All posts by Dee

Girl About Town

Reflections on past times

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So after a lovely visit with my friend at the weekend which was over way too quickly, I headed off as you know to the big smoke. It’s been a while since I was in central London, and I’d forgotten how frantic the pace is.

I used to work out of Canary Wharf a couple of days a week in my old job, and I remember the utter misery I used to feel as I left the office to cross London on the tube so I could hook up with my train home. It was usually the busiest time, with commuters head down and keen to get out of the city and the tube was always packed.

I’d done the journey so many times I’d figured out the exact place to stand on the platform to get on the carriage which would spit me out right next to the escalator at the station where I needed to change trains, so I didn’t have to walk as far. From there, I knew to the nearest square inch where to wait for tube number 2 so as to minimise how far I’d need to walk once I got to London Kings Cross.

I used to draw furious looks from commuters since I took up twice as much space as everybody else in carriages packed tighter than sardines in a tin, and I’d get more red in the face and sweaty with every minute that passed. I desperately avoided eye contact with anyone in case some random polite stranger offered up their seat for a lady who looked fat and old and struggling because despite my body silently begging to sit down, the truth is I knew that my backside didn’t fit in the seats.

By the time I picked up my main train North I’d be exhausted. My ankles would be killing me, my feet would be swollen, and my knee and back would be giving me hell. I always tried to find a seat in the buffet car, because the aisles were too narrow for me to walk up and down easily without my arse knocking down everyone’s armrest, or sweeping stuff off their table as I lumbered by.

At least a seat in the buffet car meant I only needed to walk a few steps for emergency food if I was struck down by a hunger pang. Which I usually was, at least two or three times on the two and a half hour journey home.

This week in London has been different. It was still busy, and too hot on the tube, but I sat down tentatively when a seat came free, and I didn’t get wedged between the armrests…who knew that would ever happen again. When I arrived in the big smoke I was two tubes and a fifteen minute walk away from my hotel, and you know what, it was okay.

I mean I’m still carrying 117lbs in my pants that has no right to be there, so I’m still fat, in fact I’m still really fat. But I did a normal thing like a normal person. I lugged a work bag and an overnight bag and a tired old body up and down stairs, over bridges, on and off trains and on foot through the streets of London, and when I got to my hotel I felt no more tired than any other girl about town would feel after a long day’s graft.

I came very near to never being able to do that ever again. The fact that I can, again, is an awesome feeling.

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Cheese Balls At The Doo.

Biggest Triumphs

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I had a perfectly lovely evening at the bloggy folk social, and it felt very cosmopolitan swinging by for drinks and nibbles after work. Whenever I’m in London it feels a bit like country mouse is in town you know? Everyone seems very…together somehow. Like they live this very glamorous life and they all have people to see, places to be…like popping out for drinks and nibbles is normal on a school night before they all disperse to go be glamorous and interesting somewhere else.

So anyway, I didn’t know what to expect tonight…there had been no mention of food on the invite so I assumed there wouldn’t be any, and there wasn’t, not really…but there were two big bowls of cheesy wotsits alongside an assortment of other nibbles which, lets face it are cheese balls out of a different mould. I couldn’t tell you what the other nibbles were, I was too preoccupied with the cheese balls to notice.

It’s like the Gods of dieting just thought I know, let’s stick her in a room full of people who know she’s on a diet together with her biggest trigger food, and see if she manages to navigate a path to the cheese balls without anyone noticing…

By the time I’d had my third glass of red wine, I was feeling very relaxed indeed, and I could feel my defences crumbling, in fact I got so near the table at one point they were within touching distance. I joked with a few of the people I chatted to about the effect they were having on me, and they all laughed along and assumed I was kidding…you lot know better, right?

But I acted like a normal person. I had two cheese balls when someone was saying a few words, and nobody was looking at me, and then I walked away from the table. Just two. Then I sluiced the taste from my mouth with a big slug of red wine, and then started talking to two very nice chaps about blogging.

I did a normal person thing, even if my thoughts weren’t normal person thoughts. I was on my very best behaviour, even after three glasses of wine and I feel very happy about that. Mind you, I had to didn’t I…the room may as well have been filled with the diet police!  I imagine a collective gasp would have gone around the room like a mexican wave if I’d face planted into the bowl like I wanted to.

So anyway, I chatted to travel bloggers, and beauty bloggers, and food and drink bloggers. A car blogger, and a jazz blogger, some of the sponsors, and both of the judges who judged one of the categories that I’m shortlisted in…that was a bit weird. I mean, they were both so lovely, but they know everything about me, and we only met for the first time tonight. That took some getting used to you know? Funny how red wine takes the edge off though 🙂

I’m so glad I went. I survived the cheese balls, I stood up for 3 hours drinking and chatting without being preoccupied because some bit of me or other was hurting, and I met a bunch of interesting and lovely folk who I might never have known if not for this.

Yesterday was a good day 🙂

I’m doing a trek to Cuba in October, to raise money in memory of my dad. You can read his story HERE and I would be so grateful if you’d help me honour his memory by donating whatever you can afford so together we can make a difference and help other people who have been affected by mental illness. Thank you!

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Meeting The Gang

In the here & now

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Sometimes things have a way of working out beautifully don’t they..? Just after I found out I’d been shortlisted as a finalist in the UK Blog Awards I received an invitation to attend a bit of a get-together with my fellow finalists and our sponsors, and I thought I probably wouldn’t be able to go. It’s not the awards ceremony I’m talking about, just an evening spent meeting a lot of the people involved, with an opportunity to chat and get to know everyone. Thing is, I’m a northern girl, and this social evening is in London.

However, as things worked out the timing was perfect because I needed to be down here on business anyway for the first couple of days this week, so I just booked a later train home and as I push the button on today’s blog post, I’m just getting ready to cross the city and mingle.

I wouldn’t say I’m awkward in social situations, but its a long time since I’ve enjoyed anything like this. Especially when I was the size of a moose, I mean for all the reasons we’ve chatted about over the weeks and months on this journey. Six months ago irrespective of work schedule I probably wouldn’t have gone, because I would have been worried about too many things.

First and foremost, what would people think as I walked in the room…blimey, she knows her way around a pie doesn’t she! And what would the room be like, you know would I have to stand up? My back and my knee and my ankles would have been screaming at me after ten minutes if I did, but if there were chairs, would they have arms, and if they did would I fit in the seat without the arms cutting into my legs, and most of all would they be sturdy enough to hold me?

And what if I were to be offered something to eat…should I eat? I mean, what if everyone else was and I didn’t, that would make me stand out and I’d hate that. But if I did eat, what would people think…blimey look at her, hoovering up the buffet, best get in quick whilst there’s still stuff left! 

It was crippling, not to mention exhausting having to worry about stuff like that. I mean, way to take a pleasant evening and surround it on all sides by the Asshole voice, chipping away at your self esteem, as if the actual physical considerations weren’t bad enough.

I am less worried than I would have been then. Dare I say I’m even looking forward to it…I do love meeting people and I’ve already made a few connections through social media. And most of all, they’re expecting me to be fat, so I won’t disappoint anyone in the way you do when you’re different to the way folk imagine you’re going to be. I mean it would even look a bit odd if I rocked up skinny wouldn’t it, given that I’ve spent the last six months talking about the size of my arse.

I’m still fat, but I’m not as fat. So I’ll still worry a bit, but I’m not going to drive myself bat shit crazy with it like I would have not too long ago. They know what they’re getting so that makes me more relaxed, hell I can even cross my legs now, I mean I’ve got it all going on.

The thing I’m looking forward to most of all is meeting other people who do what I do, you know? There must be folk like me who started blogging to help them deal with stuff. People with busy lives, and issues, who have to try and fit their desire to write around all the other demands on their time but who could no more think of quitting than flying to the moon.

I wonder if they’re like me..? I wonder if sometimes they’ve got rich pickings in the bank in terms of drafted posts, and other times the coffers are empty and every word needs coaxing out reluctantly only to read like shit when they’re all lined up on the page. That’s the hardest thing, when you put stuff out there for other folk to read. The pressure when the words won’t come is sometimes like sailing close to the wind without a life vest.

I’m going to really enjoy swapping notes, and stories, and just hanging out with folk who get a kick out of flexing their creative muscles…it’s funny, one of my new friends reached out to ask which subscription widget I used because she liked the way mine looked. I did try and warn her about the gremlins, in fact it’s ironic that I’d hoped one of them would be able to recommend a more reliable one to me since I can’t seem to find one that’s any better than the flaky mind-of-it’s-own one that I’ve got!

Anyway, picture me tonight standing easier in my own skin…you guys helped me do that and I’m more grateful than I can tell you 🙂

 

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Since I Can’t Remember When

Reflections on past times

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If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you will have seen me talking about some of the things that I’ve been dying to get reacquainted with as I slowly peel away the layers of this fat suit. And I had a bit of a milestone moment on Friday as I sat on a chair in the office, and crossed my legs. I crossed my legs!!! It wasn’t elegant, and I had to take a bit of a run at it but I threw one leg over the other, and with a little help, it stayed put. Imagine that!

I haven’t been able to cross my legs since I can’t remember when. I talked about it in a blog post way back in the early days, when sitting comfortably on anything was a bit of a challenge. When you’re really fat, and the bit between your knees and your boobs consists solely of spare tyres stacked one on top of the other, the mechanics of crossing your legs just don’t work.

I mean sure, you can try but I’m telling you, one leg will not stay on top of the other without a fight…not a chance. You can try ’till your thighs quiver but It’ll spring off again as soon as you take your eye off the ball. It is possible to lock your leg in place using a table leg or some other fixed-to-the-floor object, which you can wedge your foot against, but depending on how heavy your leg is and how determined it is to break free, you need to exercise caution.

I’ve been known to move tables in the middle of a meeting as I wrestled to keep my rogue leg in place, and the one time I wedged my foot against someone else’s chair there was an unfortunate incident as they leaned forward to refill their water glass. As they moved, their chair, which was no longer tethered by the weight of their body made a bid for freedom, encouraged by the weight of my right leg and was no longer in situ as they went to sit back down. I suppose the fact that I copped for the entire contents of their newly refilled glass was my own fault, in hindsight.

I can’t deny I was forced to use a prop on Friday…the end of a desk was conveniently situated next to my chair, so after shifting my body weight onto my left bum cheek I went for it in a very Cupid Stunt-esque way, niftily jamming my foot behind the table leg, and it stayed there. I nearly put my back out in the process but I’m telling you, it was a sweet sweet moment and as I chatted with my colleague about work stuff, i couldn’t help uttering a silent in your face Asshole to the voice inside my head.

As a skinny string bean, I used to be a very accomplished leg-crosser. I could not only cross my legs, I could curl the foot of my crossed leg behind the ankle of my other leg, in a very fetching way. Of course you have to school yourself not to make any involuntary leaps from the chair, like if the fire alarm went off or something otherwise it could end in tears, but only skinny folk can do that so it’s kind of  like a string bean badge of honour. I’ll be all over that this time next year ?

ps…I’ve written a second guest post on the Cranky Fitness website, and if you’d like to read it you’ll find it here

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When Chocolate Calls Your Name

Freeform thoughts

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I’m writing this blog post on the train, on my way down to see my best friend…she very annoyingly lives nowhere near me and despite nagging her incessantly for the last twenty years or so to move back to my neck of the woods I’ve given up now, she’s got a couple of grand babies and I know when I’m beat.

Even the lure of my roast dinners couldn’t tempt her away these days, especially since the portions have shrunk, and rightly so. But I have business meetings in London over the early part of this week, and I grabbed the chance with both hands to come down early for a weekend visit and some cuddles with those babies.

There’s a young guy sitting opposite me across the aisle, who bought a bar of chocolate from the trolley as it made it’s way down the carriage. Me, I bought coffee and I’ve already polished off the two bananas I brought with me for breakfast. But I’m fascinated by this bloke…he ate one strip of chocolate, and now he’s gone to sleep. With the chocolate open, and unfinished on the table right in front of him. Who does that?!!

I’ve never been able to do that. I have friends who laugh about recipes which invite to you use leftover wine, on the basis that no such thing exists, and whilst I can take or leave wine, there’s definitely no such thing as leftover chocolate in my world. I mean, buying a bar to eat later would be hard enough but come on, surely once you’ve had a square and got the taste for it you can’t just leave it sitting there? And sleep.

My mind is wandering all over the place…I’m imagining some kind of ninja move to swap out my empty banana skin for his barely touched bar of Galaxy. I mean he’s out for the count, right? He might just think he dreamed the chocolate and really he ate fruit, kind of like the shower scene in Dallas…the chocolate never happened, in the same way that Bobby Ewing never shagged that other woman whilst Pamela was off being dead for a bit. It was all a dream.

I’m thinking no, I probably couldn’t get away with that. Christ, I’m a fifty year old woman reduced to thoughts of skullduggery by an open bar of chocolate that’s not even near enough for me to smell it. Get a grip woman. It’s a good job he doesn’t have cheesy balls or we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. I’d be looking at getting escorted off the train at the next station on the basis that the bright orange e-numbers smeared all over my chops proved the case against me despite me denying all knowledge m’lud.

I know that sugar is addictive, and I’m seriously thinking about cutting all refined sugar out of my diet…can’t just quite commit but they’re more than idle thoughts. But what about the other stuff that I find just as addictive..? Cheese balls being a case in point. It’s the same thing, once I start and I get the taste for them, it’s over.

I’ve been known to sit and eat three family bags of them one after the other when I was gripped by a binge, usually followed by something sweet to finish with. And you know whilst the concept of that feels very alien to me from this perspective of food sobriety, my God there are times where I just want to melt into my big fat recliner and vaporise my own body weight in crap. I won’t…but sometimes I really want to.

Which brings me back to the train and Rip Van sodding Winkle across the way there with his half eaten bar of Galaxy. On a scale of one to ten, exactly how wrong is it of me to hope it bloody chokes him?

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