If music be the food of love.....

then the congregation in chapel today have well and truly starved it to death.  This morning the hymn singing hit an all time low, sounding more like we were  holding a service for the audiologically impaired.  Initially I worried that the organist was infact deceased....his playing being so impossibly slow it seemed his spirit had departed - the remaining movement in his hands being simply some reflex motion.  It got slower and slower and slower until I was sure any second I'd see his head flop forward on to the keys with an almighty Les Dawson clang.  But no such drama (thankfully of course).  I personally nearly died however, of utter embarassment listening to the sorry drone reverberating around the room, and thinking any visitors to our meeting would now have firm confirmation we are all part of a zombified cult.   

Earlier on I had awoken to the sweet aroma of, well nothing actually....Chris had disappeared out of the bed BEFORE the alarm went off and the usual waft of manly morning breath was nowhere to be smelt.  Surely this was another of those strange dreams I've been having lately.  Not once in the last two years have I opened my eyes that early to find his side of the bed empty.....or at least not when he was in the bed the night before.  (In actual fact over the last however many weeks he has spent eight in hospital, seven in Australia, two in the Swiss Alps and several odd days sleeping over at 'friends' or family's homes.  All without me of course.  So finding his side of the bed empty is not that rare).  But this??? THIS was a miracle.  Chris was up and out of bed.  And then I remembered it was Valentines.  I lay there expecting any moment he would come thundering through the door dressed  in dicky bow and thong...after all what else would he get up for?.  I half considered hiding in the bathroom and feigning a dose of the runs but decided instead to grin and bear it.  As it happens what I got surprised me no end.  A bowl of Kelloggs Optima topped with greek yoghurt, accompanied by a glass of ruby red gratefruit and the information that the sausage and trimmings was on it's way. 

And so we had a big family breakfast with all the kids partaking of the full english together with a bag of cherry kisses each that I'd bought to show them how much I care.  Yeah care so much that I'm happy to give them tooth rot and sugar induced diabetes.

And what did I get for him?  Let's just say it was a very little something from a shop which I wouldn't want to be caught dead in.  Although I did get caught coming out unfortunately at which point I wished I'd had a bag to put over my head, though not one of the shop's own of course.  The entire experience both inside and out was quite mortifying, even for a seasoned old crone like me.  Especially when I tried to explain that I was only in there to get something to 'dress up' in, to which the assistant said ""Oh you're dressing up!!... what for?".   What for indeed.  Sadly though it's getting later and later in the night and I am beginning to think that my Gypsy Rose Lee impression may have to wait another day.  I'm knackered!

Only other thing I really wanted to say tonight is that I feel the purpose of this blog is now getting a little lost beneath all the diatribe of wit I attempt to create.  Originally it was my intention to report on exercise and weight loss in my quest to get it down.  Lately I've spent so much time complaining I haven't reported anything.  So as punishment I have decided to confess ALL right now.  Starting with sharing what I weighed when I began the blog (even now as  I type a wave of nausea is passing over me).  I hate the thought that you will all know this dark and deadly secret, but I trust you not to shun me for it.  TWELVE STONES THIRTEEN.  Absolutely disgusting but true.   I'm not quite sure how I let it get sooooo bad but you know how it is, one minute you're opening a tin of Roses the next thing you're looking at a mass of wrappers.    Right now I am still over 12 stone but only just, thankfully.  I keep hoping each morning may bring me below that stone barrier, but as yet I'm just stuck yo-yoing up and down, up and down, which is really rather tedious.

Part of me wants to accept being a chubby ass for the rest of my life and give up on the shrinking cause.   Is it so bad to be a size 16 with love handles and bingo wings that could almost enable me to fly unaided?  No it isn't.  But you know I will NEVER be happy until I master myself, which is why I have to keep at it.  I am going to shake up the exercise a bit however.  My feet, I feel, are trying to send me a message. It started with a few hints and whispers but now they're practically screeching at me to ease up.  So I'm going to increase the low impact activity like walking, swimming, cycling etc and set the jogging at a mimimum.

And I am going to give myself a weight target.  I want to be eleven stone seven by March 31st.  And I want you to hold me to it.  It's the only way I stand a chance of getting to  a weight I'll be happy with before the year is out. 

You need to be my stick and carrot.  Reward me or beat me, I don't mind which just keep motivating me please!!