Fit in 15 Days - Day One

I'm not a fan of exercise classes. I've done aquacise with friends but never found bouncing about in a dance studio much fun. Yet I need some sort of exercise routine.

I've gone and got my fat back. After years of shifting it and being 1 inch from my target, I've thrown it away on pizzas and Granny P pies. I'm not unique in my self loathing but it hurts more this time.

I bought all new thin summer clothes and now not one item fits. My legs look like bloated tree trunks and I'm starting to collect bags of fat on my arse. And let's not mention the double chin.

So I paid £5 for Davina fit in 15. It's been sat looking at me for 2 weeks and today I decided I was going to give it a whirl. Rather than putting off the inevitable and getting even fatter.  I decided I'd give it 15 days to change me.

Here's the thing if all it does it's improve my cardio so I feel better about heading to the gym and using a treadmill for 20 minutes then I'm happy. I'm not about weight loss just the inches and all those lovely clothes I bought sat waiting for me to wear.

I started with the cardio. I'm tierd and hated davina firming face but I did love that she was fucked halfway through too. It's hard & intense but the sweat dripping off me equates to inches so it was worth it. I've done other DVDs and found them lacking. This I was light headed and in need of a hug. I prey it only gets better tomorrow.

I'm a good person. I'm a bad person

Currently I'm sat on the 9:35 to London. En route to collect my aunt from the airport. It's a beautiful and sunny day. I have a coffee, croissant, music recommended by a friend (perfect by the way, thank you) and paper to keep me occupied, but my heads splitting I'm trebling a little and my stomach is in knots.

Because my aunt has been deported from India after having a mental breakdown and I'm terrified of how she will look. I'm expecting her to be thin and malnourished and have a frightened look in her eyes. But I'm also expecting to be pulled aside by security and told she kicked off on the plane. I think it's the fear of unknowing that is getting to me.

I'm alone on this adventure. She's upset so many of my family that only myself and the youngest of her siblings would consider the journey. I'm alone because its all short notice and my aunt was unable to get time off work. But she's sorted hotels and got her flight details and been the one woman show behind the logistics. I will after all this tell her how grateful I was to not be the only one who didn't want to leave a family member alone in London.

See my crazy aunt has pissed off so many people. She came off her medication (rightly so it was far too much and she was more dead than living), but she doesn't think she has a mental health problem. She wrote vile letters and said even more vile things to my mother. I shouldn't even be on this train helping her but I am, because if it was me I would hope that I have one person in my life that would do the same for me.

I have valid reason to want her to rot too. When she had her last break down she became obsessed with my sister. She is the prettier one really and has a much more likeable character. One weekend my little sister was on a shopping trip with a friend. My aunt came round and she told me about Jesus talking to her and how she was going to marry Gaddafi or Sadam or one of those (it was around the first gulf war), she then told me how my sister was going to be saved by her and she was going to heaven. I said I didn't believe in all that and she told me "that's why I won't save you and you'll go to hell".

As a child even when you say you have no faith the idea of hell is still a scary concept. So I too have a reason to for wanting he to freeze to death behind a bin, but when she telling me all this my brother was in his room getting high so I'm more annoyed with him for leaving me alone with a women they all knew was acting a little crazy.

I feel like No one in my family what it means to be a family. You take the good with the shit and make the shit good. She doesn't need buckets of meds and a straight jacket. She needs someone who will listen and not judge her but also tell her she's gone too far. I don't want to be that person, but I think I'm going to have to be.

I'm on this train for selfish reasons too. My mother would die if her sister vanished and she learnt she died (because my aunt would vanish, I think she's close to breaking or broken). My mum would break apart inside because she was an idiot and didn't want to deal with something as hard as getting her sister well. It's for my mum I'm doing this because she doesn't cope well in a crisis.

On discovering I was alone in my quest to return my aunt to the motherland my mum rang me and started to offer to come with me. I was short and blunt and really wanted to tell her to fuck herself in the arse with a whisk, but I just said no. Told her she couldn't cope and I didn't need the stress of getting her across London. She no doubt cried after that call. If my brother had spoken to her after he'd of been on to me then saying I made my mum feel bad when she shouldn't. But she should, because her daughter is alone on a train collecting her crazy sister from London Airport.

There's another reason too. My heart is full of guilt as I was never there for my uncle when he was sick. He died two weeks before my wedding and I never got to say goodbye. It's for him I do this because at the lowest darkest blackest times he helped me. He helped me by just being there. He never judged me or told me off for being a dick. He just listened. Jesus Christ I miss him. I hope he'd be proud of me.

I failed my uncle and it hurts more than words could ever say and it's with him in my heart I made the choice to be at the airport with a train ticket home and a familiar looking face.

I'm also a bad person. She has no where to go. I don't want her in my home. I don't want her to know where I live. Not yet. Not when I'm in work 13 hours a day. Not when I don't know how bad her breakdown is. I can't have the time off work to look after her I also can't trust her to not smash up my house. She's in a hotel tonight and homeless outreach in the morning. That's if she's decides to come back with me.

She might decide she doesn't want to come back and I don't think I'll try very hard to convince her to. But then I think of my gran and how happy it'll make her to see her daughter returned. I will keep that image and find the energy to mean she will be on the train back with me.

Brought up on Transformers & Thundercats

This week I learnt my husband didn't really know the stories of the brothers Grimm. "Snow White has dwarves in it yeah?" I was shocked. He claimed it was because fairy stories are for girls.

"Cinderella?" I asked, "she had big feet and stole a shoe so the prince tried to track her down to give her the other one"
"Elves and the shoemaker?"
"Made the shoes Cinderella nicked."
"Ok. Hansel and Gretel?"
"Ate a house killed a witch."
"Rumplestilzskin?"
"Dunno that one. Stupid name though"
"Jack and the Bean Stalk?!"
"Bought some beans. One grew massive, ruined the garden."

I worry what will happen to our children.

Zathura

When I worked at a cinema Zathura was one of the many films shown. It was billed as a space Jumanji. This film brings back bad memories. I worked a weekend which also happened to be the height of a vomiting bug going round the schools. I had to clean up a lot of sick in the screens showing that film. One child projectile vomited on the escalator it was rancid.

It's also the first movie I saw with Kirsten Stewart in. Reason two for my hate. Now I have the third. The annoying older brother is PEETA MELARK. I hated the boy when he was in the vomit Zathura (I even found him annoying in Bridge to Terabithia) but now he portrays my most hated fictional character.

Zathura I hate you.

Mark Owen would have a way better Garden Party

So M&S, not content with only coating half (HALF) Percy Pigs pants in hundreds and thousands and charging £6 for the pleasure they are now telling us the here comes the sun.

That's right the same week middle earth gets a ban on hose pipes and the rain comes down and the floods rise up in the North Gary Barlows having a garden party at his middle earth mansion. His mates Myeline Class and Dannie Minogue are having a egg and spoon race and grandad got out the old tv to watch the olympics. Shame that it won't work as its analogue but hey we can have a sing song round a campfire but Marks not coming. He's got the chiminea on and him and Kylie are watching the olympics on the out door projector.

You on a really good day

Not one for New Years Resolutions that actually change your life I did on my first day back to work start having a Berocca tablet. Berocca claims to be "you on a really good day". Its basically a crap load of vitamin C and those pesky B vitamins (http://www.berocca.co.uk/ has all the sales gumpf).

Does it work?
After two weeks I'm going to say yes. I feel more alert, the mid day dip in energy has gone. On the days I forget to have one it's not a good day.

Does it taste nice?
Not really. It tastes like cheap orange squash but the fizz makes an improvement to the taste and don't smell it because it's not a good smell.

What happens to the unneeded vitamins?
At some point in the day if you have a good level of the vitamins then you will have a pee that's a really bright yellow. It's as unsettling as when you eat beetroot.

It wasn't a resolution but overdosing on vitamins B and C is currently working for me more than caffine.

Hey fatty bum bum

"OMG!! Dawn French has lost weight!" Well that's what they could of said on Daybreak this morning. It's true the nations loveable "self proclaimed" fatty has shed some pounds. Not out of vanity, but for her health.

This annoyed me. Why is Dawn not allowed to say, "well I looked in the mirror and thought, man I've got too fat". Because, as a fatty I can say it's ok to think that. To think I don't mind being fat but this is too fat for me, is not letting the awful media win. Why is Dawn not allowed to be like the rest of us and long for the younger, thinner days? I'll tell you why. Because she's a "self proclaimed" fatty.

Then I read this http://t.co/y2gw8jLz Not that it's a terrible article in Mail terms, the comments are however vile and some should be ashamed.

Comments fall into three groups, "she's still too fat", "She'd still be married if she lost the weight sooner" and my favourite "she's a bad role model for women being that fat." Even the positive ones are bordering on the abusive.

She'd still be married if she lost the weight sooner

Bloody hell! Lets clear this up from the start. If your husband/girlfriend/partner/family/friend will only love you if you're ten pounds lighter you need to tell them to fuck off. That negativity is what is ruining you and making you miserable, not the fat. Your weight does not make you the awesome person you are, you do. If Lenny Henry and Dawn French did split because she got too fat, he needs to look in the mirror at his middle aged spread.

She's a bad role model for women being that fat

Dawns fat. She always has been (and to her credit never denied it), but I don't think that's a bad thing. I grew up with French and Saunders, and the Vicar of Dibley, you know what? It was good to see a fatty doing well on TV and not be cast as a perpetual dieter or the fat friend. In Dibley she had men falling from the Heavens and they were what my scouse friend would term hotties. It's one of the reasons I love her she made sure that her weight was never used as a negative point, if it was ever used it was for comedy and even then it had a sense of irony. Because of this, in my eyes she's an amazing role model for women.

She's still too fat

Let's talk fatties. Most talked about at the moment is Claire from Steps. She made her come back as the thinny turned fatty turned thinny and bounced about this way on any TV camera and magazine interview that cared to mention her. Are we shocked and saddened by this public display of yo-yo diets? No.

I gasped when I saw her DVD "Fat Attack" photos and was saddened to see on BBCTHREE a woman so miserable that shes decided her misery is because she's fat and not because of something deeper. She glazed over her struggles with eating disorders in STEPS in such a way it's obvious she has never killed those daemons. We probably all watched the STEPS documentary for the same reason. To see her expand and contract like a balloon. This isn't a positive role model for women. She claims to be with her "weight struggle" but isn't she just another advert that fatties don't succeed and happiness is a size 12?

Jessica Simpson has also bounced around but she's never made an issue of it. The press however has made out that she shockingly ballooned and her weight was spiralling. I don't think Jessica ever got fat, just stopped being stick thin.

Yes, fat can be unhealthy and make you sweat more and cause you to have loads of health problems, but so can being too slim and not eating the right foods. You can be fat and eat the right foods. You just eat too much of them and sit around on your arse.

Dawn FRench never made an issue of her size she used it for comedy but I never thought of her as fat. She was large. Large in size, in personality, love and presence. That's why I can say I am a fatty bum bum that wants to shed a few pounds. Not to be thin but more firmer with a layer of fat to keep me and the hubby warm in through the cold winter nights.

Thanks Dawn for being a perfect role model.

My third nipple

Today I had a trip to the Victoria Unit at Oldham Royal. Not visiting a patient but getting my third nipple check.

You see it had grown itself a buddy and it was going to get checked out. The Victoria Unit is what I shall refer to as a one stop cancer shop. You find out same day no messing around and they like pink.

The husband joined me for this trip. He had to. He owned the third nipple in question.

At the ripe age of 28 and 31(& 3/4) we were among the youngest there and also most chirpy. The patients (all women) did that look of "aw. So young", it changed to "what the heck!" when hubby got called in. We felt a bit silly and where quickly ushered into a clinic room. Whilst there he found be boobs to look at and we admired the pink gowns on offer.

The consultation was quick. Chirpy consultant asked all the questions expected (drink/smoke/family history) some we didn't (does it ooze/you taken steroids/smoked pot). It was after this she took a look at my third nipple and said, "that's different" had a feel at my moobs and then told hubby to put his top on.

"well it doesn't look like cancer but let scan it to make sure." she was rather chirpy about all this and showed us to the waiting room.

It was ten minutes till we ended up in the ultra sound room. It was cold and they asked hubby to take his top off and provided him some dignity with a price of blue roll. The nurse was fun as we started laughing as she did it. But she explained it was auto pilot and complimented him on the moobs.

The radiographer was less smiley but very thorough. The nipple looked all cells and different to the other but no evil White. I was happy. After a good rub of the nipple she stopped said, "I'll write the report now. You have no cancer."

Happy Days!

All chirpy we went back to see the consultant. She said she want to take pictures of my third nipple to assist others and would like a biopsy to see why it had grown we said sure.

As we walked to the medical illustration unit the hubby asked what a local aesthetic was and what was meant by biopsy. I was going to enjoy this.

The hubby was two minute having my nipple photographed. He asked if it was normal to have to take your pants off for a photo of your chest. I laughed he laughed a little too.

On our return to the booby shop we had a bit of a longer wait. We got to listen to patients moan about waiting 30minutes and how you shouldn't be told an appointment time if you would have to wait so long. Then I was asked how long I had been waiting. I said "about twenty minutes now, he just needs a biopsy". After five minutes hubby was called and I got to do a snug smile of "yeah men can get this cancer too."

In the room Mrs Chirpy and bubbly nurse said they would be using a tiny tiny needle and a tiny tine scalpel to take a small sample. I nodded and hubby went White. They started looking through the cart for slightly bigger tools and needles. Hubby chipped in with, "don't you think a smaller one would be better?" he was still White.

Chirpy started to inject the nipple and the hid the slicing from me. I was a little sad as it was my nipple she was hacking at. I tried not to look concerned as she dug in a granny tool and sliced off the lump. It looked different. My third nipple had lost it's friend and I was sad. Chirpy did some amazing needle point and mad it look all tidy. Hubby and I chatted about the time they toon out the pin and agree she was a much better doctor. Chipry liked this and said she was looking forward to seeing us in two weeks with good news.

I'm glad my third nipples not got cancer. I'm sorry it's lost it's friend, but I'm also glad my hubby was brave and asked his doctor if it was normal. I'm also glad that the NHS has the one stop booby shops and really didn't mind the waiting around as we knew in a day, that it's not cancer.

I also got to spend the afternoon int the sunshine as hubby was all sore from the biopsy.

TOTAL WIN!

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Results Day

I am the guinea pig generation when it comes to the English National Curriculum. My year was the first with SATs throughout. I was the first year for curriculum 2000 (now known as a/s a-levels). I was also the first year to have the UCAS scoring system change because of the half a-levels.

I was also under a shit load of pressure to succeed. Not from my parents, but my brothers.

My parents I know love me unconditionally because I tested that love once. They have never told me off for not getting amazing grades, but the brothers have.

With an age gap of 13 years we'd had very different opportunities. I'd been told that what I would be doing was college and university as that would open so many doors for me. I should work hard and get into uni, because they hadn't had the opportunity. The starting salary for those extra years study would be higher than those the same age as me already in the job. So I studied.

Of everyone I fear the judgement of my brothers over my parents. Lesser of brother B but holy shit did we fear the wrath of brother A.

Brother B was and still is a lazy git. It's always someone else's fault he didn't do as well as he could. Or it's his health that let him down, (he has asthma and nice said he would and could use this to ensure he always got an interview. He's a dick).

When brother B had a go at me for getting a D in my A level general studies (an exam you just did at my college), I told him to fuck off.

When I got a third (2 marks from a 2:2) and had rung my mum distraught, she came round with my dad and Brother B in tow, I knew he'd have a pop at me. We went to the pub to drown my sorrows. Mum and dad had told me it wasn't the end of the world and they were still proud to have seen me make it to uni and hey you have a degree!

When brother B came to the bar to help me with the drinks, he told me I clearly hadn't applied myself enough. I could of punched him in the balls.

On the other hand brother A worked and had shown us the value of working. His sermons although preachy and really annoying are, on occasion justified. He'd made a similar sacrifice as our mother had for her siblings and unlike his little brother been a grown up and helped the family out.

If it wasn't for him telling me to do better and to get the uni, I'd not gone and have a massive debt looming in the background. But I also wouldn't have my GCSE's after he helped me so much with my course work and revision and ended up at college.

Although I'll never again tell brother B about anything, I will brother A. Even if it means he'll get on his soap box and tell me I'm not doing it right or I should stop upsetting mum. He still helped me out more than he knows, so he stills gets away with it even now I'm a married woman.

So when I make a joke about him being jealous of those happy fresh faced teens in the paper and how he could only get a fake degree. Half my success is his.

If only I could get him to halve my student debt.


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Making the most of your assets

Last night I got very annoyed. The Apprentice was on and it was for once this season an original idea. One to prove that these freaks are made to run their own business.

Lord of the Trolls, Alan Sugar provided his chimps a pallet of tat bought for £250 and wanted them to make a shit load of cash by reinvesting in the items that sell well. All assets would be tallied and the group with the most assets won.

It became very clear that 50% of those remaining did not know what an asset was. Unfortunately the team leaders were part of the group with no clue.

If you also have no clue an asset is something you place a value on. The more cash like the more fluid. So your computer is an asset as you have a price you told the insurance company it's worth. Simple.

Team "don't like it" Helen, Melody & Tom tried selling to shops. The highlight being Melody trying to flog watches to a pound shop for £25 each. Clue in the name Melody & Helen. Tom played a blinder on his solo stand but I felt telling Melody 3 nodding dogs sold quickly at the end of the day was a missed opportunity. He should of been on that phone after an hour telling her what he was shifting and how much cash he had.

Melody played by her own tune deciding to invest in new electrical products. In fact most the tat she bought would of looked good in the pound shop. No surprise that Helen attempt a cu in the morning. Her tactful "I'd like to take over as I could sleep last night", was visualised by Toms "fucking hell" eyes.

Helen went off on a tangent for 90p margin. Clearly sticking by her sleepless night of potential failure she made sure she hung Melody by uttering the words "your project manager. Do you want me to buy duvet covers?"

Team "I ain't git a fucking clue" was saved by Jim and Suzi. Natasha showed the reason I hate recruitment agents. They only think in terms of how much can I sell this for?

Jim tried his damned hardest to explain the basics of the task & given a chance to head to wholesaler for more brollys and nodding dogs would of been on that helicopter.

Suzi's punt on the £1 pearl braclets won the day. She knew it would sell and she worked her arse off. Making up for the "Suzi snooze" the day before. She had done the "I know these will sell" before but this time she had location & product on her side.

Natasha clearly no clue, seemed to be out to piss off her team and not admit she had no idea what she was doing (something I've known since week two). She had the strongest sellers and I think depended heavily on that.

They didn't make much at all. Couple hundred quid each. I congratulate Lord Trolls decision to fine Natasha for only investing £20.94 in umbrellas that Jim did on his own back. I'm also glad he didn't let them have the prize. More because I could see Jim and Suzi throwing Natasha out the helicopter mid flight.

Tom was safe as he'd been less nodding dog and more eye expressive. He has quote of the show, "Melodys business is what Melody does best. Talking." how do you come back from that without talking?

Tom and Jim also played the gender card. They sat back & let the women bicker and strop. This annoyed me as a woman. You can never look professional after a bitch fight. Also Suzi is too soft she knew what needed to be done and they'd be on the helicopter ride or at least rid of the dead weight Natasha.

If I had my way only Tom, Jim & Suzi would remain on the basis the other three did not know the basics concept of an asset within business.

I can also never drink Horlicks thanks to Nick.

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The Perfect Lawn

I recently moved into a house with a front and back lawn. Now when I say lawn I mean a patch of green that should be covered in grass in the Step-ford area I have come to live in but is actually 80% moss. 25% weeds and 5% grasses.

Not wanting to damage the local wildlife by pouring weed and feed on the ground (also it would just be cheaper to return as the ground would just go to mud) we have used the purist method of scarification and grass seed. Basically you rake the moss as much as your back can bare, then you scatter the grass seed. Frequently repeating this will mean you end up with less moss and more lawn.

Its a ball ache and got me to thinking. If you gave prisoners a 5 meter square patch of ground and told them to make it 100% croquet perfect lawn, they would never offend again. Because that grass is giving me nightmares. If they had only a rake and clippers and some soil and a trowel and seed to fix the holes made from digging up dandelions they would never offend again.

They would learn to reap rewards from the hard work they put in and could get jobs as ground keepers in parks and we could all play croquet again.

I don't want one of those nothing but lawn patches of green but I do not want pure moss. Moss sticks to your bum and is very boggy to sit on. But it is softer than grass. It also goes a golden brown in the hot weather and that how I know we are winning the war. The gold blots on the ground are smaller. But the amount of clover and buttercups increases! Soon I fear I will find my husband making daisy chains on the grass. What will the neighbors think?

On the up side to the demonic moss lawn the local songbird have pulled a fair bit of moss up for nests. The raking made it easier for them to gather and so lots of songbirds nests are filled with our moss.

A womans guide to office wear.

"women can head to work and wear a bloody sarong and flip flops without any flack. A man has the option of a short sleeved short with his suit."

This was a discussion with a friend moaning about office wear in summer and how women get away with wearing anything.

I disagree. Women have to work more at there office image.

We are expected to wear make up, look flawless, have our hair dyed and in a fashionable style, Fake tan and Sun bed. Paint our nails to match our outfit. Be thin. Have bigger breast. Have smaller breast. Shave, wax and pluck unsightly hairs. Smile. Smell good. Have smooth skin.

Men can look worse for wear from a night of drinking, take ten minutes getting there hair cut for under a tenner, spend 1 minute styling hair with gel. Not got any razor blades? A man decides he's growing a beard until he bothers to buy blades or it gets itchy. They can get T-shirt sun tans and hide the unevenness without mockery for the bizarre tan lines womens clothes throw out.

And let's not get started on underwear.

So men we might be floating around the office in strappy maxi dresses and flip flops but we took hours prepping to wear that dress. We earn the right not to sweat in the summer months.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone on my train

Tales from Arling

"Did I ever tell you about the second time I wrote of my dads car?

It was 6 weeks after I got out of my cast from the first crash and he'd got an Alfa Romeo with the insurance money. I know it was 6 weeks because he would let me near it till then.

Me and three mates drove it to the corner I trashed the last one on.

They didn't believe that you could flip a car on that corner doing 40mph so I went round and I'm thinking I was doing 30-35mph, if I'm being honest. It didn't flip. But we did hit a lamp post and parked two cars.

Insurance wouldn't pay out the second time and dad never got his 10 years no claims bonus back."

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To My Dad

So we are done with the Chemotherapy and the combination of Radio and Chemo. All the cool cats at the cancer hospital have positive things to say about your treatment. All we have to do now is wait and see.

Now is the worst bit. Putting all our trust in science that the treatments worked. You have the worst of the side effects still to come but it's going to be OK. Faith has never been a strong thing in our family, but I really do believe in science. I hope all those early morning pick ups and late night collections have been worth it. That's wrong. I don't hope, I know. Because we wouldn't of done it otherwise. Not that I would not have done it if they said it was hopeless and would probably only give you weeks I'd even have done it if they said it would give us hours and minutes.

Because I can't imagine not having you around.

I have stopped myself from thinking about that because I know that together, as a family we can beat your cancer. That we will have you around for another ten, twenty or even thirty years. But not if you carry on smoking.

Dad, I know quitting is hard and that you have been smoking since you were 16. I know that some part of you even convinced yourself that you wouldn't need to stop because the cancer would go away with the treatment. I even know you don't think that smoking is what really gives people cancer. But you are bloody lucky. It could of been an awful cancer that hid from us festering for years until it decided to go BOOM into your thyroid. For once dad, you got lucky.

All I ask is that you quit smoking.

Firstly, Look at mum and how it has effected her health. She hasn't got COPD purely from her asthma, your smoking hasn't helped. If you stop you will make the air she breaths cleaner and slow down the deterioration of her lungs. You even have early signs of COPD. They told us when we got the amazing news that your cancer hadn't spread. Again, you've been really rather lucky.

Think of your grandchildren and the grandchildren that you might miss if you don't quit, (I'm not promising anything but it'd be nice to think that if and when I have them you'll still be around). Look at your eldest grandson, don't make him watch you fade like he has already with his Nanna. Look at your youngest who has fought with you and been angry with you. He's only five and he's had to make sense of why we are all so worried about the bad seed growing in your tummy. Think of your eldest son and his wife. She lost her mother to smoking related cancers. Do you not think she wishes her mum had been so lucky? Do you not think it breaks both there hearts to hear you are still smoking, that they get angry? Do you not think I feel guilty that we have been lucky that your cancer was treatable?

Finally, think of the example you are setting. I'm the only one of your four children who doesn't smoke. Not because I'm smarter than my siblings or because they fell to peer pressure. Because I had the room across from the bathroom and every morning I listened to you coughing for and spluttering before you had your first cigarette. I would lie there and force myself to believe you would not see blood and you would not die from smoking. I would run through the different scenarios in my head of what would happen and what I would do. I was fourteen dad when I promised myself I wouldn't do that to my loved ones.

I know its hard dad. I know that you have too many demons to face right now to think of quitting. That it's the easy option to keep smoking. Its easy for me to preach to you. But You asked me to not die my hair because bladder cancer has been linked to commercial hair dyes and I did.

However that was easy. So I'm walking 26 miles on the 1st May 2011. I'm doing it for Cancer Research, because without them you wouldn't have this second chance. It won't be easy and the training up to the walk will be tough. Raising a lot of money for it will be even harder. But I shouldn't ask you to do something hard if I will not do something hard for you.

Because living without you dad will be really hard and I just can not think about it.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

On Sunday the hubby and I saw 127 hours. It's a true story and I really recommend that people go see it. But it raised the question for us both. If it really came down to it, if you got your arm trapped by a boulder against a wall, could you cut it off?

You are probably think, yes. The hubby thinks so, since trapping his finger at work (http://j.mp/edp1kz). But, it got me thinking tonight. What is my biggest fear? If, I feel so confident that I could chop off my own arm to live. Surely I can concur my biggest fears?

My first fear is the front drop. It's basically a graceful fall onto your belly on a trampoline up to your feet. I've hurt my back twice doing it. I do not joke, do it wrong and it really fucking kills. You hear the bones cracking as your legs flick over your head. The back muscles go hot and then it feels like they are on fire. You cannot breath as each breath burns. But you have to breath to ease the pain. Whilst someone arrives with ice packs it can feel like hours are passing. It's about a six week recovery.

I fear that pain. But chopping off your arm would hurt even more. So last night I began to take back my front drop.

To do this you have to start on your hands and knees, then to mat and finally to bed. I got to mat about a dozen times before I wanted to puke. Today I feel good. I took back a move. I took it back and owned it. This week I'm going to work my core muscles to strength my back to prevent that injury.

So mentally I'm that little bit closer to becoming free from between that rock and a hard place.

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He's so proud!

Today, whilst at ultimate TESCO buying soap powder my husband saw a baby George Forman grill. He loves how they cook bacon and sausages so he decided to buy it.

He's so proud of it, he put his face next to it.



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Having a baby

My husband for many years has been trying to convince me to name our first born Sebastian Shweinsteiger Herber Gerber Flapjack Yuskinson. What if it's a girl you ask? Sebastian Shweinsteiger Herber Gerber Flapjack Yuskinson.

I have gone along with this for years smirking and patting him on the head nodding with the same smile you give to the guy trying to tell you the world will end May 20th 2010.

But recently the pope said that Christian Children should be given names from the Bible as "an unmistakable sign that the Holy Spirit will allow the person to blossom in the bosom of the Church". Have you seen some of the names in the Bible? Numbers in Kings James lists loads of boys names. You could just pick numbers out of a hat and your child's name would be Zurishaddai.

But what about your little girl?

Women don't feature too heavily in the Bible if I am remembering correctly. It's mainly Sarah's and Mary's. We are wives and whores. So I had a little read in my wifey Bible (wedding gift of the mother in law), I'm going with Efrata for a girl. Or I might pick Saint Wilgefortis. She didn't want to get married to the guy her dad picked so took a vow to remain a virgin and grew a beard and mustache. Man, I do love a good beard.

So next time you se that someone on Facebook (that you once went to school with, worked with one summer) has named their eighth child "Plum Peugeot". Spare a thought for the devout Catholic who called their son Nebuchadnezzar.

And just to be clear our first born will never be called Sebastian Shweinsteiger Herber Gerber Flapjack Yuskinson.