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...