Hair can help

Note from me: This post was meant to go up in November but after broadband fights and stuff it failed to upload. So now, at last, I'm posting it.

I need to confess what has happened to me over the past few weeks.

I'm quite a conservative fellow. I rarely swear, eat my greens and only touch whisk(ey)/cider/ale for medicinal reasons.

That and the love of getting giddy and giggly.

Just so you can get an idea, this is me:

See? Shirt. Tie. Face.

But recently I've stepped out of my comfort zone.

People no longer make eye contact with me. Their eyes wander from my usual gaze to just below my nose. They stumble over words. Their concentration wavers and they seem lost in the wonder over my style statement.

Since the start of the month I've itched, twitched and scratched my upper lip all in the name of charity and awareness.

What can I say? Movember has brought out the rascal in me. I've inspired people to compare me to a member of the Village People or a Western bandit.

Don't believe me?

Mo. Jumper. Face that means business.

But now it's drawing to an end.

Farewell to the fuzz. Move over Mo. Tell the tache to toddle off.  My face is about to be reclaimed by skin.

So look. If you know someone who's joined this crusade over the past month, do give them your support. 

Sure, laugh with them. Give yourself an excuse to giggle at their style. If we can inspire laughter, brilliant. 

But also show them some love, as Americans from the 1990s used to say. Yeah, OK, this information is from episodes of Ricki Lake, but that's the best I can do.

We men, as a whole, don't tend to put ourselves forward if there's a medical issue. We're great at ignoring things. We can pretend we've got blinkers on if there's an issue. We look straight ahead.

If a group of blokes growing facial fluff can help others face up to what's going on around them, then brilliant. It may be silly but Movember can make a difference.

Time to reflect

Well that's come around quickly.

The wedding is Saturday.

I'm planning to write a few blogs before the W-Day* but the way things have gone I may not have time to put paws to keyboard.

So, I'm making hay while the sun shines. 

We're pretty much ready. I'm all one for making lists and but this is one of those times where the items keep growing. Extra bits you've remembered creep on to the bottom of the paper. 

At the end of wedding prep, you realise you've gained a glut of extra information that 'may' come in useful again.  Words that you never heard until about a week ago creep their way into conversations. You would try and forget some of it and yet something tells you it will appear in a pub quiz in two years.

My speech is written, we've nearly packed and I just need a haircut.

Easy.

And yet...

Still a few days to go.

*I hope I'm the first to use that phrase. I'll probably find out W-Day was the day they invaded Winter. You know, the season. These things do happen folks. It's on wikipedia. That's always right, right? Right?

The Wrong Trousers

There are downsides to losing weight.

Sure, you get a confidence boost, you (hopefully) get healthier and generally feel better about yourself, but there are remote times when you wish things could be adaptable.

Take last night.

I had the glam job of cleaning the bathroom  and picked out some old clothes to wear.

The T-shirts were fine. OK, a bit baggy but they did the job.

But the trousers? A lost cause. Every pair slid down my frame, finally resting around my bottom. It looked ridiculous and I looked several years too late for that particular style.

The horror.

If I had a hula-hoop to hand I'd have used it to fashion a clown-esque pantaloons. At least they would have looked a tad more sensible than the slack slacks I modelled.

That shallow quibble aside, things are going well.
OK, I miss having pies.
And pasties.
And a bit of booze.
But, all in all, I'm feeling better in myself.

The big talk

In four weeks today I will be married.

And you know what? I'm calm about it all.

OK, maybe not all but the actually ceremony and commitment? Not a problem.

I'm really looking forward to the day. We've worked like mad to get everything how we want and, hopefully, it should be great fun.

To those who are getting married but have yet to start planning I pass on these words of advice. You should know this now before you go further.

It's not a bad thing, it's just vital information.

Picture me as your wedding-prep guru, pour yourself a glass of milk and sit down.

It's time for the big talk. You probably think you know this but, and trust me on this one, you don't know how true this is.

As a wise man says, the thing about this, is this:

The preparation is kinda crazy.

Both the WTB and I have careers where we juggle different things during the day. Multi-tasking is not an alien word to us, though it is a word I detest. Bloomin' buzzword.
Even so, taking on a wedding has moved us out of our comfort zones (bloomin buzzword).

You enter a world where napkin tones are a discussion point. The colour is grey in case you're wondering. You're probably not, and, if you know the WTB, you've probably guessed that anyway.
It's a world where you get to pick what kind of portable toilet you'd like. Standard or luxury are just two of the many options that await you. Will standard reflect back on you? If it's luxury you're after, what kind of music would you like piped in?
It's a world where you feel every detail will be scrutinised. Is this the right font for the invites? Should I sit my brothers nearest the bar? Can I get away with publishing my speech online on the day? Can I tweet from the church? What kind of pants best reflect me as a newly married man? What colour should my socks be?*

You feel that these will all be looked at, examined, and discussed. You feel that everything will be analysed within an inch of its life. You feel that there will be gossip.

You know what? There will be.

But the key, and excuse me for venturing into saccharine-land here, is that none of it really matters.

What matters is you and your WTB standing in front of your friends and taking that step together.

That's why I'm not nervous. I'm looking forward to it.

I know things could go wrong. I know it could probably rain (mainly because it's Cornwall and, let's face it folks, we Cornish have been running the 'Always sunny in Cornwall' con for many a year now). I know Great Aunt Ethel might not agree with the music coming from the cubicle outside.

But hell, we've coped with the juggling, the disappointments, the long days. We've found the place. We've tracked down the last existing available caterer and thanked our stars that she's a legend. We've sorted the problems so far, all with a smile and a muttered swearword under our breaths.

Sure, things could go wrong. But we can deal with it.

It's our day.

And you'll get through it too. Trust in yourselves.



Just the stag to get through then...





















*Answers to the questions:

Yes, it is the right font. Gill Sans is lovely.
I should sit at least one near the bar.
Yes I can and probably will - just before I say it perhaps to launch speech karaoke.
I can't and I wouldn't. #rightthingtodo
Posh pants.
As many colours as possible.

Missing weeks

I wish I could tell you what I've been doing over the past few weeks.

While that may sound like I've been on some huge drinking session, I actually can't remember what I have been doing.

I know I've been to work. This is because my supply of porridge has gone down in my draw.

I know I've been to the FBIL's* wedding. I bought a suit. I did some dancing. I took some pictures. I was there.

I know I've started to learn Something on Gertie the ukulele. That's 'Something' by The Beatles not just 'something' on Gertie, although, at times, it does sound like something else not Something. So if you heard me I wouldn't blame you for thinking it was something and not being able to work out what that something was, only sure in the fact it wasn't Something.

I know I've been to the gym. I've picked my favourite locker and everything.

I also know I've done some wedding prep. The wine and suit (oh my) are bought and we've paid for the rings.

However, in that time, I don't know why I've not blogged.

Although I've written about writers block before I wonder if I've just gone through a massive spell of it.

There have been numerous attempts at writing this.

I started one on dentists following my first visit to one in years. Yes, I know, I should have gone before. But I really do freak out over those trips. Sweats, shakes, swearing, the whole kaboodle.

Another focused on how many weeks I had left until the big day. It was 18 weeks at that stage. I seemed a little worried when I read it back. Ha!

So apart from the dentist, ukulele, wedding, working, gyming, shopping and prepping for the wedding, just what have I done?



Perhaps I have been drunk.


Skills.


*Future Brother-In-Law

Age changes

So. I'm 30.

Now I know my boyish good looks, full head of hair and wrinkle-free skin may suggest otherwise but believe me, I've hit a milestone in my life.

It's weird how we give such ages so much meaning. On two occasions I've been told odd things about hitting my third decade.

On hearing about my birthday, the delightful ladies in the features department broke the news to me: 'Ah 30. That's when men go mad.'

I'm taking this as a complement. I mean, it suggests that I haven't lost it already. It means that, compared to some people, I'm relatively normal.

However, I will do my best not to swim against the tide on this. And my mum has helped me. To go on Monty I now have a horn (ahem).

I. Love. That.

Not only will I be the man with the weird Union Flag safety-hat on his head, but also the man riding the mountain bike with the really loud, clown-like horn.

Sod the bell, I'm making some noise.

A quick aside. My family surprised me a week ago to spend my birthday with me. It was lovely to see them. We had a great time watching the rugby, eating and drinking.

While they were up Si, an extra brother, told me: '30 - it's when your body changes.'

That's as much as I got from him.

I'm not sure if I'm going to get taller, grow bulging muscles or something I've yet to expect.

Whatever it is, I hope it's something obvious. That way I can point to those younger than me and explain.

'See these gills? That's what's happening when you turn 30. See these Hobbit-like feet? 30.'

'These dreadlocked mutton chops? 3.0.'

I can but dream.

Hopefully, whatever it is, it'll be sorted before the big day.  

Slim. Trim. Dim.

So where was I?

The past few weeks have been a bit of a blur but, as I keep repeating in my head in some sort of wedding mantra, we're getting there.

The invites are nearly 'good to go' and the health drive? According to the NHS I'm now healthy.

I've lost some weight now, I blame the stairs, but it's a pretty cool thing. I know some will go back on but it's not a bad position to be in. I also bought a jumper in 'small' for the first time since I was... probably three.

It's a weird situation for me. I still think I've got a lot to do until I'm comfortable with my body. I'm not planning on losing much more weight. I just want to stay 'healthy'.

So I'm sorry for being a bit quiet. I've been a busy bee.

Next on the horizon? My 30th. Three decades of whisk(e)y, bad jokes and slightly weird thoughts to look back on and enjoy.
The big 3-0 as I've been told to call it does make you look back, reflect on where you've come from and where you want to go. I'd run off a few more cliches if I had time but they're well known sayings for a reason. There's always that element of truth.

I'm not going to share everything of course, that'd just be unfair on you. I can only imagine the look of horror on your faces if I ran off every wonky wonder I'd had.

Nope, the WTB will be get the worst of it.

Wish her luck.

Springing back

Confession time. I've rejoined the gym.

While this could create a horrifying image of me in shorts and a vest, rest easy. I'm always sensibly presented when working out.
Arms are more or less covered. Shorts are of regulation length (not below knees, not too high above the thigh). Trainers are suitably subtle.

I also swear I'm not a gym 'grunter'. While there's nothing wrong with showing effort and enthusiasm, I'm not a big fan of the loud shouts of strength that you hear. See also clapping, strutting and repeating slogans: 'Feel the burn. Be the muscle. Master the grunt.'

Today's sunshine has certainly brought a sense of spring to my outlook. I feel full of energy again. We've cracked a couple of wedding things and spent the evening looking at honeymoon bits.

It has been a productive day. In fact I've been a bit of a kitchen wonder today. Dinners for the week done. A couple of evening meals sorted.

While this may not sound much, I was the bloke who was fairly dangerous to be around, only in the kitchen you understand.

I would go into more details here but, I fear, my dad is reading this. Ah well.

Still more to do. Time is ticking on.

Hello again

I wish I had an exciting reason for not blogging for the past couple of weeks.

I'd thought about making things up* but I did make a promise to myself that everything I blogged would be honest. So here goes.

I had a day off and all was going swimmingly until I tried to spend some time on Monty. Looking back on it, the balancing went well-ish.

In my head, and in the heat of the moment, it was a disaster.

I swore. I shouted. I actually threw a bike lock on the floor.

It was a full on toddler-style tantrum.

Now, I'm not proud of it but, for anyone watching, it would have been a hoot. A fully grown man going mad at an inanimate object (sorry Monty).

It was after that I decided I needed a wee bit of a break from things and the blog needed to take a bit of a break.

I'm feeling better now, thanks for asking.

Since my last blog, I've really been doing much of the same. OK, it doesn't make great reading but I'm persevering with the stairs, plodding on with the wedding plans, celebrating the WTB's birthday and thinking about cycling quite a lot.

Over thinking has often been a problem for me. It could be the thing here too. I understand the balancing aspect and how the pedals propel you forward, it's just the getting started bit.

Anyway, that's me for now. Normal service will be resumed soon.





* Ideas for lack of blog:

• Kidnapped by damned dirty apes
• Taking part in a coup in Cornwall
• Forming a superhero team to fight a giant robot dragon
• Interviewing for the England rugby post
• Running a cable TV channel dedicated to proper crimping
• Working on my rap album

They're sneakers... for sneaking

The weird thing about getting as organised as we are is that you're always wary about what you've forgotten.
I've developed wedding paranoia. I'm always thinking I've missed something at the moment.
Have the doves got matching outfits?
Did we buy enough shacklegribblers?
Are there enough 'lasers' for the wedding party?

It's the feeling something is sneaking up behind you. You're not sure what it is but you know something's there.

The paranoia is, of course, much better than a last minute panic. Where you find the trained racing pigeons, that we had to get instead of the doves, have all gone on strike.

Around that we're fitting in the bits of everyday life we all have, some Lent bits and the bike. It can lead to moments where you're discussing swatches for the big day and then wondering who is taking out the recycling (it's usually me), all the while trying to get out and balance.

I didn't have any stair music today but had some company up the stairs. It was fun, it's nice to have someone to walk beside. You don't feel so foolish.
Well, you feel silly when you see people coming out of the lifts, but at least you're not feeling silly on your own.

Yesterday, however, I managed, finally, to get some music by Rufus Wainwright for my journey. For those who don't know him, you're missing out.

Flying visit

This may be the shortest blog I write.

The day has been a blur.
Crammed everything in.
Work went well.
Stag stuff on way.
Food shopping bought.
Wolfed down grub.

Song for stairs:

I have to say this beautiful song has been a wee oasis for me today. I'm sure it'll calm down tomorrow.

Prep

Two cool things happened today. One for the wedding and one for Monty.

Our invites took a huge step forward with the arrival of two important parts. Again, I'm writing this under embargo so this is probably as far as I can go with the topic.

I promise you, I'll be able to tell more soon. It's just all under wraps at the mo and I'm quite pleased. It's nice to have a surprise or two.

Secondly, as part of Lent work (need a new term for that - bit clunky) I finally sorted out Monty's lights. She's now looking spiffing with a spotlight at the front. I was quite proud of myself when it was finally done, although we did go though some teething troubles.

To start with, Monty's spotlight was pointing to the sky. It would have a Bat-signal for Cheltenham, which would have been quite cool.

She also has a tiny rear light which flashes. At one point my fingers got trapped and the lights couldn't be turned off. The bike store suddenly looked like a budget 90s rave as featured on 'edgy' episodes of Grange Hill or Biker Grove. The music was in those episodes, no doubt, 'banging'. Here, the only noises that could be heard was the occasional swearword. 

Granted, in the right hands swearing can have a certain melody but with mine it was a bit more 'staccato'.

As I've mentioned before, I'm not the most practical of blokes. I do look on in awe at any with that string to their bow. 

My brothers are both fantastic at this sort of thing. 

All of the WTB's family, especially the WTB, are also great at this. 

Me? 

Um. Yeah, let's just say I'm not gifted at it. I even have a bad influence on those who are usually experts. When my middle brother Ed and I put together a barbecue we attached the wheels to the wrong part. The once advertised 'portable' outdoor cooking tool became somewhat stuck. I'm blaming me for that*.

Before I left the store I tried all the bike bells I could see. The best? A Minnie the Minx bell on a Raleigh Caprice. Who'd have thought? I wonder if they do a Biffo the Bear one.

The stair challenge went well. The music was somewhat highbrow today:

I stomped up the stairs, leaping in the air when I reached the top. OK, I sort of did that after cooling down. 

It was still pretty neat though.

*Although, to be fair, it was a particularly hot Cornish day and only cider could quench our thirst. Thinking about it, that could have also played a part. Quite a large part.

Morning climb

I arrived at the office, ready to take on my stair challenge for Lent.

Our office is on the third floor and so I've decided to get rid of my normal podcast to give me a little travelling music. 

Decided by fruit-based God of fate, my phone picked:

So far, so good. I mean it could have been much worse... trust me. But then a bad song may force me to walk quicker.

Anyway, was a little breathless come the top. And red faced. And cursing the colder weather for my thick winter coat.

But I know it'll get better.

The WTB has had an exciting day. She's been out with her mum and sister to hunt for 'the dress'. 

It has been found. Huzzah. Good news all round.

So, for the other part of my lent deal. I've chased some things for the big day and the bike. Once I'm home tomorrow night I'm hoping I'll be able to saddle up for a wee bit and get Monty some air.

Talking of the wonderful machine, I may get Monty a bell. The WTB asked why...

...

Um...

The only thing I could think of was: What else would I ring?

I think that should win that fight for now.

Surely every cyclist has one? 

They're cool, right? 

Right?

Tricky

It has been 'one of those days.'

You know the ones. Nothing has been straightforward but I feel these are the days you can learn from. I've actually quite enjoyed it. It's good to have a tricky day to negotiate.

As long as you don't spend hours looking back, picking out the smallest detail of things, you can learn a lot.

Except... well I tend to linger on days like today. As a colleague of mine says, I 'torture' myself.

Ahem.

Crashing on.

Things are increasing on the wedding front. I'm not sure what bike/wedding things will start my lent run but I've had a couple of things to enjoy today.

Firstly, we've had something arrive for the invitations which is rather groovy. The things, and I can't wait to tell you what they are but I assume everything I know about the wedding is under embargo (it just helps things with the WTB), have come out much better than I imagined. They're very, um, us.  Especially the colour.

Secondly, stag business is picking up The best man and the best woman have been busy bees. Lovely stuff.

I'm ready for lent I think. I hope my body's ready for it too.

Fresh goals

Every year I give up something for lent.

For those who don't know here's a link but the crux of it is you give something up for 40 days.

In the past I've given up chocolate (quite easy), crisps (tough) and caffeine (perhaps the silliest thing I've ever done).

This year I've decided up to up the ante somewhat. I'm taking on three things.

I did look at giving things up but, let's face it, we haven't got much to give up. We've cut out sweet stuff, I haven't bought a packet of crisps since the new year and that would just leave booze.

Er...

We have the WTB's 30th coming up and, let's be honest, it probably won't be without a drink or two.

So, the plan is this. Every day I will spurn the lift and I'm using the stairs to the third floor.

Then I will also do one thing for the wedding and one thing for the bike per day.

My aim? To be riding properly before the end of lent.

I may not make it but man, I love a deadline.

Cool and the gang

According to the BBC I'm about to become cool.

I say about to become cool. I know it'll take a while to get in with the in-crowd, but cycling does seem to be hitting the headlines. It could be that I'm more aware of cycling stories but, dammit, this is my blog and I'm sticking by it.

I've never been cool. I've had some cool hobbies like lomography and liked some cool music but when you love choral music and drink whisk(e)y, cool isn't the word that springs to mind.

Middle class? Maybe.

Middle aged? Before my time but oh yes.

Cool? Nah.

I feel safe in the knowledge that I'll be among that group of cyclists that just kind of plods along and does his thing.

Hopefully it'll give me a bit of longevity. It dawned on me today I never wanted to learn this skill more than I do at the moment. I just want to get the learning over and get out there.

I know it's little and often but I think frustration is hitting again.

Just my type

As much as the WTB gets obsessed with interiors, I get quite intense when it comes to words, fonts and everything typographical.

So. The wedding invites.

They've got to have the right colour and tone (especially for the WTB) and the font needed to be just right (for both of us).

So. This has taken a bit of time.

Tonight I think we've finally cracked it.

I am carrying slightly less hair than when we started. The ever-growing forehead has a few fresh wrinkles. My eyes are a wee bit sore.

But yes, I think they're ready... ish.

There are a few bits to do on them but there's almost a tick in the 'invite' box.

We're determined to get more things done this weekend. With that and more time on Monty it's going to be packed.

Lovely stuff.

Block

I've started this blog three times tonight and, so far, I've not found a satisfying beginning.

In fact, I've not yet decided on a good subject.

Usually, before I sit down with Annie, the WTB's Mac (chalk up another name for the list), I've got something in my mind that I will write about.

Whether it's Monty, a wedding doodah or something particularly odd that's happened, I usually can muster something for my fingers to dance over.

I sit and type, never really knowing how it's going to go or where I'll end up.

But today? Nada. It's a slow news day in my brain.

I assume this is a kind of 'writer's block' but, as I'm still writing I assume I have something to write about.

Tomorrow, I hope this will be better. It's Valentine's, as you probably know, and I've got a day off, which you probably didn't know. The WTB and I have something planned. We're off to the theatre. It's not a taxing piece we're seeing so my mind can relax, unwind and have a giggle. 

I think the last few weeks have caught up with my noggin. It's slacking a bit and I'm in danger of falling back into bad habits. I could kill a beer, an ale, something sweet or all three.

Instead, I'm going to look at this keyboard and hope something better comes out from my fingertips tomorrow.

Stag daze

This weekend has been crammed with both work and play, and a couple of times these have crossed over.

As well as a rewarding day at work today, I spent Saturday walking round Oxford with my best man, my best woman and their partners.

It was a stunning day. It included pubs, a trip to an ice cream parlour (with a waffle of filthy proportions), pubs and getting stuck in a revolving door at the Ashmolean.
For those who haven't been, the city's a maze of different streets, colleges and historic buildings. AND, it's packed with bikes. My newly established cycling envy found a new playground.

Anyway, we got a fair bit sorted with notes taken and a few ales sunk.

It's given us more things to think about before the big day. The countdown, in our heads, is getting quicker. The heartbeat of the wedding is getting faster and louder every day. It's exciting.

Tonight we've looked at colours and plants. It's the small things you didn't expect, the things that sneak up, that can cause mishaps.

I think we've got all of them covered. Only time will tell...

Eating tri-umph

The last few days have been a bit of a blur.

Early starts at work combined with packed evenings after left us both a little tired.
And, to be honest, my diet has taken a hit.
Take Thursday night's tea.
It was made up of:
A triangle of Toblerone
An apple
One and a half chicken fillets
I'm pretty sure that's all the major food groups covered.
Aren't you meant to have at least three triangle shaped foods* a day?

I've also had a bike riding carrot dangled in front of me. Yesterday, I was given a tour of our new cycling store at work.

It's the biking Batcave.

OK, it's a normal store but it's like a secret base for all the cycling superheroes.

It even has a SHOWER.

Monty must take her place there.

Today, I get to meet up with my best man and my best woman. I haven't seen either in quite a while so to say I'm a tad excited is an understatement.



*Other triangle food: tortilla chips, Dairylea/Laughing Cow, grapefruit bit, two halves of a
Muller Corner eaten at different times, slice of cake viewed from above, samosa, bought packaged sandwiches, slice of pizza.

The hard sell

"So, you'll want stabilisers."

I walked into my local bike shop for the first time and I felt like I'd entered a secret society.

Shacklegriblers hung from walls. Men with focused faces walked about with purpose. Words were whispered in code.

I felt a tad out of my depth.

It's weird. I've spent years hiding the fact that I couldn't ride a bike. Excuses were made with friends and, on press trips, I had to pretend I had a phobia.
But since writing this blog, I've been admitting it to so many people. It's now like a badge of honour. "Yes, I can't ride a bike. But dammit, I'm trying to learn."

And so here I was, in a shop I'd walked past hundreds of times before. By the way, this ranks as the second manliest thing I've done, after buying a hammer.

I'd gone in to pick up a pump. While Monty has a nifty one that I occasionally will use as a stand-in lightsaber (stand-in, that is, until they perfect the science), Diana needed a new one. She's got this weird valve (ahem) which needed an adaptor and a pump.

Anyway, in I went.

I went for the casual browser method of shopping to start off with. Just looking around and blending in with the background. I wouldn't stand out, I'd just seem like a man who'd been in a thousand bike shops before. I was one of them.

When I realised I was the only one in the shop,  I approached the chap behind the counter. He went for the hard sell at first, pointing me in the direction of the second coolest looking pump I'd ever seen. You could stand on it and push a plunger up and down. I guess it's based on one of those vehicles you see on train tracks in films, usually controlled by someone causing mischief or in a mishap.

When I told him about the learning the stabiliser suggestion hit the table. I gave a polite laugh, guessing he was joking.

He wasn't.

He seemed a little upset.

A little embarrassed, I picked up the cheapest pump in the shop, a free cycling map and a leaflet from the groovy people at Sustrans for a bike pack. Lovely.

I'm trying to get into the whole bike culture. I've joined The Times Cycle Safety campaign and now I've been in my first bike shop.

Let's hope the second visit is a little more successful.

Counting down

So we've roared into February and the wedding is another month closer.
Not that I'm panicking. Oh no. I am a perfect example of a relaxed gentleman. My hands are not shaking. My brow is not furrowed.
I've always said that the wedding and what it means does not worry me. It's all the things that come with the day.
We've got a lot to do and, as a scientist will verify, even less time than yesterday.

And yet...

Well if you don't stop and smell the flowers on occasion it will pass you by. Tonight, we're having a night on the sofa. We've had a little bit of chocolate and we're having a night off.

OK, I know, I've avoided the bags of chocolate in work, tortured myself about it, and now I go and break the sweet treat embargo. The difference? Well, not much if I'm truthful.
But, as they say in some dodgy American reality shows (not that I watch them) I've done it on my own terms. The choc has been weighed out and put away. We've rationed it and we're being truthful about what we've had.

The tasty lapse doesn't mean I've forgotten my quest for fitness.

Tomorrow, as mentioned, it's my day off and Monty comes out hiding for a breath of fresh air. They're letting me out unsupervised. Whether that's a wise thing we can only wonder... until tomorrow. Obviously. Then we'll probably realise it wasn't a good move.

In the afternoon, I'm looking at a gym. I say gym, apparently it's a fitness 'studio' which means they want me to do fitness classes.



Stopped laughing?



How about now?


I'm tempted to try a circuits class, depending on how shouty the trainers turn out to be. I'm not good at being yelled at during fitness classes and so I'll only take a session if I can wear earplugs.
Or earmuffs.

I'll pick ear protection depending on the season.

The white stuff

Today I was meant to fit in a session on Monty. By that I mean another go at the scoot-weeee-balance thingy.
But this afternoon it started to snow. And it's still snowing.
While I appreciate and enjoy a challenge, the idea for my second lesson was not: How to cope in the next ice age.

So instead we've hit the wedding prep. WTB has been to two wedding dress shops and, after meeting for lunch (and maybe one nip to a pub, for a wee nip) we popped to the travel agents.
There then seemed to be a whizz of numbers, words and phrases.
The whole thing flashed by me in what seemed a matter of minutes. I remember the hotels we looked at. I remember the destination. But some of the finer details? Please ask me a question on quantum physics instead.

I'm now sat at home, with the WTB on another dress mission with Timi. I've drunk one hot choc instead of having a beer. It was banana flavour.

It really is rock and roll in the Doney house today.

Bring on the Six Nations. It's my favourite sporting tournament in the world. I may celebrate with a white chocolate low-cal hot choc now.

No pain, no gain

There comes a time when you have a dining experience that blows everything else out of the water.

When the finest ingredients work in harmony with each other.

When the chef is at the top of their game.

When the ambiance and experience of your venue blends seamlessly with your state of mind.


Tonight I had baked beans and fish fingers for tea.


While it goes completely against what I should be eating, and while there was nothing fresh in sight, it was bloody good.
The tasty breadcrumbed fish worked beautifully with the tomatoey beans. The chef had cooked the meal perfectly. And, with an old episode of The Simpsons on, it was a nice time to relax.

So, while the WTB was enjoying a double zumba spectacular, I was tucking into the best that Cpt Birdseye and Mr Heinz had to offer. Pure comfort food.

Saturday. That's my next bike lesson. I spoke to my eldest brother Rich and he recommended the gel pad I fitted to the saddle on Sunday. "You'll get callouses in place you didn't know existed," he said, chuckling down the phone.
He's right you know. I'm pretty sure I've got a normal body but once I start riding properly (see, positive thinking) there will be aches and pains in my shacklegribbler.
And, while I'm laughing here at the Carry On-esque sentence I've just written, give me a few weeks and I'll look back at those words and curse that innuendo-laden sentence.

As I'm working Sunday I've got Tuesday off. Yet another day of avoiding the pub and I'm planning to do some riding on my own.

Bravery, don't fail me now.

Fighting temptation

Like any workplace, the office usually offers up a realm of temptation when it comes to food.

There are the obligatory biscuits and packets of crisps, the occasional plate of sandwiches and, on special occasions, trays of tasty pastry snacks for us to feast on.

In the past I've indulged with the rest of the newsroom and happily demolished the food, grabbing the grub as quickly as I can.

But, and you're no doubt ahead of the game here, I've stuck to my own food since the start of 2012. And I think it has been one of the reasons I've kept the weight off.

I've obviously anger the god of gluttony though as this week we've had:
Biscuits
Cookies
Shortbread
Chocolate snacks
McDonald's breakfast items
and boxes of chocolates

Yeah, it has been a challenge.

In moments like this (as Leona Lewis sang, pop fans), I take a sip of my lovely black coffee or a glug of water, look at the space where my fruit sat (as it's already gone by this stage) and plough on with my work.
I think of the wedding, of staying healthy and how well the WTB and I are doing.
I think of my calorie targets, how fit I want to be and what I should look like on the wedding day.
I also think of saying balls to it all and tucking in to the array* of food.

It seems that every day until September will offer some sort of foodie challenge. Don't get me wrong, it's a great challenge to have.

I've just got to keep going, make sure the big day is always in my mind and, perhaps, take in a vat of apples to munch my way through.




*Using that word as my old editor hated it. I'm not a fan but it's good to give words an airing now and again, just to remind you why you don't use them.

It's about time

I think it's getting to the stage where I need to make time for exercise.

It's really annoying when people say: "The more time you put in the more time you find you have."
That's wrong for many reasons, the main one being we only have 24 hours in one day. This does not change.

OK, I'm taking things to literally but it's getting to me.


Tonight, I had planned to take Monty out for a quick breather in the cold evening air. I know, bikes can't actually breathe but she's locked up all day. The least I can do is give her a change of scenery. And yes, I know it's freezing outside but after a day at the desk it's nice to have a bit of time outside.
Yet I just can't seem to squeeze it in.
After cooking tea, washing up, taking down the washing, hanging out the washing, prepping and cooking lunch for the week, Monty is still tucked away and it's now gone 10pm.

I know I'm in some strange middle ground at the moment. Once I've learnt to a decent level I can take Monty to work and go on a longer jaunt on the way home. At the moment tho, I need time to get myself to that level.

Call this a mild panic. Label this as a temper tantrum. I'm just a tad frustrated.

Changing man

As you may be able to tell, quite a few things are changing for me at the minute.

The veg bowl is now overflowing in the kitchen. That's not weird granted. The odd thing is that it gets eaten during the week. We no longer stare at the aubergine, it's actually used in meals other than a Thai green curry.  The potato is rarely destined for my chip-esque oven bakes. Mash is now our potatoey treat for the week.

The weight is staying off. I'm lighter than I have been in ages.

I've been on a bike for the first time in a good twenty years. OK I haven't been on a ride (yet) but on the plus side I have avoided being a crumpled, crying mess of a man (so far).

And this blog. It has really been the first diary-style thing that I've maintained. I remember having a copy of the Roald Dahl Diary in one of my last few years of primary school. I always wanted to keep a diary but the young Doney's diary entries were dull. They were not the witty entries that TV showed me children of ten should be writing.

Granted, those TV children can still string a sentence better than I can but, let's face it, they're fictional and I have the upper hand in the realms of reality.

So thanks all. I'm not giving this up I'm just having a short break from my normal ramblings tonight to say thanks for reading this. It's keeping me focused and motivated.

This year is one of change. I'm getting married. I'm turning 30. I'm taming the bike-shaped beast that has haunted me for the majority of my life.

Schmaltz over. Tomorrow, I'm hoping to get back on the bike.

Balancing act

If you're ever learning a new skill, then my advice is the day before you start don't have too many drinks.

Sadly, I don't take my own advice.

It has been quite a busy few days. On Friday I payed a flying visit to Cornwall to catch up with my niece before she turned two. Saturday saw me tackle some wedding bits, complete some housework, cook and fit in a small gym session with my friend Timi.
On Saturday night we decided to blow off some steam.

I don't know if this is a sensible thing or a stupid thing but we ended up playing drinking games with wine.

I know.

It's stupid.

The WTB and I didn't stumble home too late but, come the morning, the mild hangover and the extreme Thai Red Bull were having an influence on our mental state. It was cold. My head ached. Dehydration had it.

Really, it was the perfect condition to start my bike riding quest.

After struggling down to the bike store, Monty was brought up, the saddle changed (to something a little more forgiving) and I was ready for my debut scoot-weeeeee-balance session.

You know what? It was fine.

I'm not saying that within a couple of days I should be up and running but, in the words of the WTB, my balance was better than expected.

It really was fine. I can keep my legs off the floor for a bit so that's given me a bit of confidence.

Monty is a bit of a beast so I also had a go on Diana, the WTB's Dawes (see what we did there? I told you I like to name things).

Diana and Monty – together at last

Diana is a bit smaller, bit lighter and I find it easy to get my leg over with her...

Ahem

We did about and hour and while I still had some mental blocks – at one point I just couldn't get moving – I had, and this is the good part, fun.

I know it'll be a challenge, I know it'll get harder, but I could get used to this.

So next time you're hungover, dragging your body around and not making much sense, try learning a new skill.
Pick up a trombone and give it a play.
Write that novel.
Learn to juggle.
You'll be surprised how good it makes you feel.

Or just go for a fry-up.

Stepping forward

Is there a better dance than the Birdie Dance?
I've been thinking about the whole concept of the 'first dance' at our wedding and I'd like to narrow it down to either the Hokey Cokey or the Birdie Dance. Or Superman by Black Lace.
I'm not sure what the WTB will say.
I'm hoping it is yes.

Please excuse the delirium, I've got a day off on Friday after working on Sunday. It'll be nice to recharge the batteries.

Now we count down to Sunday and Monty's time in the fresh air.

The bike riding is becoming a mix of the elephant in the corner and something I feel I'm rabbiting on about. Whatever it is, the large flop-eared animal is dominating things at the moment.

To take my mind off things I'm going to the gym on Saturday. It'll be the first time in ages and I'm quite looking forward to it. It'll be something different

Then, come Sunday morning, it'll be on with the padded pants, gloves, helmet and we'll head to our top secret cycling spot for lessons.

If you happen to be passing through Cheltenham on Sunday and spot a grown man throwing a temper tantrum while covered in cuts or, if things go badly, you see a bike being thrown across a footpath, be sure to ignore me and pretend it didn't happen.

Small expectations

You know the saying "run before you can walk"? I think I'm suffering from the cycling version.

As I mooched my way home this evening, several cyclists shot by me, speeding off to their heated homes.

My head shot off after them. I have a bit of a wild imagination and that kicked in. I imagined myself joining them on their routes, waving my safety fez from my mighty Monty to all those pedalling pals who greeted my on my journey.

And then...

Well then, my sensible brain kicked in. That dream will take a chunk of time. I have to scale down my hopes to begin with. Get the balance first and the rest will hopefully come.
I'm going to take the attitude of little and often. I plan to drive my neighbours mad by using what's known as the scoot-weeeeeeee-balance method around the front of our home. It seems to be recommended by websites and, let's face it, it looks silly. I like silly.

To distract my brain tonight I've done some prep for the wedding. Forms completed, email written and numbers crunched.

I know the WTB has a lot more for me to do and I don't think sheltering in blog land is going to be safe for much longer this evening.

I can feel seating plan questions coming on. This, for me, should take the method as deployed in war films. Have a giant map, little models of each guest and push them around into position.

It would make the situation so much easier... and a lot more fun. You could move it on a bit. Give Aunt Mable a bazooka. Put my dad in charge of the mortar.

On second thoughts, maybe not.

Looking back and falling down

I guess the one thing I know will happen on Sunday is that I will fall off.

I will fall off and probably be a crumpled mess on the floor as the WTB looks at the sack of shame beneath her. And she giggles. She is one of those people who find You've Been Framed! hilarious.

So, no doubt, she will find my accidents very funny. And I use accidents in the plural - there will be more than one.

While my mind is probably playing tricks on me, and the WTB won't laugh too much, I have to face the facts that falling off is part of riding a bike whether you're a learner or a seasoned professional.

I think I can deal with the pain. It'll only be a few knocks and bumps leading to scrapes, scabs and weird marks on my legs/arms/torso. But, as with most things, it's the anticipation that's a killer. If I could only have a timetable of accidents planned out, then I could prepare. "Ah 2.05pm. I'll hit my ass in a minute. Time to clench."

As I prepare to get back on the bike, I can see all those moments I fell off in the past. The failed attempts at balancing. Those times I nearly had it... and then realised I didn't have it and the ground was getting closer to my body at an alarming rate.

But with those memories are fresh thoughts of enjoying bikes. Of going on boozy rides with my brothers and wobbling back in. Ideas of riding to work. Jaunts with the WTB. Dashing round town with a long list of errands like the Sultan of Cycling. Getting fit. Being in a decent shape for the wedding.

It's time to be confident about this.

While I may still be the sack of shame on the floor, I've just got to 'grow a pair' and get back on.

What's in a name?

I name a lot of things I own. The majority are bad puns or linked somehow to a C/D list celeb.

I have a Diana camera I call Vickers.

Our mint plant is called Murray.

Our thyme is called Chico.

I even make the WTB name things. Her Dawes bike we Christened Diana.

So, my bike. What should I call it? 

It's a Mongoose, kindly donated by my eldest brother. It's black with red writing. As it's a Mongoose I was tempted by Riki-Tiki-Tavi but that's a bit long. Instead I've gone for Monty. She is called Monty.

Monty is a python and mongooses fight snakes so there's a link, of sorts.

The countdown has begun until I get back in the saddle. I've spent some time looking at various blogs and accounts of people learning to ride at an advanced age. It's nice to know I'm not alone in this.

It's one of those situations where the more you learn, the more you realise how little you know

I've bought a cycling magazine, which I will be cribbing from so I can actually sound like I know something. Although a singular magazine won't help that much, it is a start.

My dad's motto is: Bullshit Baffles Brains. It's something I try and stick by and I know it'll come in useful when I start talking cycling to people. He uses the term shacklegribbler a lot. I may adopt it.

I've also checked out Bike Hub - it's rather nifty as it can help you plan routes around the area depending on what kind of experience you have or how far you can get there.

As you can tell, I'm taking this seriously. It's something I'd love to get sorted so I can get the miles in before the wedding in September.

I know that, to start, I'm going to fall off. I will fall off a lot. I know I'll probably cut myself. All I can do is keep getting back on until I get that balance.

Sitting comfortably

Big news - I have pants.

Well they're boxers but yesterday, after arriving home from a 96th birthday party (which was pretty top) I found the new arrival on our doorstep.

The padded pants will, as my middle brother put it the other night, make a big difference when I'm doing the hard miles.

Apart from maybe a spike or porcupine, there's surely nothing more uncomfortable than a bike saddle. It's a wonder of perseverance and grit that anyone can stay on one for more than a few minutes at a time. Just how is it done?

While I can't ride a bike at the moment, it doesn't mean I haven't tried in the past. And apart from the memories of tumbling, falling and general pain, the abiding memory is the uncomfortable seat of the orange and white BMX that was my first bike.

So, I pray the pants will solve this problem or, at least, give me a wee bit of comfort.

I'm writing this as the BBC's Call the Midwife is on.

Bear with me.

It seems my lack of skill is shared by Miranda Hart, in this programme at least.

In a case of art imitating life, she's not only playing someone who can't cycle but who is a whisky expert. Apart from being an upper class, 1950s midwife, the story could be mine.

A date has been set for next Sunday to try the cycling thing again. I'm currently searching websites and looking at different methods for the big day.

Coupled with this, I'm having wine. A nice glass of red. We've been well behaved today but we felt like a small tipple.

In diets, as well as cycling, it seems that balance is key.

Bike bits

Despite me not yet mastering the bike, I already seem to be collecting and desiring gadgets and gizmos.

I have started eyeing up things I don't have but have now realised I 'need'.

When I say 'need' I really mean bits I will use once and then put away or stash for a rainy day.

I better go over what I have.

To add to my nifty helmet, I already have some bike lights, which were a gift from my eldest brother Rich, and some gloves to protect my hands. My middle brother would be calling me an idiot for those but Ed, if you're reading this, people will be staring at the ridiculous man on the bike and ignoring he's wearing gloves.
I will be mocked as an ensemble.

I will be adding the aforementioned padded boxers/shorts,  a bike rack - for the car - and , not doubt, some  geeky/quirky cycling top.

The question is, what don't I need?

I'm new at this whole thing and so everything for sale seems cool and essential.

Cycling clogs? I want them for future trips to Holland.
Safety bananas? You can never have enough.
Biking whiskey? Surely, it's an essential.

I've taking photos for years so I know which kit I need. I have a gut instinct about what new pieces I should avoid. But bikes? Whole new playground.

It's quite fun really. It's a world of learning and new skills to acquire.

I've gotta get that balancing, pedalling thing sorted.

Weight to go

Along with exercise, the key to losing weight has to be what we eat.
As statements go, that must go info the stating the bloomin' obvious section.

Please forgive my GCSE F grade intro but there was a time when I really didn't get that idea.

At school and college I was somewhat bigger than I am now. I was about 16st plus and clocked in at about 5ft9.

Granted it helped on the rugby field (former tight-head prop speaking here) but it just wasn't good for me.

To be frank, I ate a lot of crap food. Granted that crap food tasted fairly good, and it's amazing how bad food does that, but I think the key is I ate a lot of it.

Packets and packets of crisps, pies, pasties, bags of sweet treats - I could go on for ages. Especially when I started work in the newsroom, I ate a lot.

Drink may have also played a part. I had a lot of match practice at the noble art. What can I say? I love a drink.

So what changed?

I can remember bending down to pick up a skittle (the pin and not the sweet) at my local and losing my breath doing it. I caught myself losing my breath doing the smallest exercise.

That single action sparked shock in my head.

So I hit reverse on my diet. Out went the grease and in came the fruit, black coffee and low fat versions of everything.

Since then I've flipped and flopped between fads and foods. Thanks to the WTB I'm really enjoying the healthy foods and veg plays a big part in my diet. Save cauliflower and sprouts. They still belong in the wrong column. And beetroot.

I love food. I love trying new foods. I love watching cooking shows. I now love to cook. It's just now everything is in moderation.

Striking the balance has been hard. It's not always right, but I am getting there.

Big bonce

I've got a big head.

Scratch that.

I have a huge head.

I have a huge head and that has always been the way.

When I was eight I joined the Cubs. My mum, ever the stickler for being smart and wearing the correct uniform, made me wear the whole get-up.
For those who don't know, this consisted of:
Jumper
Scarf
Woggle
Socks and tabs (I think they're known as garters and I was the only boy in the pack to wear them. They were phased out soon after. Probably banned for just being that bit too cruel).
Cub cap (another item given the axe)


The cap was kinda cool in a geek chic crossed with public school sort of way. I say kinda as mine was special.
I took an XXXL and we had to order the thing in.

Even then, the bloody cap didn't fit. It just sat there, drawing attention to the boy with the head that looked normal but was, in fact, huge.

So yes, I've a bad history with hats.

Into my adult years I thought I was through this phase but, alas, I didn't think of the bike helmet I'd have to buy when I started my grand plan.

To say the range has been limited may be an understatement. Most, like the caps, just sat there on my noggin, echoing the ghosts of flat caps, baseball caps and wooly hats that have gone before.

Luckily, I found one that was subtle, suited me and was as discrete as I could ever need.

The Nutcase 'Union Jack' is my choice. Yes, I could have gone for quieter colours but at least I'll be seen.

I have to ride. It'll help my health and keep me focused on fitness before the wedding.

So, helmet done, bike ready, all I need to do is ride.

Oh and I must buy some comfy, padded pants. Just how can you last more than 30 seconds on a saddle?

Things to do

Like the WTB, I can be a sucker for trashy TV.
While I love a good documentary, Radios 4 and 6 are simply wonderful, and I love classical music, I also adore bad reality TV shows, cannot wake up without Moyles on Radio and often sing adverts to myself during the day. Even Go Compare gets a welcome in my brain.

The list for the wedding is still fairly sizeable and yet after a day of work, when it's a cold January day outside and you've got quality TV recorded (Sherlock included, please don't spoil it for me), it can be hard to get everything sorted.

We've also got a large amount of bad TV on offer. Name an ailment, a cultural group or a problem and there's a show built around it. My favourites include:

• Mother knows Best: A group of mums bake cakes and become pals with Calum Best, while raising money for charity somehow.
• Fight Club: Boxers take on oversized chocolate biscuits on the way to fight the king of all snacks - the Mint Club.
• Cooking on Gaz: 1980s TV presenter Gaz Top balances a barbecue on his stomach while celebrity chefs try and create a meal on his body.

I was given a slight kick-up the bum this evening. A call to my mum in Cornwall, which usually consists of a run down of everyone's activities since the last call, revealed that the banns for our marriage are being read in only a few months.

A wee bit of a shock.

Do I need to be there? What time? What about up here? Should I phone the vicar now? What should I wear? What time is it? Why am I holding a duck?

Funny isn't it, how a few words can make you panic quite quickly.

We've got a list to get through this week and deadlines to hit. The majority of the wedding is either sorted or on the way. We've just got a few key items left to sort.

Time seems to be flying by right now. The weekend went in a blink, I've still got to join the gym and master riding the bike. We've got to get focused, get all the boxes ticked and other motivational phrases.

But maybe after one more episode of Next Top Model.

Whiskey business

When I started this blog, I soon realised that my foibles, hates and passions would soon be on show to all.

People would soon know that I can't stand sprouts, cotton wool (yet to be discussed) and the desert known as junket (and what should be known as just plain wrong).
People would know I'm planning for my wedding, that dieting and exercise were a huge part of my world at this time and the WTB is always right.

I knew, therefore, that I'd soon get round to my love of whiskey and whisky.

Since I've been drinking within the law and, if I'm totally honest, a bit outside of the law, I've always loved a dram of Scotch or Irish. I've no idea why but it works for me.
Perhaps I'm just an old hack at heart. Whiskey does go hand in hand with with the 1950s view of my profession.
Perhaps I'm just a young fogey at heart.
Perhaps, and this is most likely, I'm just odd.

Whatever the reason, I love whiskey. It's complex. It provides a range of smells and colours for you to enjoy. It also looks pretty cool when you know what you're talking about.

And then there's the taste. From a smokey beast to a sweet drop it can inspire and entrance, while giving you the mother of all hangovers. I'm not just talking about the shakes. You get the wibbles and wobbles too.

So why mention it now? As I mentioned we've had family staying at our home this weekend. And each night I've enjoyed a drop of Scotch and, one night, a drop of Canadian.

The thing is, can it go hand in hand with the next nine months? Can I justify keeping up this love affair with the water of life?

I don't drink it every night but it is a treat. I think I can keep it like that but, and this is a biggie, should I replace it with an alternative? Decaf coffee? Hot choc. Iced water?

Of course it wouldn't be permanent but maybe, if I'm serious about the weight loss, I should make it a once a week or month deal.

It's something to think on. For now, the Bruicladdich 'The Laddie Ten' is tasting wonderful.

Whiskey. Is there a better drink to help you answer the great questions of the world?

Nice and spicy

I've come to realisation there's one simple way of making food better; spice.

That's it. It's so simple, it's amazing it has taken me this long to crack the code.

While this may sound like a sweeping statement, stick with me and for a second think about all that bland food you've ever eaten.
Remember how boring a cottage pie can taste? Think about that watery cooked veg that you've had to endure. Think about all those tasteless piles of food 'things' you had to eat. Think about how much better they would have tasted with something spicy added.


Everything, I now believe, can be made better with spice. It can bring your bog standard dish into something amazing. It can transform boring veg into something with zing and zazzle.

I've just spent the evening with the future in-laws at a restaurant chain owned by a celeb chef (he's pukka). Each dish, bar the puddings, must have had some sort of chilli in.
Battered squid? Chilli.
Chicken? Chilli.
Even the greens were laced with chilli.

What backs this theory up? Three words. Cabbage. Soup. Diet.
There's no way I could have managed that week if the soup didn't have some sort of kick in that potentially bland meal. Cayenne pepper was made for this plan.
So there we have it. How to transform your meal. Spice.



Or booze. Booze can work too. Beer and wine with stews. Champagne with oysters. Whisky or whiskey with cream.

So booze and spice. Two ways of making food better.

Or chocolate. OK, three ways.


As you may have guessed, the diet has taken a back seat today. Enjoying life surely has to mean having a rest, now and again, from our everyday routine. We've had family with us this weekend. The WTB has had 'wedding' appointments. We've enjoyed time with those close to us and made the most of the time.
Healthy eating will be back, but all work and no play makes me a very bored eater. It would make me more likely to cheat and so I'm glad we've done it.
The weight has stayed off (I've only gained 1lb) so I know I can push on from here.

I know, come Monday morning, we'll be back on our rations. But today, we've drunk a lot of tea, eaten some cake and had some wine.

And I've loved it.

Game off

Ah the board game. Where do you stand? Force for good or servant of evil?

Now, cards on the table, I love Scrabble.

However I dislike the following games more than anything:
Monopoly
Mouse Trap (far too long to set up with such an anticlimactic ending)
Pop-Up-Pirate (I'm far too jittery)
Operation (see Pop-Up-Pirate)

Surely, Monopoly is the worst game ever invented.
If this was a dystopian future and was given a choice, either entering the ultra-violent Running Man or play Monopoly, I'd take my chance against Buzzsaw and his pals.

The best thing about the game are the figures. When your game can only be saved by a miniature dog and iron, you know you're on a loser.

And yet people love it.

I'm writing this after an evening which finished with UpWords (a Scrabble spin-off if you like) with my future in-laws. I lost.

It's not that I hate these games It's just I'm really bad at them or I never get the rules.

Any win is usually pure fluke. Trust me. Maybe I'm just a bad loser.
Maybe I just need years of practice only chosen game. Master the movements of the iron round the curves of Mayfair.
Or maybe, just maybe, I should stick to Scrabble. Sounds great to me.

And relax

Tomorrow is my day off. Tomorrow I will be doing housework.
For anyone who works a weekend, this is the normality you face. Whatever you can't do on a Saturday or Sunday is carried over to the week.
For me it's ironing, cooking and... well something else.

The worst thing for me will be staying away from any temptation. For temptation, read 'The Pub.'
To say I'm a huge fan of the midweek drink would be somewhat underselling my devotion to what is one of the few things that still feels naughty.

There's something wonderful about sitting in a boozer, while others are at work, and supping a drink while pouring over a paper. You get this particularly cheeky feeling. Well, I do anyway.

You still get some shocked reactions when you say you're off to the pub in the middle of the day.
At one stage I'd have to explain to people: "Look, I'm just going for the one. I'm not going to be there all day. I'll pop out, have a pint or a whisky, read the paper and come home to continue my dedication to the housework."

I no longer have to do that, mainly because I got legless on one occasion and people know I'd be in big trouble if I did it again.


So, I have cut down on my habit. But with the wedding on our minds I don't think I can justify it at all. Oh on special occasions I'm sure I'll head out of an afternoon, but for now the pub is closed in my brain. Well, on weekday afternoons anyway. For now.

As we're off the diet now we've got open season on what we eat. Because we can use more than a few pots and pans, our kitchen looks like a toddler has gone on a slight sugar-fuelled rampage. There are dirty saucepans everywhere. Knives I didn't know we owned have appeared. The peeler is filled with all sorts of funk. And that's just from today's effort.

For the record I cooked salmon with herbs and lemon, with steamed veg and a small portion of mashed potato. Having gone through last week, mashed potato seems to be a novelty.

We did sort of fall off the wagon last night. I know, I know, first day off and I'm already going bananas. Stick with me though.
We had small glass of rose wine and a single Hershey's Chocolate Kiss (under 200kcal for both if you're interested). Everything in moderation.

Plus, now I've had some wine, I won't think of the pub tomorrow.

Yeah, right.

Saddle up

Why is it that as soon as you've finished a diet or fitness boost, your brain tells you one of two things.

It either says: You've done it! Superb! You can now eat what you want!

Or it says: As soon as that third grape touches your mouth you'll put on eight stone.

The truth is somewhere between those two it's just your brain doesn't let you know that.

The brain can be a shit sometimes.

So yes, it was the first day off the diet. While we didn't indulge with a bucket of chocolate topped with chips, we did bring back some extra fruit and meat.

I have made changes to my diet.
Gone is the lovely ham I used to eat and in exchange I have turkey. The dry meat.

The cabbage soup has made me consider everything I eat.
Even if that was the only thing to take from the experience, that's an excellent thing to gain.
While it won't stop the odd binge it will stop the regular treats. Good for me, good for the weight.

An app is helping us keep track of calories so what I have to do now is the fitness side.

It's here I have to make a confession.

I cannot ride a bike.

A few posts ago I said that cycling wasn't an option just yet.
Well, it's because I can't cycle.
Oh I can get on a bike, but I'm a bit of an expert of falling over again and again.

So, before I turn 30 in a few months, I want to learn.

Wish me luck.

Last orders

There it is. The final day completed.  One week of cabbage soup ended in a flourish with the addition of brown rice.

Brown rice and flourish are rarely used in a sentence. In fact, I'd imagine this would be the only time. But, after 11 portions of the same soup in seven days, a very limited menu and no pudding, brown rice made me, dare I say it, a wee bit excited?

Excited. There's another word never paired with brown rice.

Anyway, this morning started with hearty glass of grapefruit juice. That was all. Not the greatest start to the morning I grant you. You couldn't compare it to the steak but, as I've really missed the fruit, it's in a different league to cucumber and peppers.

I didn't only celebrate with the rice. This morning I went to Costa and had a black Americano. My word, what a delight. Gave me a caffeine boost for about an hour I reckon.

So how do I feel after this diet switch? Healthier? Slimmer? Do I have a glossy coat? No, yes and maybe. About six pounds have gone from my weight which is quite amazing. Although I'm sure I couldn't last any longer than a week. And I wouldn't suggest anyone else try it for more than seven days.

I have lost weight which was, after all is said and done, the main reason to start this diet and this blog. The trick is now to keep it off. A fresh challenge for both of us. We're moving to a low GI diet from here on out. A colleague has given me recipes he's used successfully and I will be upping the exercise to go with it.

For now, the brown rice will finish off the day and the diet. How I feel tomorrow will probably be exactly the same as today, but at least I've made a start on things. I've a wedding weight in mind and I'm going to go for it.

These things, as the cliche goes, start with the smallest step. This step's pretty small but it's rather important.

In a spin

Side effects are funny.

There are the ones you're prepared for (like the gas) and ones that sneak up on you.

Well, I've been well and truly ambushed today.

This morning I was grabbed by the head-spin monster.

I'd showered, got dressed, trundled down the stairs and there it was. A touch of dizziness.
It wasn't the good kind. It wasn't the kind you get after one too many drinks. It was the kind you get when you first spin around and feel a bit, well, wonky. Light-headed.

Clever WTB told me to eat, so cucumber sticks were the treat of the morning. A pint of water and some healthy bits later I was back on track.

It was weird. I'd eaten a fair amount yesterday and so it was a wee bit of a shock. Granted, the diet is not balanced, but it is my fault if I'm not munching on veg.

On today's menu there's been chicken. At the mo I feel I'm more Colonel Sanders than human. I've eaten a fair whack of chook for dinner and tea. We've griddled the meat and, man, the variety has been welcome. We're back to a veggie option tomorrow so I've enjoyed every single mouthful. 

The weird thing about the soup? I quite enjoy it. It's hearty, full of flavour and healthy. I may not eat it every day of the week but as a once and a while option I'm sure we'll cross paths again.

Final day tomorrow. Rice and more soup...

What an exciting prospect.

High steaks

Meat day. Well, what can I say? Did it live up to my hopes? Was it everything I've been dreaming of?

Predictably, yes and no.

Steak for breakfast was mega. Seriously. It was tasty. It looked lovely. It. Was. Mega.
That amount of beef really set me up for the the day. I can honestly say it was the first day I didn't get hunger pangs.
My stomach has been making some wonderful noises this week. Growling like a hungry dog one minute, gurgling like a plughole another.
Have you noticed your stomach always makes noises when it's deadly quiet? It has to be the most mischievous part of the body.

The breakfast also made the house smell spectacular. When I was growing up, the smell of a roast beef coming from the rayburn was, perhaps, one of the greatest things about the weekend.
We'd come home from church, sit round the table and tuck in to the meat, roasted potatoes, yorkshire and suet pudding and other bits.
Today's smell may not have reached that height, but it was a solid substitute.

We mixed the steak with the soup at tea. This made the soup more meat than veg.

I'm not complaining.

As usual, I did miss something about my normal diet. Today, drinks. I can only drink coffee, herbal tea and water at the mo. I would have loved a whisky today. Or an ale. Or a cider. Or a red wine. Even a can of Coke Zero would have been a wonderful, celebrated thing.

I went shopping for the week ahead and the fruit bowl is bulging with a host of colourful treats.  I've also made a low-fat chilli, stocked up on grapefruit juice and bought an obscene amount of spinach. So it looks like the wind is here to stay...

Two days left of this plan. We've both lost weight and feeling positive about the wedding weight-loss scheme.

Tomorrow, we're on the home stretch. Chicken! More meat!

Diet goes bananas

Steak! I can barely contain my excitement that tomorrow morning's breakfast will basically consist of a slab of meat.

That's right. I'm having steak for breakfast. Surely this is the dream for every carnivore? 

I've got quite a loving relationship with beef. When I was growing up, my birthday meal request was always a roast beef dinner (followed by milk jelly).

When I turned18 I ate a 32oz steak, with chips and onion rings (and side salad, but not really counting that), at my local in Cornwall. I can honestly say I didn't break a sweat... until I finished, when the meat sweats hit

I love beef.

But... There's always a 'but' in these situations...

To get to the steak, I've drunk about a litre of skimmed milk,  eaten five bananas and had two portions of the cabbage soup. FIVE bananas.  

As I've mentioned, I love fruit but the bananas have taken it out of me. Both the WTB and I felt quite lethargic today and I'm putting it down to that.

When you look at it, the diet is quite barmy. Yes, I know it's a fad diet and only for a short time, but some of the combinations have been quite off.

Tonight, apart from removing the Christmas decorations, we're also discussing what we should eat next week. We will be left to our own devices again. The diet is making us examine what we're eating on a daily basis.

However, I wouldn't mind if we left bananas off the menu for a while. 

A year should do it.

Trumpet trousers

No matter what your age, breaking wind is funny.
Childish? Yes.
Embarrassing? Occasionally.
Funny? Always.

We boys seem to have the obsession over it because, I think, it not only has a funny sound but also a funny smell. We're simple creatures.

I'm sorry to go on about 'it' again, but when you're on this diet, it's the one thing that always comes up.

So yes, I'm at 'that' stage of the cabbage soup. The stage where you're right in the middle of the eating plan. When, like me, you've eaten four apples, peppers, cucumber and four grapes as your snacks,  the only badge of honour you have that you're on the diet is the occasional whizz-bang.
And yet... I've not noticed a huge increase in this activity. I'm sure there's more obstacles to come but so far? Not bad. Either that or I'm just naturally gassy.

Avoiding other foods is still proving a challenge. One of my colleagues brought in a homemade cake today. It looked and sounded stunning. Only more coffee and pints of water solved the hunger pang.

The exercise aspect of the healthier life still needs to be tackled. WTB loves zumba but the idea of me joining in fills the whole town with dread. I'm a keen walker but I know that's not enough. Bike riding isn't an option (at the moment) so it may mean I need to go back to the gym.

While tomorrow brings milk back and introduces bananas, I know that in my head I can't wait for steak day.

Green machine

I don't hate vegetables, really I don't, It's just I've never had the best relationship with them. 

I've never understood how people can chomp down on a raw carrot or look forward to eating celery. Both of those, in my opinion are best served in stout, traditional dishes. Pies for example. Or stews. Or, in fact the cabbage soup which has become the focus of my life this week.

I just don't think I'd only eat veg throughout the day*.

Today was always going to be tricky for me. No fruit. Still no meat. No dairy. No bread. Just veg.

Breakfast consisted of cucumber and peppers with black coffee. Dinner? Well the soup, of course, and some more cucumber and peppers.  Tea had a spark of variety. Baked potato. some more of the soup and steamed spinach, courgette and broccoli.

So far, so healthy.

The food itself has been fine. But we're in a tricky period, I'm sure all of us would agree. The flotsam and jetsam of festive good still lingers in our kitchen cupboards. I know that if I open one cupboard I will find about 12 Kinder Eggs. Temptation has never been closer. Especially when the editor brings in bag after bag of Christmas food for the newsroom to eat. It's all very kind but it's taking some will power to avoid the treats. Thank goodness I still have coffee! Huzzah!

I also think I'm starting to experience the one familiar problem the diet has. Gas. Guffs. Farts. Trumps. Parps. I've got a sneaking suspicion the cheese will be cut quite a lot this evening. I can only hope they hit their peak before work tomorrow.

Tomorrow I can bring fruit back in. I'll be hitting the apples from early morning.

*Apart from potatoes. I mean you can have chips, waffles, fondant, mash, baked, fried...

Cold feet

So I'm sitting in the office today, looking out across the Malvern Hills, trying to crack a headline about a new morgue (seriously) and it suddenly dawns on me that my feet are freezing.
They're blocks of ice; they were at the stage where you're not quite sure if they're damp or slightly cold. Now, I'm usually quite cold while sitting at my desk. The window lets in a bit of a breeze. Indeed, with the strong winds hitting Cheltenham today, the office kitchen window was whistling like a kettle on a rayburn for a good few hours, but my feet are rarely cold.
So what did I blame for this weird happening? The bloomin' cabbage soup.
Of course, it's nothing to do with that. I know it's cold in my head as my rugby-hit knees are aching. But my heart is blaming the soup.
The soup is actually quite tasty. The WTB put a fair kick of cayenne pepper in, turning it from boring and bland to spicy and seriously tasty. I could eat it even if I wasn't on a diet. But, as the WTB so accurately put, it just needs chicken and a bread roll.

Today's condition has been eating fruit. I can eat as much as I like. Bliss. Apples, apples and more apples for me. I will never get bored with that beautiful fruit, wonderful tasting thing, creator of cider. Tomorrow though it's veg only. Balls.

The start

Tomorrow I start on the Cabbage Soup Diet. Seven days of soup-based joy with the added bonus of steak later in the week.
The reason? I'm getting married in September. My lady (from here on known as the WTB) and I have decided to cut the crap from our diets for a week to try and kick-start weight-loss.
The best part? Before we cut the crap, we have to eat the crap. So tonight, our meal has consisted of yoghurt raisins, chocolate, wine, pasta, bacon, wine, ice cream and a wee bit more wine.

Thankfully, I'm allowed coffee. The caffeine-packed wonder drink is still one of my favourites. I can drink as much of it as I like during the week. Without it, I would have gone a tad mad.

Wish me luck...