Growing old (dis)gracefully

The Silverback is still rolling on the floor laughing like a drain.  The humiliation of it all. I told you recently that no good comes from visiting the docs for a forced age related check up.  It's the one area where I honestly believe ignorance is bliss...well, as it pertains to the protection of vanity.  See the last time I did this I was told I needed diet and exercise to combat the muffin top and creeping levels of cholesterol.  What a catch! Yes, it would seem I am a catch..to the over 50s singles market!! The latest affront came in the form of a spammed email to my hotmail address.  Register! it compelled - Register!...for the chance to enter the over 50s singles dating pool.  I. Said. What?   So this is what it has come to.  This is how it all ends is it?  Well, I'm left with no option but to call in the big boys.  I'm getting the muffin top melted off using an ultra-sound technique that targets fat deposits and squeezes them until they burst.  Then you "pass" the fat in the usual way a human "passes" waste.  Delightful.  Anyone for Shepherd's Pie?

Well, I put my money where my mouth is and went for the first of 5 fat melting sessions.  There are 2 cms less of muffin top already.  Of course during the treatment you have to drink your own weight in water; alcohol is forbidden and carbs must be kept to an absolute minimum.  The Silverback resumed his rolling position.  "Erm...that's a diet" he helpfully points out.  "Of course you're going to lose weight if you drink lots of water, avoid alcohol and carbs!" He broadcasts.  Yes, thanks Einstein.  Do you think I haven't tried that little trio of activities before? Never has it ever resulted in this: (this isn't me BTW....yet!)

...However - this is uncannily similar to what I'm dealing with.  The last 10 pounds tucked away deep inside love handles that no amount of exercise and diet to date has ever managed to properly shift.  And I spin 3 times a week and do yoga the other days.  What more is a girl to do?  Well I suppose not eating my own weight in garlic bread and washing it down with Rioja like Spain's survival of the crisis depended on it might help. No, but in all seriousness, I believe I have been down this route before and it's ended...well, not well. So what if this helping hand is more or a placebo than real science?  Whatever it takes is my motto.

So I have high standards...so sue me!  

Of course, all I can think of now is alcohol and carbs.  

One knock for yes...

So this is going to sound weird...if you don't know me, otherwise, well it's par for the course with me.  I have got to tell you, I've had some...let's say paranormal activity going on and I am not at all sure what to do with the information.  The "streak" started back in mid September when work sent me to a "team building" exercise in the New Forest.  I stayed here:  Rhinefield House



Nice ennit? In an Edgar Allan Poe sense.  I had the Munroe room - a whole wing away from the 20 plus colleagues on the same "course".  In fact, I was the only person staying in that wing at that time.  A minor detail really - I mean we are grown ups afterall.  Thing is, I felt ...strange....from the moment I arrived at the place.  Determined to be "mature" and "normal"  - I ignored the sensation in full knowledge that come nightime, things would change.  And they did.  Daytime playtime over, it was time to dress for dinner.  In my room, alone, I undressed to take a shower.  I had previously unpacked and stored all my clothes in the cupboard which I'd clicked shut before padding over to the bathroom - which, I'm sorry but I just have to show you looked like this:


However....after the shower the wardrobe door, which I had painstakingly clicked shut...was open.  I would like to think it was Marilyn (Munroe) but I didn't really wait to find out as I dressed in record time and bolted to the dining room (practically slid down the bannisters) at breakneck speed all the time knowing that I would have to face the music later that evening after dinner.  But for now, I was safe.  I told no-one of this, I was afterall fairly new to the organisation and to risk being labelled a crazy so soon was, well, crazy - afterall I have the rest of my tenure there to prove this.

Oh but return I had to.  That night proved to be a battle of wills as I kept closing the cupboard door only to hear it click open again and again and again.  Sleep took me in the end but I know that I was not alone in that room.

And so to last night.  I rarely dream about my mum much as I would love to see her nightly.  It's odd but she rarely comes.  I am not sure why - I figure she must be doing ok or she must see that I am doing ok (although for a long time I wasn't and she never came then either), point is...when she does come, I take notice.  So last night she visited my dreams and she didn't look happy.  I asked her if something was wrong - she said yes.  I asked her if someone was in danger.  She said yes.  I have to admit that at this point I was scared to ask who.  What if it was The Lish? I mean, I simply will not live through another tragedy.  I won't .  Been there, done it and it SUCKS donkey balls and I simply will not do it again. No.  But I got the impression it wasn't to do with her.  I felt it was a warning of sorts - but what exactly I was supposed to be wary of was anyone's guess.  The thing is, I think someone that I know...may be in danger.  Yes, that sounds crazy and really rather unhelpful since I can't...(suspect don't want to) be more specific.  With my parents both gone, I know it's not them.  I am pretty sure it's not The Lish.  That leaves me, The Silverback or his parents. 
I had a couple of other signs on my way to picking up The Lish from her after school club.  Cars (and the c*nts driving them) not stopping at a pedestrian crossing jolted me from my usual waking dream.  I then almost got run down by a cyclist - I mean within a millimetre.  This to me is a sign..WATCH OUT... it's yet to come. 
So I told The Silverback and I've asked him to call his folks...(christ as if they need more ammunition) but hey, if it stops something bad from happening, who cares how I know. 

I still don't know what I'm meant to be holding out for...but disaster has been averted for now.  Fingers crossed I'm not misreading the signs.

In the words of The Gladiator to Juba:

Juba:  Can they hear you?


Maximus: Who?

Juba: Your family. In the afterlife.

Maximus: Oh yes.

Juba: What do you say to them?

Maximus: ...I tell him I will see him again soon.   But not too soon....(those are my words).

Hair Today...

My poor darling abandoned Blogspot.  I have truly forsaken you.  I admit, you've just not been a priority lately.  But in eternal and mystified gratitude to the universe, it's all been down to having been truly freaking happy and content of late.  Living the dream (minus the dream) sort of thing.  I'm just loving life so much.  I freaking dig the crap out of my new job - it rocks out with its cock out and I don't care who knows it.  The rule of ebbs and flows still applies.  Next week is going to be a melon twister but see it's interspersed with amazing weeks that give you the head space to really think and create.  But I can tell that this is boring and of no consequence to anyone but myself.  No-one wants to read about people doing well - so in fact you should thank me for not having updated you with these mundanities (for a change).  I mean it's like what's happened to Jerseyshore.  At first it was compelling viewing, watching these young guidos riddled with doubts about their true worth as humans and taking chunks out of eachother as a result; struggling to understand their place in the world and in the meantime gradually destroying themselves with alcohol and acts driven by the lowest of self esteems.  They got rich doing this but then the endorsement deals came through and they got healthy.  Finally they got boring.  I mean who wants to watch someone looking after themselves eh?  So you see that is where I am at the moment.  Don't worry though my life pattern is one that has a tendency to repeat and for every high there is a bone- crashing low.

So watch this space.

In the meantime, I'm in recovery of sorts after broaching the 40 mark earlier this month...for I am now 41.  I found my hair has been thinning at an alarming rate.  And the more worried I became with my barnet, the more convinced I became of the notion of a self - fulfilling prophesy but I was in the grip of paranoia. Helpless to its effects.  And no matter how much I tried to just chillax -all that did was put a spotlight on the issue to the point that I became obsessed with womens' hairlines.  I would study them on public transport, at work and in magazines until finally I was able to accept that while I was unlikely to be suffering from aloepecia (I mean, I'm so happy right?) I am sadly suffering the physical effects of what is commonly known as aging - how uncouth.  So of course I've now done a truckload of research into hair and all its follicular miracles.  I have discovered (and would like to pay this forward) an amazing hair thinning shampoo - that is to say - it reduces the process rather than promote it as the name suggests. 

It's this elegant little number and it works.

So content that the Syrup (syrup and fig - wig - for the canucks reading this) will not be required anytime soon, I have now moved onto the issue of the gunt.  Remember the gunt?  Well it's still there but getting smaller as I continue to shed those troublesome middle age pounds through the physical/mental torture of spinning ( I know this because The Silverback complimented me last night and that NEVER happens).

My next recommendation is this next place (you will appreciate the irony I'm sure that I should switch from talking about weight loss to recommending a pizza place);



The place is in the heart of my old manor - Portobello Road - a mere cock-eyed stroll from my old Spanish School where I spent 10 years cowering from the wrath of nuns.  This is no ordinary Pizza place - if it were it would not serve a pizza with crispy pork belly now would it?  This is Pizza East and there is no mozzarella anywhere - it's Burrata or nothing here which I can attest is THE creamist mofoing mozarella type cheese I've ever tasted and the proscuitto isn't proscuitto it's San Daniele.  Mouthwateringly delish losh. And the clientele?  I advise one polishes up ones diction before entertaining the thought of booking a table...ah yes, also there is that - if you're name's not down you ain't coming in.  Delightful, don't you think?  The best part I think though (get the vomit bucket out) wasn't really the menu but the company of old friends and comrades.

And so on this Hollywood ending I leave you until the next time.  So, yeah don't call me - I'll call you.

Arise Lady MILF

So the NHS (gawd bless it in all its Olympic beauty) decrees that once a person hits 40, it is time for an MOT.  This is the age where one effectively has 'franchis le Rubicon' in wellness terms.  The point at which the body becomes a rebel without a cause.  A life-long student at the school of 'ignorance is bliss' I fell for the moody mystique of this state, lulled as it were, by the unfathomable nihilism, riding without a helmet - if you will.

I blame vanity.  See had I not gone to see the doc about my gunt - a sort of belly bingo wing - in the hope that it was a straight-forward hernia, I would still be galavanting about hand in rock-steady hand with the delusion that nothing is my fault and that I still look good on the dancefloor.

The doctor could barely hide his disdain that a loosely educated person would waste precious doctoring time with a matter of such frippery when there were so many other people with self-inflicted chronic conditions to patronise (and so little time).  He promptly informed that it was not surgery I required but a sturdy regime of diet and exercise. 

"But I do yoga every day,"  I protested.  "And I deprive myself of just about anything that's truly worth eating."  I concluded with the conviction of someone who is obviously lying.  So there it was.  The truth about me and my gunt. Inwardly irritated (but somewhat appeased that the diet would have to wait until after the Pearl Jam concert I was going to that evening) I beat a path for the door.  But before I could defiantly  flounce out, Doc reached for the salt (to rub into the wound)..."Miss? I notice you are 40 (choke) and we do recommend you get some bloodwork done, just to make sure everything else is ok.  It's free." (GAHHhhh).\

So now not only am I fat, I'm also old...and apparently a cheapskate.  You. Go. Too. Far. Sir.

However, I had heard that giving blood often led to weight loss.  I was in.  And well, it was free (ok so he got that bit right about me). 

Two weeks later...turns out I have cholesterol.  See - nothing.  NOTHING good ever comes of visiting the doctor's surgery. Now I have it confirmed and on record that I am old, fat and officially on my way out.  I believe this is what is known as a "wake-up" call.

As much as I love yoga - I am now forced to do something more "aerobic".  Not one to do things by halves (unless it's eating Bounty bars, Twixs, Twirls or anything that comes in two pieces) I have started spinning classes which I can tell you is not for the faint-hearted and may well speed up "the end" faster than any bacon sandwich, pint and fag ever could.

I have however made it to 4 classes in the last two weeks and while the gunt remains, I'm not getting younger (strangely - how can that be?) I do nonetheless reckon I'm back in the running for  a MILFhood.

Dingle Dongle

Week one at the new place in the new role with the new boss and the new routine.  All I can say is...I made it. 

Let me rewind a little by way of contextualising what comes next by telling you what happened before.  By some "rainman" like miracle calculation, I managed to coincide my last day at the old place with the office summer party.  The repercussions of a most re-donku-lous performance at said party left me incapacitated and unable to do anything more than watch TV at a 90 degree angle the whole weekend that followed.  Not the best way to prepare for Day 1 at a new job.  In my defence the booze was free and actually it took a lot less to get this way than it once did.  A small underestimation of what the body at 40 really thinks of binge drinking.  I have not touched a drop since and I intend for this to be the status quo going forward.

So come last Monday, I was not really in any condition to endure an hour and a half commute into Slough where this job is based.  To top it all off, and of course by way of renal revenge - I woke up with not one but two cold sores.   My hair was all wrong, my belly distended from all the alcohol sugar and motivation was on the floor.  Way to set the tone for the week.  Let's see, I spent that first day f-ing up all the IT systems.  The second getting them fixed and the third wondering if I'd made the right decision.  But by the fourth day, I had an epiphany because despite feeling and looking like a cow had pooped me out and the fact the tubes and trains had all got together to orchestrate delays and cancellations every single day last week  (my hair was noticeably thinner by Thursday) I noticed that all had been forgotten by mid-morning.  I came to the conclusion that the job rocks out with its BLEEP out.  And that's because not only is it one juicy brief - it's a 21st century work environment.

Each day whether I arrive at 9 or 10 no-one bats an eyelid.  The boss puts it another way - work is something you do not somewhere you go. We are equipped to work from the public toilets at Paddington if we so wish.  I have secure ID, an i-phone, laptop, free wi-fi and when I can't get wi-fi I have a Dongle. Double edge sword?  I mean if you're 'always-on' could you fall into the habit of never switching off?  I'll let you know. 

For now...I've had 2 emails all weekend...I think that's pretty good going.  Remind me to re-read this when the going gets a little tough!

A lot to answer for...

I took this picture a few weeks ago on holiday with The Silverback and The Lish; First family get-away since last summer.

Beautiful no? Awesome in fact.  Where could this be? The Amalfi Coast?  One of the Ionian Islands? Or perhaps Sardinia? This is in fact a shot from the hotel room balcony of the bay in Magalluf, Mallorca - better known as Shagalluf. A well deserved eponym.
Believe it or not and I wouldn't blame you for thinking I'd finally gone out of my beautiful (in the Russell Crowe sense) mind - delusional from all the London rain - I'm really telling you the truth - this picture was taken in Magalluf.  All the sadder then to know that greed allowed the Mallorcan to let this happen to his island...



...which in turn has done this to the beaches along the south - and I don't mean these particular girls have anything directly to do with it - but when you let your home become a party island and take no real action against those who will go just that step too far, you are also saying it's ok to do this....


And so they do.  Swimming in the sea in Magalluf, at least when we were there, was not a real option well not if you value your skin.  I may as well have jumped into a water treatment centre before the filtering stage.  When every underwater brush of the calf is caused by a plastic bag or god only knows what (I really don't want to) it was enough to send gagging back to the towel .

I had to curb The Lish and The Silverback from going in too often for fear they'd develop some nasty-assed stomach condition. Although I did try not to think about the state of the sea and beaches as I meditated to this beautiful view every morning - it was impossible almost impossible, certainly heartbreaking.

Were it not for this, Magalluf could easily stand shoulder to shoulder with the natural delights offered by Kefalonia and Capri.  Instead, I think The Silverback said it best after the first night out when we were naive enough to attempt a quiet evening stroll: "Yep. I don't think I'll be leaving the hotel after 6pm for the rest of the week".  Hear Hear.

But let's end on a note of gratitude that I was able to spend some quality R&R time with my little sea cucumber and The CFO.

Days to Remember

Yesterday is the day that will be remembered (by me) as the day on which I finally did a handstand - a yoga one that is - which doesn't allow any kicking up.  I should admit that it wasn't unassisted but it was still the scariest thing I've done since labour - another day to remember...

Credit goes to the instructor Claire Missingham - whose yoga workshop I attended yesterday - where she broke the pose down to its individual components.  Easy when you know how?  Well not really - it's still flipping hard, but the illusion has been demystified.  In short, I made the impossible possible yesterday and I take away the lesson that if I (or anyone for that matter) wish to make changes or progress in some way it's imperative to step outside of the comfort zone.

No more treading water for this girl in any respect - NONE.

Talking of comfort zones and eschewing them for a more life affirming zone - I took the train to Manchester last week to see Pearl Jam.  In typical fashion this is a band I got into some 15 years after the rest of its fanbase.  But what a fanbase.  I thought I'd travelled a long(ish) way until I started talking to an Australian in the "beer queue" who'd not only come all the way from Brisbane to see them in the UK, he was also following the band on tour.  That's a lot of time, money and dedication but hey - beats sitting on your arse at work wondering why you hate Mondays so much.

They played a song that I have to say is sort of new to me though it's from (I'm told by an incensed Silverback) their first album - 1992 - ahem....It's called Release and now that I know the lyrics, it has taken on a whole new meaning for me.  I think you should just listen to it for yourself.

I suppose I should thank The Silverback for lending me "his" band.  I'm listening right now to the song. Yep, I'm "doing the face".  It brings a lump to my throat.  It's like a line in a book that you relate to so much, well it's like someone has just reached out from the pages and taken you by the hand. 

I'm off now to take no prisoners in life.  JAI!

Om Nama Shivaya.