on me uppers

Howdy Doody.

I find myself with time to spare, so a little catch up is in order.

I should like to note the arrival of the new heir to the throne.  I am a big Royalist, and it makes me happy to see the British Monarchy thriving and drawing interest from around the world.  I am also happy that I have earned myself £45 from betting he would be called George.  Heh heh. 

This is a turning into a great summer.  Having spent many summers whining and spitting furious embittered rants at the sun, heat, and anyone within earshot, this year is different. 

Different for a few reasons.  Firstly, I have had my colours done, and gained some confidence in the clothes I am buying and wearing.  Secondly, I have lost over a stone in weight meaning that choosing new clothes in my colour spectrum has been from a wider range of styles than previously.  Thirdly, I have been wearing shorts.  That's - shorts.  Short shorts.  For knocking around in the hot days at home, out and about, and walking to the park to play tennis in.  And not worrying about pale cellulite-covered flabby thighs.  They are still a bit flabby, but thinner in width, and lightly tanned from my fourth reason that this summer is different - a week in Lanzarote in June, meaning that my English summer got off to a good start by not having to work on pasty body parts in the confines of the back garden for weeks on end with endless layers of factor 50.

O joy to the world. 

This is the new wardrobe I am dressing myself from, give or take:

And this is me today:

In teal and aubergine.  If Picasa Photo Editing let me, I would have whittled a couple of inches from my hips and pasted on a smile, but hey, you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. 

We have been making impromptu trips to the seaside, which has been simply lovely.  There are so many beaches within ten miles of us, it is wonderful to live in Devon.  The sea has been divine this summer - cold, but not icy.  Refreshing in the extreme, and the smell - the smell whilst swimming in the sea is beyond compare.

Only one of these Mr Whippys is actually mine.

Really.

Today we ventured into town for a long overdue eye test for me.  After many years of wearing glasses due to short sight, I had my eyeballs zapped in 2006.  Since then I have had no problems with vision, but find that lately I am having to squint at small print and hold jars and packets at arms length to read them clearly.  The optician told me with some glee that I could do with getting reading glasses now.  READING glasses??!  I tried to argue the toss, but he rolled his eyes, sighed audibly, and in a very pained voice, said, 'don't look so depressed - jeez.  It was going to happen sooner or later anyway.' 

Fuck me! 

Is this the standard of eye care I can look forward to in my dotage?

I very sulkily, and with much ill-grace it has to be said, chose the cheapest pair in the shop.  I can't see me getting them out the drawer anytime soon, particularly as Oliver fell about laughing as I was trying them on. 

Might as well buy myself a one-way ticket to Shady Pines Rest Home for Gentlefolk and have done with it. 

A lunch in Starbucks was a tonic after this - I had a £10 gift voucher for my birthday (thank you Kim!) and as our chosen foodies and drinkies came to £9.95, I could not have been happier.  The only thing which would have made it better was if I had noticed that Starbucks was actually situated opposite the opticians in the High Street as I came out, and not, as I thought, half a mile away opposite the museum.  Buggeration. 

Lastly, we went top shopping in H&M.  It's good to take Oliver with me - his unique perspective on suitable clothes is always helpful.  In between admiring himself from several different angles in the changing room mirrors, he throws me a 'yeah, that's alright, get it', or 'oh God no, that's awful' and an occasional 'that shows your flabby bits'.   Truly he is an invaluable personal shopper, as he doesn't seem to give a shit about my feelings, only what I look like on the outside. 

That's my boy.

a change is not ALWAYS as good as a rest........

Once Mark starts a job, things really start to rock and roll.

We (the Royal we, obvs) are converting the loft into a room for Oliver, thereby offering him more room, more privacy and Mark and I get an office to share from his old room, to boot.  Happy days.  I knew I would have to not whinge and whine about mess, inconvenience and actual, physical work as things progressed, but even I was stunned by the sudden announcement that I would have to clear the office in preparation for the ceiling to come down - like - almost now.  Cripes, it's only day 1.

I am often overwhelmed by the enormity of tasks.  In fact they usually become insurmountable as I stand and observe with growing horror.  I obviously knew this room would have to be cleared out as that is where the staircase will be going, but had given no thought whatsoever to when or how this was going to actually, physically happen. 

Whimpering like a girl, I went with a heavy heart to gaze upon the chamber of horrors. 

I leaned against the door for support, lest I fell into a state of hyperventilation and gibbering.

And the computer lives in there too.  Zut alors.  Not only did I manage to disconnect the four zillion and twenty two leads and wires that go with it and move it to it's new (and very snug) location, but I also re-connected it and got it working again.  Yes - Internet and everything.  I am a computer genius.  Bill Gates eat your heart out.  The printer foxed me though.  I had a spare lead when all was said and done, and the printer wouldn't come on.  After some cussing and mechanical pokings I thought to myself, oh fuck it.  Don't need it anyway.  It seemed to work much better several hours later after Mark connected the spare lead from the printer to the mains.  Haaaa haaaa.

To cut a long story short, 'tis done.  The sense of achievement is huge, I don't mind telling you.  Our bins are nearly full of shite that I clearly should have been living without anyway, but everything is stored neatly into boxes, and I feel like a really Good Person. 

In fact, buoyed up by my sense of worthiness and accomplishment, I announced over lunch that I would cut the hedge.  With garden shears, no less.  No electrical equipment necessary.  It took fucking hours.  But I did it.  Not with much good grace I have to confess, but I didn't moan out loud, so that's good.

Look how bleeding long and huge it is. 

 

Meh.

 

 

And there's one to match the other side. 

Don't even go there. 

Literally.

And look who I found whilst a-snipping.

Mr Big Spider having his lunch.

And at the end of day 2, here is where 'we' are:

Laters.

of cabbages and kings.

As the walrus said.

It's been so long mes amis. 

I'll start with the biggest news.

A few weekends ago we travelled to Birmingham NEC, where Oliver competed in the UK National Pokémon Trading Card Game Tournament.   You can see Oliver, wearing the black hat, in this clip at about 1 minute 25 seconds along. 

To cut a veerrrry long day short, he won!  He didn't drop a game all day and took the Junior title.  It was all a bit of an adrenaline-fuelled blur at the end, with overhead cameras filming the finalists' every move, and endless camera shots being taken by a professional photographer.  As well as the massive thrill of being UK Champion, he has won an expenses paid invitation to the World Championships in Vancouver in August. 

I know.

Scream scream.

Pokémon.inc will pay for Oliver plus parent to travel there (and back, thankfully) and hotel accommodation for 5 nights at this hotel.

Some prize huh?

Forgive the crappy photos, because of course, I left my camera at home and had to use my mobile.  Of which I am not Master.

 

 

 

 

This also means his player ranking has been boosted to 2nd in the UK, and 100th Globally.  I am amazed at his ability to play such a game under the kind of pressure there was on the day.  I was, quite frankly but not literally, shitting myself.  It was a day filled with squirmy tummies and caffeine-packed lattes.  Mark had to keep 'going off for a walk' as he couldn't stand sitting still and waiting for the more crucial games to finish. 

The day culminated in an near anxiety attack on the way home for me - something which has not happened to me for almost twenty years.  I blame the excess of caffeine (I have massively cut down in the last couple of weeks) and my seeming inability to distinguish between excitement and anxiety.  This is now my ongoing project to deal with - ending my swift descent into fear and anxiety in situations where a normal person would feel joy and excitement. 

The following weekend saw us flying off to Lanzarote for a week with my parents.

It was quite lovely, and a balm to my soul after the jitters of the previous week. 

Oliver enjoyed his 11th birthday, and grew tanned and taller. (that last bit may just be my imagination).

 

View late afternoon from the cool shade of my sunbed on our terrace.  Ahhh, be still and soothed, my troubled mind.

 

Mark and I are growing thinner, which is a very weird thing to be part of, having suffered with the podges for several years.  The 5/2 is really working well for both of us.  I have now lost a stone - a whole stone, which I thought I would get nowhere near - but it has been a fairly painless - only suffering intense dieting boredom for my waking hours on two days a week is a very bearable price to pay.

In a moment of weakness, I have succumbed to the bunting frenzy. 

Truthfully I have been 'working' on bunting for a while, with a seasonal project in mind, but kept shelving it.  So I gave in to the quick fix bunting here.  Sigh.

Some other good news is that Oliver had one of his regular hospital check ups and his HbA1c result is the best it has been since he was diagnosed.  The consultant said that this was 'as good as it gets' for a diabetic child -  and all is 'well'.  I use the inverted commas for obvious reasons there.  I feel ridiculously pleased that he is still emotionally coping admirably with his condition and that we are managing his diabetes well.

There is probably other major stuff I have omitted, but I haven't typed this much in weeks, so must rest a-while. 

Gadzooks.

Edited to add:  We have coughed up the extra zillion quid to go for a few extra days and for us both to go with him.  Judging by the cost of flying to Canada, I cannot see us ever going there again so we will make a bit of a holiday of it this time!

a quacktastic weekend

On our way to Shute Barton (more in a minute) on Saturday, we almost ran over a dozen little ducklings running aimlessly in a little team all over the road.  There was no sign of their Mum, so we turned around and drove back with ill-conceived thoughts of a duckling rescue.

Seemingly, a couple of other motorists had similar ideas, as between us, we stopped traffic completely on one side and two chappies and myself herded panicked baby quacklets into the hedgerow where we scooped them up, passed them to Mark stood on high on a bank and er, tossed them into the neighbouring field.  One of the blighters was comically waddling off, at some bloody speed it has to be said, down the road so I had to leg it after it.  Had a bit of a scare that after committing myself to chasing it in front of an audience that I wouldn't be able to match it's pace and I would be exposed as a failed Townie Huntress.  Ducklings are surprisingly easy to catch.  And very sweet, and very tiny.  As there was an adult duck flying around I have dreamy hopes they were reunited and have lived happily ever after.  A lady shouted 'good job guys' from her car window with the thumbs up, and the whole little episode left me feeling happy and heart-warmed that sometimes people do still give a shit and will put themselves out to collectively do some good. 

So, with dirty hands and aglow with the milk of human kindness we pressed on to Shute Barton.  This place is only open four weekends a year, and by guided tour only.  Personally I like guided tours, as you do learn more, but it is hard going sometimes what with the pedigree of every beam and brick being pointed out.  When not having its innards gawped at by tourists, the house is let out by the NT for £3000 per week to up to 10 guests.  'Tis nicely done. 

 

 

 

 

Here we are, a little slimmer I like to think than we were after Christmas.

Since Friday I have been trying to knit socks, ably assisted by this aggressive American chick.  So far my success has begun and ended with the purchase of wool and needles, as my attempts to cast on 40 stitches have now reached double figures and undertaken with the fierce concentration of someone studying for a degree in astrophysics.  I have empty needles and a crossly crumpled pattern to show for my efforts, but I will give it another go when I have an empty house and four hours to spare.  Ha ha. 

Cooked this egg curry on Saturday night.  Sorry the pic is blurred.  I was under pressure because my very hungry and impatient husband was stood behind me tapping his foot and tutting as only he knows how.  It was spookily good, and not at all the seriously bad wind-giver I feared it might be.

Fasting continues and I have now lost 9lbs since 22nd April.  I am now at my lightest weight and fast approaching the stage where I get bored with the relentless necessity of calorie patrol.   Blimey, it's only been a month and I've had enough already.  Staying power is not really my thing, clearly.  I am however really pleased that the jeans I had to undo in order to eat my lunch comfortably are now needing to be pulled in by my belt for a good fit.  I have also taken to regular plods round the block again - much easier on my hips and knees at over half a stone lighter.  Yesterday I went twice around and still didn't collapse on the pavement afterwards from respiratory arrest.  It is a good, good feeling.  As Janet Dibley likes to say in the very hilarious Fat Friends:  'Nothing tastes as good as thin feels'.  She is more than probably right, but life is short my friends,  and there are many calories to get through. 

I have spent the last two weeks buying clothes in chocolate brown, navy and apricot, with scarves in orange and red.  As silver is apparently not the colour jewellery for me (gutted) and fake gold looks veeerrrrry shiny and tacky, I have gone for bronze-y stuff.  To this end this caught my eye on ebay:

Which, when it arrived, is approximately the size of a mobile phone.  I threw my head back and howled with laughter.  Again, I have fallen foul of paying heed to measurement when buying on line.  All is not lost however, as it does look ok.  I think.  Although Mark did snigger and say 'twit twOOOOOO' when I got in the car on Saturday wearing said amulet. 


Sunday saw us giving this a go:

Which I found all terribly complicated and involved much rule-reading.  It's so old that the rules talk about the money in terms of  guineas and shillings.  Flip.  As if I weren't confused enough.  I think it's me - I am getting denser by the bloody day.  But an enjoyable family afternoon nonetheless.

I have had a hankering for a Barbour jacket since last Wednesday.  My well-heeled friend at work wears one and this has immediately appealed to my sense of being easily influenced.  I spotted this one (new with tags and all) on ebay. (I love you ebay):

Which is in my colour range, and I wanted it to be mine.  But I missed the end of the auction, and it sold for £77.  Which is a bona fide bargain in Barbour world.  Ironically, I missed the end of the auction because I was covering a shift for the friend who is the Barbour-wearer whilst earning the money to pay for the bloody thing.  Meh.

The weekend was topped off nicely with the remains of a rather nice prosecco whilst watching Dr Who from the comfort of the sofa on my kindle.  Which I didn't understand.  At all.  In fact, reading back over this post it seems I have spent the last three days in a spaced out dream not knowing what the fuck is going on.  With anything. 

Tripping along happily in a world of my own: 8    Firing on all cylinders: nil.

I blame the lack of calories.

being done, in more ways than one.

I have been ticked off for lack of posts, so, suitably chastised, here I am.

I have been meaning to blog, because I want to bore the tits off you all with tales of calories, but I have been distracted by the thrills of my high-octane lifestyle. 

Not.

So - fasting.  The 5/2 diet.  Hmmmmmmmmmm.   I am 'doing it', although I feel a bit at sea with it as I am currently signed up for Rosemary Conley,  and when I go along to weigh in I feel a bit of a fraud as it isn't strictly down to that particular diet as the reason I am losing weight.  Although on my non-fast days I am still stringent on calorie consumption, and do not stray over 2000 for the day.  I find fast days ok, as I tend to do them when I am working in the evenings, and therefore not distracted by the 'bugger me I need a drink' Demon.  Coming home at bedtime sure helps the whole process along.  And I weigh a whole two pounds lighter after each fast day.  My next weigh-in is Thursday, and I should have added to my 6 pound loss by then.  Or else. 

Yesterday I had my colours 'done'.  Or rather, I attended a colour analysis session with an image consultant.  I don't know if I mentioned it before, but I have wanted to do this for quite a long time.  It is judged a girly pursuit, and therefore deemed 'not up my street' by anyone I have spoken to about this, but as I am a secret girl, I was very excited yesterday morning when I woke up. 

An article in a local mag led me to a House Of Colour consultant, and, buoyed up with the frustration of fruitless clothes shopping, I booked an appointment. 

It is a shocker to be faced with staring at yourself in a mirror with your hair covered and your body swathed in white whilst varying coloured scarves are draped around you to determine a colour palette.  I found it fascinating to note how very obvious it is that certain colours do nothing but drain and dull your face and how others immediately lighten and enliven.  Amazing.  All colours are blue-based (winter and summer palette) or yellow based (autumn and spring palette).  I am no colour-scientist, but there is a very visible difference between a cold shade and a warm shade of the same colour.  If you know what I mean.  Not sure I am making any sense, but anyways,  turns out I am a soft autumn.  And very pleased about it too, as these are shades I have always drifted towards, but 'grown away from' in later years. 

 

Whilst I will not be extravagant enough to bin my entire wardrobe as 'wrong', I will not be seeking to add to the colours which do me no favours, and instead will focus entirely on shades I know will make the best of my skin tone. 

Fab. 

Today has seen the arrival of the new Pokémon set of cards - Plasma Freeze.  Wa-hey.  Apparently.  Oliver has been banging on for a while about this set - being released 'pre nats'  (before the Pokémon National annual competition for those of us not fluent in poke-talk).  Out of saved pocket money and an amount we have stumped up towards his birthday present (which falls just after the 'nats'),it is still an eye-watering amount of dosh. 

He is still without the cards he absolutely essentially definitely must have, even after opening a box of 360 cards, and Mark and I are feeling a tad bum-sore after being royally shafted by Pokémon Inc. 

Moving swiftly on to something I actually do believe very worth the money - The National Treasure that is The National Trust.  On Monday, an unusually fine and glorious Bank Holiday in these parts, we went along to Barrington Court with Mark's sister and family.  It was my dear SiL's special birthday, and it was lovely to do something with them. 

A few piccies, but this is one of the best bits of the NT properties - the land and feeling of space around them.

And I love to see these two at play.

hooking and cooking

Lets start with something going well:

I am well chuffed with how this is shaping up.  It seems that the previous bunching-up problem was easily resolved by simply reading and following the pattern correctly.  Duh. 

Now let's move on to the yawntastic topic of - dieting.   YAAAAWWWwwwn.

Last weekend, once more,  I reached tipping point and trundled off to a Rosemary Conley class to stave off the extra half a stone which has become my unwanted friend.  Really, I shouldn't be surprised that a noticeable and defiant decrease in exercise and a steady increase in wine and cakes should be a-showing on the old tum, but it leaves me heavy-hearted to part with over twenty quid a month and count calories in a little black book for weeks on end.

It works, course it does - less intake and exercise upping is bound to do the job, but it's dull, and an anal topic of conversation because that's all you want to talk about to any poor sod who lends an ear.  But at the end of it, my jeans will hang a little, and not need undoing sat in a restaurant like they did last weekend before I could shovel in the next course.  Ahem.....

Yesterday I was reading in the sunday papes about the 5:2 diet - you know,  the one that's the latest thing in diets, and wondering if I could give it a whirl.  I have nothing to lose - I'm already bloody calorie counting anyway, in for a penny and all that.  I was previously put off because it contains the word 'fasting' for two days, and images of hippy-fied well-intentioned students all living off of a cup of water for 48 hours sprung to mind and scared the living bejaysus out of me. 

At present, I am working off of a 1500 calorie day diet, supposedly everything being under 5% fat with a few exceptions.  It's certainly do-able, and a piece of piss without having to take wine into consideration, but the idea of two days of 500 calories (gulp) and then five days of 2000 calories makes me feel insanely cheerful. 

According to research, fasting is a good thing with many benefits to the body, which I will not bore you with here, but appeal to me big-time.  You could read more absolutely fascinating facts here.

Sue blogged about it here, too.

So today is my first fast day.  It is 1pm and so far today, I have consumed 2 cups of coffee with milk , and 3 apricots.  Whoop-di-doo-dah.  And at the moment, I feel pleasantly hungry.  It is much, much easier to do this knowing I only have to make it til the end of the day.  Porridge and latte for brekkie tomorrow.  I have just been to Sainsburys and purchased 6 tubs of their soup, just for fast day purposes.  I have done a bit of recipe searching and I know I can rustle up a cauldron of soup for about 3 calories, so that's a-brewing I can tell ye.  And I have bullied Mark into giving this a go too.  Feel a bit worried that 600 calories with a fairly physical job may not be sufficient, but he is pretty gung ho, so we shall see.

Will report back.

Provided I haven't eaten the keyboard by then.

As oop north as it goes

We are returned from a weekend break in North Devon. 

We did a bit of this

 

and a bit of that

and a bit of the other.

Arlington Court*

We were doing pretty much the self-same things this time last year too.  Nothing like a bit of routine.

Whilst partaking in a bit of this in Ilfracombe,  I spotted a Colossus in the harbour:

Astonished, I yelled over to Mark 'where did that come from - it wasn't here last year was it??!'  He confirmed I was not mental and had missed it last year whilst strolling harbour side.  It looked huge from high on the 7th tee, so goodness knows how big it was up close and personal. 

So we went down to take a look.  It was quite amazing to behold and, as predicted, incredibly large.  (taller than the Angel Of The North from base to sword tip, apparently).  And weird.  There was no information available on what it was all about and so we had to content ourselves with waiting til we got home to do a spot of Internet research.

It is called 'Verity', and is by Damien Hirst, quelle surprise.  Seemingly he owns a restaurant locally and the statue is on loan for 20 years to the people of Ilfracombe.  50% of whom think it grotesque and an eyesore in this Victorian seaside town.  Interesting, velly intelesting.  Personally I think it is quite magnificent and certainly a talking point for the town which is, quite frankly, a bit run down and dead-end.  I think it is supposed to have the effect of increasing tourism, but the people of Ilfracombe seem pretty ungrateful and short sighted about it.  If the calibre of its people at the top end of town is anything to go by, the influx of normal people to the town should be welcomed as a blessing and a Godsend.  ('... so I got 120 hours f***ing community service' was the phrase I overheard a callow youth bellowing to his cretinous sidekicks outside a local pub).

I read some of the comments posted on the Internet about Verity at the time of her arrival, and some dipstick had expressed an opinion that the statue would 'encourage teenage pregnancy'.   Seriously??  If anything, a good butcher's at an exposed bronzed foetus would make any normal young girl think twice would it not??  However, we are talking about a special kind of mentality here....

 

On an aside,  yesterday was our Fourteenth wedding anniversary.  We don't exchange gifts for this, but he bought me these:

Thereby putting me in the position of being a bit of a taker, so I offered a full body massage (all above board, you mucky pups) which roughly translates to a wipe down with an oily rag in front of the telly at 10.30pm.  I am an aromatherapy fan and make up oils on a regular basis, but I currently have no carrier oil (veg/almond oil) in the house.  Having offered said massage, I had to come good, so resorted to making up an oil with bergamot and olive oil.  This turned out to be a bit of a mistake, as olive oil is too viscous (think that's the right word) and too strong in smell.  It was like sleeping next to a fried cup of earl grey tea and gave me weird dreams.

Laters.

* Arlington Court did not have a mug in the shop.  My NT mug collection is scuppered already.  I gave the shop assistant a look on the way out.  That'll learn her.