That's not the website you're looking for...*

It appears to be de rigeur at the moment to list the dubious ways in which people have found your blog. Never one to be accused of being innovative, I though I might as well join in.

In addition to those people searching for handbags, puppies and Ben Ando I have also been found by people typing the following into search engines...

paul mercurio bum
duck take sellotape (sic)
were can i find the pussycat dolls handbags (sic)
orthodox + 34DD
tourettes and hormones
ebay charms by michaela (????)
very strong cider
cillitt bang love
science reflective cinderella's dress
fiona phillips tights

Welcome one and all, you freaks. Interestingly, my sitemeter also informs me that I have a regular lurker from Arhus, Silkeborg, Denmark. As you've been lurking for a while now, would you care to de-lurk and leave a comment to identify yourself? Cheers.

*Spoken in the style of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obviously.

Deviant

I've just used a metal spoon in a non-stick saucepan. He he he.

I now feel like doing something else outrageously naughty before Duck gets home.

Like putting a cotton bud in my ear, or putting a bra in the washing machine.

I might even put a waxed juice carton in the recycling!

There's no stopping me now...

Warning: contains earworms and politics

Duck changed the bedsheets on Sunday night. Last night I could feel something sticking out at the end of the bed by my feet. I got out of bed to pull the sheet back, expecting to find that a spring had come through the mattress. I found an inch and a half long nail on top of the mattress.

I have asked Duck to launch a full enquiry and expect to be presented with a detailed typed report, but so far: nothing.

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Although I can’t remember the details, my dreams last night involved being in the Caribbean. I can only assume that this is the reason why I woke up this morning with “Agadoo” in my head. This has only partially been replaced by Green Day/Bryan Adams. That is, there’s a line in “Jesus of Suburbia” that in my head segues into “Summer of 69”. I’m not sure which of those two earworms is worse.

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I don’t tend to do political on this blog but David Cameroon was on BBC Breakfast this morning and he referred to the events of “7/7”. I know that the American system of dating differs to ours, hence “9/11”, but what’s wrong with “7th July”? I can’t fully explain why I don’t like “7/7” or “9/11” but to me it feels like a marketing team has sat round a table and decided that “7/7” just sounds a bit snappier. It’s got a bit more pizzazz. The kids will relate to it better. It feels like a logo, and somehow, that seems to lessen the impact of what happened. How long before we start calling Armistice Day “11/11”? It just doesn’t seem right. Sorry. (I’m getting old aren’t I?)

Still fat

Despite a sneaky mid-week weigh-in showing that I was down to 10st, my official weigh-in this morning showed me at 10st 2lb still. Which means I’ve officially not lost any weight since last week.

Despite the lack of food and the sore muscles, nothing’s happening.

Am now becoming paranoid that some cosmic joker is actually increasing the amount of gravity being applied to me just to piss me off. Which is typical.

Pain

Been training...for...5-a-side (pant).

Too... knackered...(wince)...to post.

It...hurts.....

Oi! Slightly less fatty!

OK. One week in and I now weigh 10st 2lbs (142lbs/64.5kgs), which means I’ve managed to lose 4lbs. I was hoping that I’d have lost more, considering how hungry I am, but at least I’ve only got 10lbs more to lose. I’ve yet to watch this week’s episode of Paul McKenna, so hopefully I’ll be skinnier after I’ve watched that.

Part of my exercise regime has been scuppered because my Spanish class has been cancelled due to lack of numbers, so that’s a bike ride I won’t be doing on a Monday night. Which means I’m going to have to force myself to actually go out and do other exercising. My lack of fitness means that tomorrow night’s first training session for 5-a-side is going to be a hoot…

I managed to go to the gym last night but was very put off at the complete lack of any other fat people. For god’s sake it’s January. Everybody’s supposed to be fat. What do all these skinny people eat over Christmas?

As some psychological motivation I have divided my wardrobe into two sections: what currently fits me (20%) and what I need to slim into (80%). As I lose weight, hopefully more and more clothes will move over into the “what currently fits me” section. That’s the plan anyway.

By the way, did I mention I was hungry?

What’s currently getting me through the day…

The “video-diary” NiQuitin ad on the telly, in particular the disclaimer on the bottom of the screen: “This is Maggie’s real life experience. Yours may differ.” Just in case anyone was watching, and suddenly it dawns on them, “Hang on – that’s not MY life!”

The fact that I’ve had a new fridge/freezer delivered this morning, which means that tomorrow, I get to finally found out what’s in the bottom of the chest freezer.

The fact that there’s a Swiss David Hasselhoff look-alike in the office tomorrow, which will give Surly and I something to giggle over.

The fact that Google are directing a lot of people my way who are searching for sites containing Ben Ando. I’m hoping that if I mention him often enough, my blog will eventually be listed above the BBC’s. I like a challenge.

The Corsican Train of Despair

(A tardy follow-up to the Bus of Enforced Jollity)

So anyway, it’s summer 2004 and Surly and I are away on a business trip. We find ourselves with horrific hangovers and half a day to waste in Ajaccio. Not wanting to exert ourselves too much, and declining to go to the beach with our colleagues due the effect of strong sunlight on afore-mentioned hangovers, we decided to take the little tourist train around the town.

The train came with a recorded narration, in order to educate us tourists on the delights and history of Ajaccio. The English narration was delivered by a camp, but very bored sounding Mancunian. His script had obviously been very literally translated from the French. Due, I can only suppose, to his overwhelming feeling of ennui, the narrator had not bothered to correct any of the errors in the translation. Therefore, we were given a full description of the local architectural feature of “windows in the style of jealousy”. This was in between pointing out each and every building that at some time had enjoyed a tenuous link with one of Corsica’s favourite sons, Cardinal Fesch. Regrettably, when sleep-deprived, there are only so many times you can hear the word “Fesch” without rocking backwards and forwards and giggling hysterically.

Halfway through this journey, the train stopped and we were all required to disembark so that we could go and admire a statue of Napoleon. Despite our delicate conditions, Surly and I were not allowed to stay on the train, despite the fact that it wasn’t going anywhere. As you can imagine, our level of enjoyment in this little excursion somewhat dipped at being forced to stand in the blistering July sunshine.

When it was decided that we had each shown suitable levels of admiration, we were allowed back on the train. Surly and I were now joined in our compartment by an elderly English couple. They were obviously enjoying it as much as we were, as the elderly gentleman was heard to complain that “they’re a very excitable race these Spaniards aren’t they?”.

(The previous day we had had the pleasure of Brenda and her Man Cheese, but I don't want to spoil you all at once...)

Provocation

I am on a diet and Duck has just made himself a bacon sandwich. In the same house.

I'd be acquitted on the grounds of provocation wouldn't I?

Oi fatty!

OK. Weighed myself this morning and I was 10st 6lb (146lb/66.4kg). I am 5'4". I'm praying that a lot of that is water retention, as I am known to be part woman, part camel.

This is actually the largest I have been since I returned from Australia over five years ago. Need to be below 9st 7lb before holiday in March, as I cannot afford a complete replacement of my summer wardrobe. I refuse to buy a kaftan either.

And before I get loads of comments (please) telling me that I'm not actually that big, in my head I'm supposed to be skinnier than this, and I cannot bear the thought of wearing a bikini in my current wobbliness.

I think that the fact I am away on business tomorrow night and my colleague has booked a table at an Italian restaurant is not going to help me....

2006, eh?

Happy New Year to you all. Hope the hangovers have abated at least a little.

So I suppose I should be making resolutions, but as I will never keep them, I don't really see the point.

2005 saw me gain a GCSE in Spanish after two years of evening classes. I had always wanted to learn Spanish, but it wasn't an option at my school. When my parents bought a place in Spain a few years ago, I gave me some motivation, and as my company were willing to pay for my tuition expenses in return for the odd piece of translation work, I finally did it. The morning of my reading and writing exams, I memorised two sheets which showed me how to conjugate the various tenses. By that evening I had forgotten all of them, but my tactic was sufficient to get me an A*. While I can still read and understand the language sufficiently to get by, I cannot write or speak it, having no memory of basic grammar to be able to construct a sentence. In a fortnight's time I am starting a short course of intermediate conversation with my old teacher in order to brush up a little. That means I now have two weeks to actually learn how to conjugate (or subjugate as Wyndham appropriately has it) my verbs so as not to humiliate myself. No doubt I will fail to do this, and end up doing what I do best, that is, winging it.

However this course will help me in another way, and that is, because this course is at a school about 2 and a half miles away, and not on a bus route from my house, I will have to bike there. I didn't have a bike in my teens, and only acquired one in 2004. Although I can obviously still ride, I am not very confident on the open road. I got lights and a lock as stocking fillers this Christmas, by way of a hint, and I have now been out and bought myself a helmet so I can cycle in safety, if not with dignity. This five miles of cycling once a week will form at least one part of my new exercise regime.

I saw myself in the mirror the other day and realised I was only an orange perm and some tan lines away from being Bubbles de Vere. As I am off to the Caribbean in two months, this is not good. Duck and I have decided that the diet officially starts tomorrow, so tomorrow morning will be the first of the weigh-ins. I have decided to shame myself into starving by publishing my weight once a week on my blog, in a cheaper version of Weightwatchers. Paul Mckenna will also be series-linked on Sky+. Luckily, my football training also starts again next week, so that should help to shift a bit (I bought shiny new shinpads this morning - what a glamourous life I lead*) and if Surly can assist by forcing me to the gym once a week, I might just get there. I despise dieting though, so expect me to be in a really bad mood for the next few months.

So there you go. I don't regard learning Spanish properly and losing weight as proper resolutions, because I think resolutions are something you do to try to actually improve yourself. As these are more like acts of desperation to avoid humiliating myself, they don't count.

*I actually made a bit of a Freudian slip and typed "need" instead of "lead" the first time. I'm wondering if I should have bothered correcting it. Sigh.