirty with bin boy. ‘You did, you did’ Well it turns out that the flirting had sent the old boy head over heels literally as Rosie had lifted her leg up behind her while making eyes at her chosen object of desire.

By this time a crowd had gathered and the wee green man was nowhere to be seen, red old man was though and was baying for blood. Taking a chance to run across the road she soon realised that bin boy was no more than a wimp, he had disappeared and her little crush was soon trashed.

So Bite Me

2009-09-20T20:41:00.000+01:00

Everyone seeks comfort, especially when the going gets tough. I’m far from confrontational but pushed to the limit like anyone I’ll reach a point where enough is enough. Trouble is it can take three years to get to there and then I feel so bad after the event because lets face its, its far from rewarding and often has me sticking my head in the fridge with heels in the air, looking for something, anything that will substitute that pain. I’ve had a lot of ups and downs when I look back over my life so far, arguably brought about by me looking for more ups than downs. I passed the longing for the weekend stage years ago and I wanted every day to matter.
I appreciate everything that has happened till now but you know what they say ‘what doesn’t break you, can only make you stronger’ well I was almost broken in half on two significant occasions and I guess I found strength and comfort in food. I have a ceiling I have to say though, these days if I creep into a size 16 I cut it down till I’m back into a 14. I’m thinking I should now adopt this philosophy when I get to a 12 and flip if I creep back into a 14. I’m on 5’2 (I may have added half an inch because I believe in rounding up) so weight doesn’t sit well on me at all.
I worked for a well known shopping channel a few years back, its pretty fair to say that it was cut throat, making a sale is nothing once you see this in operation. I was frustrated with it, the TV industry is very snobbish towards shopping channels despite the fact that it’s constantly live. The production values and creative flair behind every show mainly go unnoticed and not just by the industry itself, quite often by those working beside you. They’ve got a career path to follow, shares to nurture, a reputation to build and keep. Glamour? They couldn’t spell it.

One Thursday afternoon I was given a show to produce with magnets involved – this is a huge money spinner for the shopping channels and I have to say I’ve heard some pretty good feedback on them in terms of health. So the range was growing and magnet mattress toppers where on the schedule. Well to demonstrate effectively it involves a bed, we were given the smallest area of the studio as the other areas where taken and the bed was squeezed into a corner. On the whole I wasn’t happy with the set up but you work with what you have.

My boss at the time liked to make an entrance, very often turning up in the production office wearing afghan coats with clogs with the USA flag on them and a fleece with his name on the back and his entourage following two steps behind, Jay Z has nothing on what this man had. He could charm the birds from the trees and oh what a presence, the atmosphere in amongst 100 odd people could change in an instant when he walked in the room.

This particular Thursday he made a beeline for me ‘Roz Roz Roz, what happened with the magnet show, you know that’s my baby, you took the baby and threw it out the pram’’ Unbelievably he was holding my hand and stroking it at the same time and was kneeling on the floor in front of me. He lunged at my left arm and bit through my denim jacket and top, piercing the skin enough for the biggest bruise to appear, the pain was unbearable.

I was shocked, I mean really what’s that all about, the show had taken in over the target amount, magnets sell so well that you could have sat in a chair for an hour showing one magnet and that would have been it. Soul destroying, all I wanted was to work in TV and make something someday that would mean something to someone. Oh I cried, of course I did. I was in debt, had moved away from my family and friends, was in a part of the country I had never even heard of before and yet I didn’t make a complaint, didn’t phone the police and more importantly felt I couldn’t rely on the nine witnesses who had seen everything.

The production world fell into two camps, those on his side, determined to appease me and to much greater extent bully me, trying to make it appear normal behaviour. ‘Are you ok Roz, you know you need to get to the doctor because you really are ill’ eh am I? Well if I wasn’t I am now, in fact thinking back a tetanus jag might have been the best advice. The others felt I should have reported him. Maybe I should have, easy words to say when its not you that’s in the situation.

Life became hell, I was lucky to have three or four good friends that I could turn to and they could see the sense in my side of the whole thing but needless to say KFC became my biggest friend during those dark days. A Colonel’s four piece meal with the sour cream and chive dip made me smile every time. No way was I moving home though and I probably stayed there two years longer than I ever intended because I wasn’t going to be beat by a bully. Long story short he was summoned to court regarding an alleged assault on another member of staff, in among other things he had licked her face. When questioned about it he said ‘I do that to everyone, it’s just my way, I mean it’s not like I bit her’

I knew at that point that I would never have won, he also had a famous TV doctor as a character witness – I can’t look at that doctor on TV or read any of his columns because I knew the character of that man standing in the dock very well. He told me before a show one day that he was the greatest shopping television presenter ever and he wouldn’t go down without a fight, if that meant stomping on me then so be it but in his opinion at least he was being honest about it.

Enough was enough, strange land, strange company and even stranger characters, my flat mate was nuts (but that’s another story) and it was time to pack up and ship out to find a career that would deliver for me and after a lot of hard work well I’m in a very happy place right now. I don’t believe you have to step on people to get ahead or be confrontational all the time, you will always get your chance to get your point across, it may take a lot longer but I know I’m getting there. I’m no longer angry or bitter, I couldn’t have fully told this story before it was too raw. I know that I’m a strong person though, every single day in life I walked into that workplace and faced my demons.

All I have to say now is So Bite Me.

Truly Scrumptious

2009-09-20T00:28:00.001+01:00

Well that’s what I’m hoping this new eating regime will be. I ignored the bacon and eggs in the fridge and headed off to the shop for a healthier option. On the way back I bumped into an old friend and we had a bit of a catch up. One of her neighbours walked passed and said to her ‘I told you I could smell shite’ Eh being a bit on the paranoid side at times I instantly thought she was talking about me. That was until she said that she found the offending item in her pocket. I honestly didn’t have a clue what to say to that – how on earth do you find crap in your pocket. I was actually terrified to ask the question.

Turns out she was strimming my friend’s garden for her and some excrement was in among the longer grass. The strimmer sent it into orbit, into her pocket, her hair and in her ears. Well as they say it’s supposed to be lucky so she bought a lottery ticket this morning.

I have to admit as funny as it was I really didn’t want to eat after that. I forced myself though.

Busted

2009-09-18T13:07:00.000+01:00

I am so proud of myself – well a bit. In rocked the cakes this morning and I said no, I’ve not even had a sniff. The thing is just before they turned up so did a photo of me looking like I’d inherited Jordan’s binned bust and a fat injection into my chin – it was not a sight I want to remember, although I may have to shove it on the fridge door to keep me from falling of the wagon.

You know I was looking for that lightbulb moment that would have the same effect as the stranger in the street who insulted me a few years back. By the way, why do people think they can say whatever they want? Its just ignorant, so I like a bun or two but lets face it I’m not hurting anyone, if anything I’m keeping the economy alive by spending.

Well I think I’ve found my lightbulb moment. Mirrors and soft lighting can really be cruel. I thought I looked ok yesterday but low and behold the camera never lies and I hated the picture staring back at me. Ironically one of the best pics taken in a while is my with a chip in my mouth but having that chip in my mouth is the very reason why I’m staring at myself now and not liking what I see.

I’m going to be kind to myself for a change, but not by buying clothes etc. I’m going to do me the biggest favour ever and let size 10 me have a breath of fresh air to enjoy the world and appreciate good health. She does deserve it, after all it’s been a while since she’s been out to play and who am I to deny her? x

How can cows be fat if all they eat is grass?

2009-09-17T21:10:00.002+01:00

Does that mean if I only survive on salads that I’ll still be fat due to the carb intake? If that’s the case then what on earth can I eat?

It was networking time again yesterday which is fab really as you get to meet so many different people and put faces to names. It doesn’t help the old diet though, there I was armed with water, banana and lots of nice little snacks before checking in at the airport. I’ve never received an upgrade in my life but low and behold I was handed the key to the flybe executive suite to enjoy free soft drinks, crisps, mini cheddars, muffins, pretzels – you name it I could have it. I chose a packet of crisps and a packet of mixed raisins and thought I’d done not too bad. Getting on the plane though I then realised I could have a complimentary drink and a free snack. Oh no disaster, I chose the family pack of minstrels – it was for the purpose of sharing though.

Arriving at the conference I can’t help notice these lovely young slim 20 something girls and I think well I can’t be in my twenties again but I can slim down – that’s what I’m doing. Except the crispy crème doughnuts turn up and I’m done for. Lunchtime isn’t much better, the nibbles on the whole are healthy but the Victoria sponge is honestly to die for. I decided to half it in two and then I didn’t feel so guilty. I’m blaming my 4.30 start for forgetting about the doughnuts. After all by the time lunchtime arrived I felt it was the next day.

Dinner was at 8 and I didn’t eat a thing before hand. It was very healthy too, sweet potato and carrot soup for starters and then roast beef with mashed potatoes and roast veg. Not one single chip in sight. The meat was a bit fatty in places though, which amazes me – how can cows get fat if all they eat is grass? I really do need to know. Does it then mean that if I survive only on salads then I’ll still be fat? So apart from some minstrels, crisps, doughnuts and cake – I think I done marvellously well on my little jaunt away. Trust me it could have been so much worse. I had to have a meal at the airport before I came home so I chose a cheeseburger and chips which was disappointing but filled the gap. I wasn’t keen on lunch – too much gooey and slimey stuff.

At least tomorrow I have all my lovely little snacks to take to work.

Promises made, promises said

2009-09-15T19:35:00.003+01:00

Every payday I make a solemn vow that the coming month will be full of healthy eating, less chips (not none – c’mon give a girl a break here), loads of fruit etc etc etc. And so it shall be, I’m feeling different already, my jeans are loose around the waist and so are my work trousers. I have to admit that the thought of parting with cash for work trousers fills me with dread, however I’m sure once I lose a bit I’ll be desperate to get to the shops.

The old demon came back tonight. It was in the form of chicken fried rice, curry sauce and fried potatoes (I think they might be called chips) and it was halved between me and the other half, who I’m going to start calling M. After all it takes time to change and I needed some comfort as I’ve got an early start tomorrow morning. So while most of you will be just turning over I’ll be waiting at Glasgow Airport for the 240 in the sky to take me to Birmingham. It’s otherwise known as shit o’clock. I’m off to Oxford where I’ll have no control over what hits my plate (well, I say plate, more likely cardboard cartons & cellophane wrappings) so the diet is on full suspension until Friday (how good does that sound, no really, how good), I don’t intend going mental on it though.

Friday night I’m heading back to Curves, which I have to say I’m fully enjoying. It suits my attention span (M would say coz I'm a girl, remind me, why am I doing this again???), each machine is 30 seconds and the circuit lasts 30 mins. I can feel the burn though (getting down with the sports chat here) and my stomach muscles definitely don’t know what has hit them after last night’s session.

My biggest dilemma is breakfast – I can’t eat at that time of the morning, don't know if it's the lack of morning appetite or the exhaustion of dodging around the other half as he tries to ping my bra strap (Mental man age of 14, why am I doing this again?) but I know I’ll need to have something, haven’t got a clue what though.

I’m thinking a wee trip to ASDA might be an idea tonight to stock up on some healthy cereal bars and stuff that’ll suffice while i’m travelling otherwise I’ll walk into WH Smith and think two big bars of Cadburys for £2 are a good breakfast staple.

My last supper was fab, from now on its jacket potatos, rice, pasta, plenty of protein and a good balanced diet – no pills, no fads, just reasonable portions and a decent approach to it. I’ve dusted down the diet plate (from the Ming dynasty now I believe, does the Antiques roadshow beckon?) – even tried it out with the Chinese tonight but I’ll try it seriously from now on.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new me

Throw me a Curve Ball

2009-09-13T12:58:00.002+01:00

I’ve taken the plunge and the lovely ladies at Curves in Motherwell are on the case to help me lose all the weight I can for the wedding. Although its’ not just about the wedding, I’ve been trying to get my head round this for years. I look back at photos and think, I could look like that again so easily, well after I’ve had this last wee treat anyway.

When we first got engaged I joined a wedding website and it gave you the exact amount of days till the day itself. Well back then it was in the region of 800 or so. In short I’ve wasted 438 days with failed attempts trying. Of course I don’t really have 362 days (at time of writing this). I have much less, after all if I want to sort the dress out etc then I have much less time than this.

I rocked up to Curves on Friday night to the absolute amusement of the lovely manager of the absolute pressure I have now put myself under. Explaining my goals, she took me under her wing, my weight, my measurements and told me what I would be expected to lose to reach my target goal. I’ve been pretty honest up to now, so I’m going to keep that going (ok maybe I’ve not declared every chocolate bar but still I’ve been a very open book). All over I will need to lose 20 inches.

I have been blessed with very slim arms and legs but that sometimes makes me feel like a pigeon especially when I’m told that I’ll be looking to lose around 71/2 inches from my chest. Push me over and I will literally bounce back up.

Imagine 71/2 inches, women pay thousands to gain two or three and here I am ready to throw away 71/2. A few people have commented that I’m not that heavy – I’m top heavy and at 5’2 well I wouldn’t mind being in proportion.

It drives me nuts when I see people jump into fat suits – get me a skinny suit and I’m yours for life. I slept in for my induction on Saturday morning at the gym but I have to say that the old Rosie is slowly disappearing and the new one will emerge somewhere over the next few months. I know I can do it, but the lovely ladies at Curves are taking no chances.

If I don’t turn up, then I’ve been warned – we will come looking for you.

2009-09-12T16:14:00.000+01:00

These Boots are made for Walking, one of these days those boots are gonna.........

Snap in two. Well almost. As I lay face down on the pavement I focused on the frost on the Argyll Street footpath. Turning my head towards the shop front I could feel Neil Lennon’s and the rest of the Celtic team’s eyes gaze down on me as I tried to come to term with what had just happened. Well Aidan McGeady it certainly wasn’t a dive, especially not in the middle of rush hour just weeks before Christmas.

Glasgow was well and truly mobbed and those cheeky green and white hooped boys where in the window of the Celtic Store inviting adoring fans to buy their wares for themselves and their loved ones. I pulled myself to my feet and the strangest sensation came over me, I felt like I was balancing on one leg and the other was levitating.

Down like a pack of cards, sprawled across the pavement again. I had been balancing on one foot. The £110 boots I bought the week before decided to lose a heel and I ultimately lost my balance. How on earth did that happen? Well with the aid of Glasgow City’s finest, a manhole cover had been left off and I, in my dreamlike state, succumbed to it. A kind man (in amongst thousands) stopped to help me up and console me in my rant against the council.

It’s no secret that I’ve come to detest buses and on this occasion my resolve was very much tested. I hopped to the door of my designated bus which had stopped at the traffic lights beside me. Aha no way was he letting me on – ‘get to the bus stop!’ he shouted. The customer service warms the cockles of my heart every single time. How was I going to get to the bus stop? I had hopped to the door of his bus. No way, having none of it, somehow through perspex glass I managed to communicate to him what had happened. Even the hardest faced first bus driver couldn’t drive passed me in that state.

So I got on. Hiding my face from everyone else on the bus I found a seat and pulled my self together. Then I noticed the hole at the knee of my trousers and my brand new sparkling white North Face jacket was now black. No hiding it then.

The next day I walked passed the scene where it had all happened. Once more the Celtic boys where emblazoned on the shop window with a knowing look in each of their eyes – we know – we seen you fall head over heels right in front of us.

Pity then that they couldn’t help me when I phoned the council later that day demanding an apology and some compensation.

Light of my life

2009-09-11T22:30:00.002+01:00

I often write short stories, hope you don't mind me sharing them from time to time.

Looking into the light it began to fade, fade out of reach as though the tunnel was never ending, fading into the distance becoming farther and farther away.

The Consultant moved his light away and addressed her to deliver his final verdict, a child wouldn’t be on the horizon unless of course she acted now – right now. At 22 it’s not the news anyone young woman wants to hear, what should she be doing with that type of information. Having a bar of chocolate, buying some new shoes, or be thankful that a little person isn’t going to steal the limelight or should she bite the bullet and get pregnant now, tonight.

Kicking off her new Kurt Keiger heels she walks into the living room to see him lying on the couch, he turns to look over at her, smiles and reaches out his hand to her. She doesn’t need to get pregnant does she? She has everything she could ever want. How many young girls find themselves pregnant at 16? How many find themselves in council housing and on benefits, how many wonder what the future holds? Do they have it cruelly taken away? And how would he feel about it, having this little person running under their feet every day, pulling the place apart and of course she was only 22 after all, why now, why right now? Do they really mean right now? What about tomorrow, the next day, next year, the next 10 years – wouldn’t that be more sensible.

Settling down to watch Eastenders he cuddles into her, making her feel safe and alive. Oh it would be so easy, easy to just let go and give it a try, after all it might not even work. Looking into his eyes she wonders what he’s thinking, is he even aware about what’s going on? He doesn’t know about the pain, the tests, the constant probing, the dignity that’s left at the front door of the hospital, waiting on her to pick it back up as she leaves. Although that in itself is a struggle. How many students does it take to have a peak, are there not other young woman around? How about one student per bed? They surround her, suffocate her, hmming and ahhing as she lies there.

Her embarrassment has long ago left her, she’s a seasoned pro at this, could give advice to anyone visiting that department on what to expect, how to deal with it, the mixed up appointments, the new doctor everytime she went. Why did she have to explain herself to them, her notes are there in front of them. Surely they should be telling her.

Realisng that she’s been lost in thought for hours, she turns off the TV turns to him and moves him gently. Lifting him from the couch she carries him through to the nursery she decorated using her benefits and places him in his bed. At seven years old he’s such a great kid and although it would be lovely to give him a brother or sister she’s counts her lucky stars that she got pregnant when she did and kisses him goodnight.

Observations of a Cleaning Supervisor

2009-09-11T13:02:00.003+01:00

Who’s bin is that? ‘Is that yours?’ Have you eaten all that this morning? Not even a sorry I didn’t mean it to sound that way – just a well? In other words she was desperate to say ‘Fat Cow, your bins overflowing’

Today started off the same as most days, I fell out of bed, slapped on the make up and had no time for breakfast. So first stop supermarket.

I’ve taken a bit of a liking to chocolate swirls recently – think choc au pain but longer and thinner with a custard base and melted chocolate. So with chips now out the windae and my addiction to irn-bru being pulled under control I have to say I’ve been indulging in the odd treat or two.

I believe balance is the key to life so with a wee packet of yoghurt coated peanuts and a two litre bottle of water well I think I’ve done not too bad. I arrived at work, had my secret choc swirl, threw yesterday’s water bottle and diet irn-bru in the bin and congratulated myself on my self control. Special K is so over-rated ahem.

So much for privacy, now I know I’ve put myself in the spotlight to an extent, but I’m hardly Kerry Katona looking for her next kebab fix and I think bin raking is taking it a wee bit too far.

As per the Amey way – it’s global news, everyone in the office knows and they have tipped their bin into mine to make it look a lot worse.

I suppose it knocks my MacDonalds craving for the day on the head.

Honestly I don’t know why I’m even surprised. I worked in an office a few years back, two of the girls were pregnant. A temp started and me doing my bit tried to make her feel at home. So much so that she asked me how the pregnancy was going and how I was feeling. Meanwhile two whales where walking about in the background

Today’s the day

2009-09-10T20:31:00.004+01:00

That I seriously start to think about losing weight and start to properly imagine myself in that dress. Its not an easy thing for me to do. I’ve never been wedding inclined. I wasn’t one for dreaming about my perfect day, I was more interested in playing teddy football (normally tiny tears head would be the ball) than dreaming of how I would look in a big flowing white gown.

I didn’t go gaga over Princess Diana’s wedding day – if I remember it properly it was a scorcher of a day in Scotland and I was outside making the most of the sunshine. The rest of the world was inside crying over the beautiful bride and taking in every detail of the event to perhaps build it into their own somewhere down the line.

Don’t get me wrong I love pretty things, especially shoes and I fully appreciate beautiful workmanship and the imagination involved in making every single dress different from the next. China dolls were never for me. I remember having a ceramic clown and within days of getting it the leg was broken in half. I’m not sure if I tried to get it to play football too – it was so long ago but it really wouldn’t surprise me.

So maybe that’s why I haven’t fully got to grips with wedding = weightloss. Plenty of people have been cheeky to me over the years ( by the way I give as good as I get) but on one occasion just one remark from one person sent me into weight-loss overdrive. I didn’t even know them, couldn’t tell you what they looked like, but there must have been a mixture of hatred from the tone in my accusers voice and my own self loathing that made me indulge in a healthy eating plan and the weight just kept disappearing. I’m too much of a foodie to get myself into any sort of trouble, but I do remember the sheer hard work involved in getting rid of it last time round.

So I take strength from that episode and decide, that’s it, its a year today exactly to the wedding and as from tomorrow (why not today? Well I have a cold and it needs fed). I sneak to the local chippie and get myself my last roll and chips ever (with a pickle).

Tomorrow the girls at Curves are taking me under their wing. God love them xx

Only an Excuse

2009-09-09T11:25:00.001+01:00

Slipping out my seat, I move swiftly to the cupboard, open it gently and start to rummage around the box to find something to appease the building apprehension and longing that has been growing inside me since Monday.

I’ve not quite resorted to wearing a baseball cap and shades to get to the chippy but I have almost been on the verge of bribery and corruption to appease this lovely addiction. So with chips (at least real chips) out of my life for the foreseeable future well surely a biscuit (not two) is allowed.

It seems not. It amazes me how some people can move without making a sound. I’ve never had that grace, I make a real racket, especially when I steal in the house in the dead of night after a girls night out trying desperately not to wake the natives. Having not been blessed with being light on my feet I never fail to get fright when a figure suddenly appears behind me, and even more so when they tell me ‘you shouldn’t be in there’

There it is – caught in action. No one else in the room had noticed but alarm bells are now ringing, the truth is out – The Fat Bride strikes again. Even after sticking her head above the parapet and telling the world of her new regime, the smell of sugar and the thought of the lovely natural high that comes from it has her in such a tizz that the wedding dress may as well be a sack cloth.

Tomorrow its exactly one year to the wedding, I’ve been promising myself to lose weight since the engagement a year and a half ago and now its time to get serious. I mean really serious.

I’ve finally found the courage to don the new trainers, I was terrified in case they where now two different sizes. I’m not buying anymore outfits, I’ll make do and mend as they say. Until now I’ve thought to myself, what harm can one wispa do, or a packet of crisps, or even both at the same time, never mind in the same day?

I know cutting out bread helps too. So from this day on (although I have the cold today and it would be so wrong to ignore the invaluable advice that you must feed a cold) I will be having a decent breakfast, a light lunch, fruit snacks and good dinner, with plenty of water too.

Someone made me aware recently that drinking diet drinks keeps you fat, so maybe with chips out the equation the accompanying diet irn bru will disappear over the horizon too.

I must over think all this at times – I’ve done it all before. I’ve walked 2/3 miles a day but the rain now puts me off, I’ve cut food down so much that weight has fallen off me – but I now think – ah just one more wont hurt. I’ve bought new clothes and thought – what a waste of money if I lose weight and can’t wear them.

I'll do it though, anytime I think of falling off the wagon I remember that I'm doing this for a reason and it will all be worth it in the end.

Thank you

2009-09-08T18:20:00.003+01:00

to everyone for all their lovely comments and good wishes. I really stuck my head above the parapet with this and I have to admit to feeling a wee bit vulnerable at times. anyway I would love it if you could leave me a comment and let me know if you are enjoying my blog. It would be much appreciated xxxx

Life in the fast lane

2009-09-07T20:51:00.002+01:00

I’ve started to come back down to earth, not with a bump, more like a feather floating through the day and landing gently on the couch to watch Eastenders.

I knew I was going to be in the Daily Record today. I came downstairs looking for the paper but it wasn’t there. The Sun, Herald and The Scotsman where there but no Daily Record. Strange to be honest, the papers get delivered every day and the paper boy has never missed an edition yet.

Lucky escape, well maybe not. I walked into the living room and there it was, middle page centre spread, I was genuinely lost for words. I couldn’t read it, couldn’t face eating anything, decided chips were gone and I threw a bag of microwaveable basmati rice into my bag for lunchtime along with a big bottle of water.

I jumped in the green machine, she makes me feel so safe, and I wanted to stay there all day. The urge to throw a sickie was overwhelming but I turned the key and steered myself into the day to face the funny looks, funny remarks, down right slaggings and general disbelief, that me, I was in the Daily Record. I work in PR for a living, I know how this works, but the difference is I’m never the object of the story. Suddenly there I am, centre spread, staring back at myself from tomorrow’s chip wrapper wondering how I got there.

I only started writing the blog in July. I’ve always written stories, it’s always been a hobby and I get a lot of enjoyment from it. It gives me a chance to figure things out too while I’m writing and I generally find it answers a lot of questions for me, sometimes before I’ve even asked them.

I was taken aback by the response today though, the comments have been positive, yes there’s a fair bit of slagging going on, but it’s been in good fun. I text my sister to tell her the news and she ran out the house in her pyjamas to the shop to get the paper. She grabbed an old man’s from him to show him the article and nearly sent him off his feet.

I’ve been a bit cautious about mentioning names in the blog, not everyone likes it but I have to say a massive thank you to Fiona Kelly and Paul Lynch who I work with for encouraging me to publish myself.

I couldn’t resist a chuckle at the Daily Record, they picked up on the only diet regime I didn’t rhyme off and placed the advert right next to the story. Well Curves – here’s a challenge just waiting for you to grab me and turn me into the perfect bride (I know I’m cheeky, but if you don’t ask, you don’t get).

So will I be in Scotland’s national newspaper again? Well let’s just wait and see if I nail this weight loss once and for all.

I love the .......

2009-09-06T13:47:00.006+01:00

It’s really no wonder I turn to food. The other half could drive you to drink at times, but as food doesn’t give you a hangover, it’s easier to deal with (although the remorse after wolfing down a cream cake or two is sometimes hard to take). He’s suddenly found Real Radio’s song about Boaby the mouse and transferred it to his phone.

For anyone who doesn’t know about this little ditty, its all about a mouse called Boaby to the music of I love to Boogie – get the picture. I’ve not just got the picture in my mind; the song goes round in my head every morning when his alarm goes off. He’s informed me that there is guy he works with called Barry and has edited the song in such a way that the words ‘Baz loves the boaby’ sing every time he gets an email at work. The wonders of technology and 1001 ways to abuse it springs to mind.

I should’ve known that somehow and somewhere this was going to backfire on me. I gave him a bit of a hard time one morning for moaning at me, well to be honest if wasn’t unfounded, he lies in bed reading teletext and I’m almost crawling round the room looking for stuff I need for work (yes I know it should all be sorted out the night before, but in his words ‘have you met me?’)

Long story short I had a bit of rant about his teletext habit that I was about to pay for and badly. We have a silent mobile phone policy at work, but now and again well it’s easy to forget this and the odd chime rings through the office by mistake. Although the sound of vibration is often not much better.

My phone never rings when it’s with me, I’ll nip to the vending machine – missed call, to the ladies – missed call, photocopier – missed call. This time I was over the other side of the room and the mobile sprang into life. Now this is where I regret having the ringtone so loud. Nooooooooooo, he'd changed the ringtone and on it came ‘I love the boaby, Baz loves the boaby...... on a Saturday night’

It was like running through treacle in slow motion trying to get hold of it before anyone sussed what was going on. Far, far too late, they heard it and the fun they had was unbelievable. They even threatened to join in the company talent show singing that very song with my name included.

I tried in vain to use my powers of persuasion to get Real Radio to help me get my own back, I’ve even threatened the other half with Ant and Dec but the smug laugh is still there.

It’s been a hard lesson, but my own mobile phone is on silent all the time now. To say sorry for embarrassing me, believe it or not he didn’t mean to, he treated me to a Chinese meal. I still think it deserves flowers but a girl can wish.

When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favourite things, and then I don't feel so….

2009-09-04T20:13:00.001+01:00

Sick and tired of dieting. There’s temptation all over the place. If its not cakes its biscuits, not biscuits then it’s the sandwich lady or the vending machine. I try to steer clear of the sandwich lady – mainly as I hate butter, margarine and mayonnaise yet everything she sells is not only full of the stuff, a trowel has been used to apply it. Scotmid’s healthy salads look like a lovely alternative but right in the middle of it is a big dollop of Hellman’s so I avoid them like the plague.

I don’t drink tea or coffee either – so I’m marked out as being different. Truth is I don’t like hot drinks or slimy foods. The texture of mayo, salad cream and butter/margarine makes me feel ill. Give me a dry sandwich any day and I’m happy.

So why am I struggling so much to lose weight – please don’t say it’s the chips. I have to admit though that I’m a complete sucker for fried food and bread usually finds itself a worthy accompaniment. But if you weigh it up (pardon the pun) then other people’s consumption of accoutrements must surely be the same as my fried food intake. I have to admit here too that when I do venture to the biscuit box I feel the need to buy two as they only cost 10p each.

I’m not a complete philistine when it comes to food, I love baked salmon on a lovely bed of basmati rice or a juicy stir fry and steamed veg. I’ve bought Jamie Oliver’s Ministry of Food cookbook and I’m slowly but surely making my way through the recipes.

Every day’s a challenge. Tomorrow’s hill-walking day and in true Rosie fashion a very valid excuse has conveniently arrived – it’s not washing my hair – its overtime. After all a girls got to pay for her weight loss somehow.

Karma Chameleon?

2009-09-04T20:07:00.000+01:00

I love driving, I’ve only been driving for a year now but so far I’ve found streets I didn’t know existed and I’m able to get to my favourite food places faster than ever.

That’s not the only perk. I swear public transport was making me deaf. I enjoy singing in my little green machine, but chanting away to my favourite tunes on Lanarkshire’s finest bus fleet would be enough to get me locked up or at the very least a sore face for annoying the wee man in front of me who looks like he’s lost a grand and found a penny.

I remember only too well the science behind picking the best seat on the bus, ideally you need something near the front but not the side seats. Sit there and you’re asking for trouble – usually someone staring into your face while grabbing onto the handrail because the seats have gone. This usually involves morning breath too or worse – munching cheese and onion crisps inches away from your nostrils.

The best seats are the ones allocated for buggy users and the elderly – but be prepared to sacrifice them if need be. During the day though, the chance of bumping into the buggy brigade, believe it or not, is much less than during peak travel hours.

So where possible I use these seats as there’s more room to spread out and to get a bit more comfortable. On one occasion I was travelling over to sunny Govan to the Southern General hospital to visit a relative and had to endure two hours of bus travel to get there. I was a bit tetchy to say the least – every two minutes the bus stopped to pick up passengers and drop them off and my patience was more or less at the end of its tether – to the point of becoming irrational.

Finally I reached my stop, or at least I thought I had. I was too early. Realising my error I sat back down again, but I kept going and going until, bang, I was on the deck. The seat was one of those pull down ones and when I stood up – well so did it. There I was on a busy bus, holding onto the pole in vain and trying hard to regain my balance to sit back down. Pole dancing isn’t my forte and I dare say I was far from graceful or about to have tenners thrown in my face for my performance.

It didn’t matter that I was still quite a bit away from the hospital, I was off that bus in a flash. My face was flushed, I couldn’t believe it. Do you believe in Karma? I do now, I swear karma pulled my seat away to teach me a lesson in patience.

Chips, cheese and a Daily Record

2009-09-02T17:50:00.001+01:00

100 miles an hour has turned into 1000 miles this week. The work just keeps coming and its really getting hard to stick to any sort of healthy eating regime.

Today is one of the biggest events of my life so far, and that includes meeting Jason Donavan. The Daily Record have taken an interest in the diary of a fat bride and so sent along a photographer today. Another panicky moment – the house – I’ll need to clean it. I’m not a manky beatch in case you’re getting that impression but the industrial strength cleaner, sheer elbow grease and a four hour calorie burning marathon made sure the house was fit enough to host the eye of Scotland’s national newspaper.

I haven’t had much chance to think about this, especially today when I woke up just before 8am and realised that not only would I have no time to straighten my hair but also that I had no time to eat. You’ve probably guessed it – next stop chuck wagon to appease my appetite and tackle my mounting to do list.

One of the requests from the paper was a sneak preview of the dress. I left work, collected the dress from my mums and made my way home. Sitting at a junction I realised there was a wasp in the car with me. I opened the door, flapped it open and shut but it wouldn’t move. Finally I rolled down the window (why I didn’t do that to begin with, I’ll never know) and it left. By this time I’ve stalled the car, an HGV is flashing his lights behind me and I’m trying to act as cool as possible while getting over the adrenalin rush, all I could focus on was the wasp in the same car as the dress.

Getting home I ran round the kitchen, cleaning the floor, hiding anything lying about in the kitchen cupboard and placing the coat-stand in front of it – sorted. House fit for a queen, except by this time I look like Cinderalla. My hair’s like a burst couch, I’ve given no consideration to what I’m going to wear and OMG I think I’m running out of make up.

In comes Tony the photographer – turns out his uncle works with me and he puts me at ease. I forget the house, stop focusing on the curtains that won’t sit properly and feel confident that my false ponytail won’t let me down.

Best laid plans – ‘Have you got the exercise ball mentioned in the blog’? I have but it’s in the cupboard I’ve hidden my chaotic life in. ‘Yes I’ll get it’. Crash, bang, whallop! Out comes the ball and my ponytail is practically attached to it. I manage to fix it, compose myself and walk into the living room as though nothing has happened.

‘ I hear you like chips’ ‘em yes’, ‘is there a chippy nearby?’ So there was me, outside the local chippy having my photo taken with chips in hand and a big cheesy grin. At least my lunch was sorted out.

My sister tells me my life is far from boring. I’m starting to believe her.

If you’re interested the feature is scheduled to appear in the Daily Record on Monday.

Detoxing my life away

2009-09-01T12:58:00.003+01:00

I love my work, I can say that with my hand on my heart, it’s true. The atmosphere is probably the friendliest I have experienced but it’s probably the cheekiest place I’ve ever worked too.

You may remember me telling you that I work with a group of 50 year old men who love a slice of cake, a wee Danish (Costco’s Danishs are far from wee) and their own special biscuit box. It’s difficult to resist, especially when the sugar high kicks in about 2pm and the hyper antics begin. Well it’s sometimes a case of if you can’t beat the join them. This is where it gets dangerous and when the devil himself appears in the shape of a custard slice – screaming eat me, you know you want to.

And I do want to, until recently I was tempted almost every other day. But I went on holiday and lost a bit of weight and came back to work feeling confident and refreshed. One member of the team commented on my weight loss but then added ‘or is it just because you are wearing black?’ The next day I turned up and he said well how is the lady over there who is not wearing black. Take from that what you like but I know how I took it. Still I avoided the cakes and the biscuits by I have to admit I could hear the local KFC whistling in my direction.

Today I faced my demons, while explaining my weight loss regime I realised that I have spent a fortune on weight loss over the years – the antidotes have cost more than the takeaways and I have a black hole at the bottom of my purse.

While on the phone lamenting that I have tried the South Beach Diet, Slimming World, Scottish Slimmers, Weightwatchers, Carol Vorderman and Gillian McKeith’s detoxes I mentioned that I have managed to lose weight since writing my diary and that that my size 14 trousers are getting too big for me. Well it was met with a guffaw from the guy behind me who has kindly decided to put it in a quote on his whiteboard and tell everyone who passes.