Friday 15 April 2011

My husband Karl Pilkington

So, Tat's started to be mistaken for Karl Pilkington. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Sometimes I find it really funny, because Tat is in fact a grumpy, lazy Manc - so the fact they look the same as well is quite entertaining. But it's quite weird sitting next to Tat on the settee listening to him moaning about something and watching Karl Pilkington on the tele, moaning about the same thing.

Wish Tat was as successful. I'd bet we'd be able to buy a much better house and we'd be friends with Stephen Merchant.

Renewed efforts to lose a stone

Right. This is it. The last year I get wingey about being a stone over weight.

I've got an appointment with the fitness instructor tomorrow at 10am to get a new regime that tackles the saddle bags and the bingo wings.

I caught sight of myself out shopping last weekend and fair enough, I had a raging hangover, so my powers of deduction weren't as sharp as usual, but I swear to god, my upper arm was sagging over the top of my elbow when my arm was bent straight. I have the arms of a 50 year old. And not a Madonna 50 yr old with muscles (and probably a penis), but the arms of a 50 year old dinner lady. Most probably the one who got sacked from my middle school for stealing toilet paper by smuggling it out of the school, wrapped round her legs like old lady bandages under her tights.

Sweet Jesus, aging is a cruel mistress. Not only has my metabolism slowed down, it's practically going backwards. I spent the last few months training for another half marathon and admitedly, my fondness for 'carb loading' starting including less than wholesome items like entire buckets of haagen daas Baileys. But I was running a minimum of 24 miles a week and I wasn't losing any weight.

Don't even let me get started on my saddlebags. It's like I'm permanently wearing several pairs of those cyclist shorts with the padded arses and thighs. I'm like an inverted Chris Hoy. It's a wonder I haven't sponteneously combusted with all the friction my running must cause.

If I could just wire my big fat greedy mouth shut, this would be all so easy.

Getting Married

Well it's a funny old business getting married isn't it?

You have this image of looking blissful and slender, wafting about in something fabulous, while your fatter and spottier friends hover around the edges of your peripheral vision, murmering their admiration about how spectacular the whole day is and how radiant you look.

Well, the reality is very different.

You spend about a year and a not such a small fortune ordering stuff like bunting, fairy cakes and ribbon. Agonise over the guest list and arguments about reception drinks and the fact you can't stop thinking you're going to fall over in your wedding high heels. Then the day goes by in a complete blur and you can't remember any of it apart from the chronic indigestion and the fact you fell over drunk in front of your mum.

My wedding rings are nice though!

And the honeymoon to Brazil was awesome!

Been a while...

So I haven't updated this bad boy for a year. I've did this year's half marathon a couple of months ago and realised my last post had been amazed that I got round in one piece after the 2010 one!

In the past 12 months a lot has happened:
  • I done and got myself a new job
  • I done and got myself married
  • Me and my new husband are buying a new house
  • I have become obsessed with the following tele programmes:
  1. True Blood
  2. Glee
  3. The only way is Essex
  4. Peter Andre - the Next Chapter
  • I haven't lost any weight