The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Radio sucks without Jillian Michaels

To quote the great Hall and Oates, baby come back!

Jillian Michaels has abruptly disappeared from the radio waves and I'm bereft. On Sunday 21th July she gave no indication that the show was to be her last. If I'd known I'd have listened solemnly by candlelight while doing crunches and/or eating her favourite organic peanut butter cups... but nothing! She didn't even say goodbye!

Her final message on the KFI AM 640 website says, "I'm going to be taking a break from radio" which I naively thought meant a summer break. But Jen reports that the guy taking over her time slot said she was too busy to do the show. According to her official website the radio show is "on hiatus". Wah!

I always found it was amazing that Jillian found time for a radio show amidst all her filming and books and DVDs and Wii Fit thingies. It must take a lot of work to prepare for two hours of radio every week. Maybe she finally got in trouble for slagging off The Biggest Loser? Or maybe she got tired of answering the same questions every bloody week... how many times did she have to tell people how to lose the vanity pounds?

But I miss her. Jillian seems to be a love/hate figure but as I've not really seen her in action on The Biggest Loser I only know her through the radio show and one brief magical meeting at BlogHer 2007. She was funny, compassionate, honest, imperfect and completely lacking in bullshit. That's the charm of radio - you can show more dimensions to your character that a heavily edited and scripted television show would never allow.

And what of the lovely Janice, the show's producer? Does she still have a job or did she get sent back to Canada?

It's a sad day. Jillian will still be on the telly for you Americans but I know of fans in Britain, Australia, Finland and beyond who rely on the radio for their fix. I should start a petition. I haven't been compelled to protest since 2002 when I campaigned to get Everybody Loves Raymond taken off the air (91 signatures thank you very much) but this seems like an equally serious political cause to get behind!

We the undersigned hereby kindly request that Ms Jillian Michaels please get thee back on the radio...

The Awful Tooth

While going through the Boxes of Stuff at Chez Mothership earlier this year I found my old Weight Watchers weigh-in cards (click pic to zoom). Specifically the cards from 2001, as opposed to the cards from the seventy previous attempts. The 2001 cards were sprinkled with gold stars and hope and toil, as opposed to despair and chocolate.

Just one look at those stars and I'm back there in my brown size 26 trousers with the dissolving thighs, about to nick off for one last pee before facing the machine. Looking at the handwriting I see how the ladies didn't write my weight down until Week 6, only the result, so I wouldn't freak out. I knew the actual number - I saw it on that other card, you know the one they store inside the WW high-tech filing system of Rusty Metal Box With Dividers In It? But it was cool that they tried to conceal it, lest I wail over their scale again. I know I've said this many times but they were the kindest women I ever met.

Looks like after Week 6 it was deemed safe to write it down, and I went back and filled in the gaps. I must've been getting cocky. So sure of success after six weeks! Hold your horses sucka, it's going to be six more years!

It's kind of sad that I can look at a piece of cardboard from eight years ago and know exactly what happened when, each pink sticker like a family photograph. Oh bless, that's that 0.4 gain when McDonalds introduced the Crunchie McFlurry. And that kilo came off the week I started Body Combat! And look, now its back again, after a family feud and two Chinese takeaways.

Another treasure I found was my weirdo tooth x-ray from 2003. There's a bit in the DG book where I had to get all four of my wisdom teeth surgically removed and I had a Fat Girl Freak Out that there won't be enough anesthetic in the land to knock me out. If only I'd found this earlier so we could have illustrated the chapter! Disappointing. I'll post the x-ray after the cut, so any gentle-natured souls won't have to see my freaky fangs, but if you have the book you could print it out then glue it onto the relevant page. Interactive or what!?

Recipe Corner: Instant Frozen Yogurt!

I was briefly trapped in the greenhouse on Saturday. I always forget that the sliding door has no handle on the inside, so if you close it all the way it's a real bitch to open again. I fruitlessly tried to drag it with my fingers, then with the spout of the watering can.

The greenhouse thermometer read 39°C. How did I last 25 Australian summers? I'm totally wilting, man. And home alone too, so there's no point yelling for help. What a stupid place to die! Surrounded by ants and weeds and tiny green tomatoes!

Finally I found freedom by using a tomato stake for leverage.

After all that heat and minor panic I thought, I could totally go an ice cream. We'd flop on the grass together and enjoy the fact that it was 20 degrees cooler than inside that glass box! But alas, there was no ice cream. There's never bloody ice cream. So I watched the Tour de France instead.

That evening I was still thinking about ice cream... when suddenly! I remembered we had ye olde frozen raspberries. This in turn reminded me of a recipe chopped out of delicious. magazine a few months ago for... Instant Frozen Yogurt.

There's three ingredients:

1. Greek yogurt (see note below)

2. Frozen berries

3. Icing sugar (USA = powdered sugar)

Method: Just zap and eat!

It was easy and delicious - all the goodness of ice cream without churning or custards or ice cream machines. And dead healthy, because you only need a slight dod of sugar. One spoonful of frozen yogurt and you'll be thinking of how you'll do it next time. With honey or agave nectar instead of sugar. With alternative frozen goods... blackberries or strawberries or banana or mango or pineapple or peas or fish fingers?

Note: If you can't find greek yogurt or if it's expensive in your area, here's how to make your own thick, greek-style yogurt from normal plain yogurt! It works a treat.

Here it is broken down microscopically with photos, Pioneer Woman stylee.

First, the ingredients lounging the back yard. The light was shoddy inside. This doubles as a personal reminder: MOW THE GRASS.

Raspberries, icing sugar and Greek yogurt. Yes that's full fat yogurt. Everybody stay calm! Normally I use 2% but the local supermarket has not stocked it lately. I can't find a single source of 2% in the West Fife area. But if YOU have spotted it... please dial 999 immediately!

Or alternatively post a comment. In the meantime I'll keep carting tubs of 2% back over the bridge whenever I go to Edinburgh.

Now here's the goodies in the food processor. It's 1:1 ratio of fruit and yogurt. The original recipe used 500g of each to serve 6. For two generous serves, I used 150g yogurt, 150g raspberries and a tablespoon of icing sugar.

Zap zap. It did not look promising at first. The yogurt would not move and the raspberries looked like the gravelly bits at the bottom of a bag of dog food.

Zap zap again. The machine grunted in protest. It's never been the same since the DIY almond butter. I dumped out half so it had more room to move. You can see it starting to blend.

Zap zap. Just like the almond butter there's a lovely moment when it suddenly pulls together and you're done. Party party!

It was whipped and glossy, like soft gelato. You'll like the texture if you're one of those kids who used to churn your vanilla ice cream in the bowl to a soft-serve consistency.

The original recipe suggests you serve it with almond biscotti but I just I chucked on some fresh raspberries. It was a little tart but in a good way - it tasted of proper fruit. It was deliciously creamy too but would be just as good with the 2% yogurt - and easier to blend since it's less thick. It would probably be fine with 0% if you want to be saintly.

If you like a firmer texture, I found a similar raspberry gelato recipe from Jules of Stonesoup where she freezes the mixture for a few hours. She used cream but reckoned yogurt would be fine too.

This recipe was a revelation for this reformed ice cream addict. Healthy, easy and minimal sugar. A definite keeper.

Summer Facelift

I've slightly jazzed up the blog templates so if things are looking weird, just hit Refresh a few times so the stylesheet can reload. I've been gawking at the same colour scheme for 8.5 years now so I wanted to give it some more oomph and zing. Dudes... I feel reborn. Carry on!

Get Out Of Your Own Way

Recently our kickboxing coach went crazy with Microsoft Word and a laminator and made some Motivational Posters. I used to see bare studio walls as I huffed through the jack jumps and high knee jogging, but now there's a bounty of cheesy inspiration:

• Pain Is Just Failure Leaving The Body
• Over Prepare So You Don't Under Perform
• It's Always Too Soon To Quit
• Pressure Is A Challenge To Meet Rather Than A Threat of Defeat
• In Case Of Fire Our Evacuation Meeting Point Is Adjacent To The Bus Station.

This is the one that's plonked in my direct line of vision:

I get in my own way all the bloody time. I should have feet full of holes from all the times I've shot myself there. Some days it doesn't matter how much confidence someone has in my abilities, it's nigh impossible to believe it for myself. If you gave me one reason why I could do something I'd give you nine why I'd be rubbish.

Our coach deserves a knighthood for services to self esteem. The lassies on our team are a rich variety of ages, shapes, abilities and backgrounds. Whether you're a prize fighter or a galumphing amateur, he has utter faith in our ability to achieve. He quietly pushes us out of our comfort zones and sees no reason why we can't kick arse, literally and figuratively. I love observing the determined flush a well-time compliment can bring. You can see the posture straighten and the punches sharpen.

Personally there's been occasions when I've said "I can't do that move" and Mr Coach will say "Yeah you can!" so I do it, albeit clumsily. Then I see that the only real obstacle is my own mind - the insecurities and doubts and self-imposed limitations.

I talked about this stuff with a fellow foot-shooter and we reckoned that an important step towards getting out of your own way is to figure out why the hell you keep doing it in the first place. But it's still exhilarating to recognise when it happens, push the fears aside and go forth regardless. Even if it results in getting punched in the nose!

Teach Yer Children Well

The Annual BlogHer Conference kicks off in Chicago this weekend and I'm spewingly jealous that I won't get to see some truly brilliant bloggers host a panel called Blogs & Body Image: What are we teaching our kids?

In a society where more young girls fear becoming fat than they fear cancer, nuclear war, or losing their parents, some bloggers are taking a stand against teaching their children learned behaviors that affect their body image.

The panel stars MizFit, Roni, Kate Harding, Claire Mysko and Heather from MAMAvision and takes place during the Friday afternoon session. They are asking the question: How can your blogs be a conduit to transformation?

Join this session to discuss how your writing can impact kids, whether you should think twice before publishing that self-deprecating post, and how you have the power to influence positive change.

I love the sound of this and I love that the panelists represent a variety of backgrounds and viewpoints but have banded together for the positve body image/self esteem cause. If you're going along to BlogHer why not check it out? And get all their autographs for me?

Update: The ladies are just about to launch their new blog We are the REAL deal and already there's some fantastic posts up. They are also have a Pledge that you can sign:

"... Committing to an actual pledge, posted online for all to see, is meant to provoke an immediate change in thinking and a keen awareness of how often thoughts of negative body image thoughts impact your life.

We hope this will serve as a reminder to stay with the life changing principles described, and it will work as a motivational tool to help you you stick with us on this journey."

Pop along to find out more!

Why gardening is like weight loss

While shoving a few seeds in pots and washing bugs from the crevice of lettuce leaves hardly qualifies me as a gardener, I'm finding this growing malarkey so addictive and relaxing. With all that learning and bumbling error, gardening is a great metaphor for life. But I know most people come here for the lard busting chat, so it's time for another episode of... Dodgy Weight Loss Analogies!

It's best to start small
I nearly went beserk on my first visit to the garden shoppe - OMG obscure berries and fancy tomatoes and potatoes with girly names! We should get chickens too! And keep a goat in the bathroom!

It was just like the old dieter's mindset: Must lose 2 kilos, revolutionise lifetime of crappy eating habits and do 5 gym visits by Sunday!

So I slowed down - starting out small meant less chance of falling into a defeated heap two weeks later. I internetted "easy plants for absolute beginners" and settled on salad leaves and herbs for my debut.

Knowledge is power
If you're out of your depth you can't be afraid to ask for help. In this case it's been my father-in-law, gardening blogs and "The Kitchen Gardener" by Alan Titchmarsh - a very straightforward book that explains the basics in gentle, encouraging tones. Whenever a plant does something weird or looks close to death our mantra is, "Ask Titchy!" The good thing is, the more you learn the more confident you become and eventually/hopefully you'll get bold enough to test your own thoughts and ideas.

You gotta get dirrrrty
You could shove seeds in the ground then admire a la distance while hoping for the best. But if you want sexy results you have to get mucky. You have to nuture your babies, water them regularly and patrol for snails. As with lard-busting, it all boils down to time, sweat and toil.

From little things big things grow
At first it looks so pointless and insignificant - a broken pot, some dirt and £1 packet of seeds. Then you spy a tiny hopeful shoot pushing through. Then suddenly a few weeks later you're greeted with a lush spray of poncy salad leaves. Just like when you start your healthy quest, a brisk walk and forsaking Pop Tarts for porridge can feel like it will never amount to anything. But give it time and patience and those small efforts sprout into bigger rewards.

Mind your own business
It's easy to get Garden Envy when the neighbours are retired and have more time and fancy equipment and fancy flowers and whatnot and all you have is a rusty spade and a half-dead strawberry cutting. I was no stranger to lard-busting jealousy either - She's losing weight faster than me! She's got a personal trainer! She doesn't have to work! Rah rah rah!

But you have to focus on your own situation and budget and channel that energy into making the most of the tools you have to hand. You might have a second-hand DVD instead of a personal trainer... but you still have YOU and your own imagination.

PERFECTIONISM IS FUTILE
Holy moly this is a lesson I need to learn. So often I'm frozen into inaction for fear being undeserving or doing something wrong or rubbishly. But the gardening is showing me that it doesn't bloody matter if you cock up. It's more fun to let go of the outcome and plunge your hands into the soil. What's the worst that could happen? The plant might cark it but you only lose a few hours of your time or a few pennies for the seedling. Failure is your friend. Embrace ineptitude!

Some things are beyond your control
You can be diligent with your diet or pamper the hell out of your plants, but sometimes the weather turns nasty or a pheasant craps on your head or a snail gnaws away at your resolve. But at least you're DOIN' IT, baby.

No Year's Resolutions Update #2

I was meant to report back on my No Year's Resolutions at the end of April but now it's the middle of July and the year is more than half done! HALF DONE?

It is 10.33 PM so to continue this entry would be to break the Internet Curfew but I've not posted blogged for two weeks (attack of self-consciousness following series of unsavoury comments and emails) so I'm keen to break to seal, as it were. So will attempt to bash out an update by 10.45, when the computer is timed to explode if you're not off it.

The Minimum Standards Agreement Update

1. Writing Down My Food - did not happen in March as was eating my way around Australia. Did not happen in April and May due to unseasonal gloom. But by June I was back in business and remembering what a useful, calming exercise it is. I tend to do well Monday to Friday but slacken off on the weekend.
2. Exercise for a minimum of 20 minutes - Nae bad. I've even been doing yoga or pilates before work sometimes, as part of a campaign to get more bendy for kickboxing. But again, slackness on Sundays! Does weeding the garden count? How about watching Wimbledon or the MotoGP? I do a lot of blinking. That must burn 0.00056 calories per hour.
3. 10.30PM Internet Curfew - not good. Only obeying about 50% of the time, which leads to restless slumber then next-day crabbitness. Why don't I learn!?

On the non-fat goals front I'm chuffed with all the tiny "live in the moment, man!" things happening:

• On schedule to read 52 books in 52 weeks this year!
• Halfway through the process to getting my UK citizenship
• Started a herb garden
• Finally made a pizza from scratch! YEAST YOU DON'T SCARE ME NO MORE! (photo is of pizza #1; pizza #2 was round and pretty!)

They're also starting salsacise classes at my gym, which is the closest I'll get to my "take salsa classes" goal for a wee while since Dr G believes salsa classes are what desperate couples do to find the flame again when they're on the brink of divorce. Salsacise will do for now as I'm bored to death with my usual cardio. Cannae wait to get those hips moving.

Poor excuse for an entry I know, but it's 10.54PM. Did you make any resolutions in January? How're they coming along?

Sloth and Superfood Salad

I'm home alone this week so I'm relishing the chance to be slovenly. My friends bitch about sloppy man companions but I have the opposite scenario. Dr G, typical engineer, thrives on order and tidiness. Like on Sunday when I sloshed my cup of tea and a tiny wee splash landed on the coaster, the poor fella tsk-tsked and dashed off to the kitchen to fetch a cloth, despite my howl of protest, It's a COASTER! Let it do its JOB! Because there is no way he could sit down and enjoy his cuppa with that disorderly droplet taunting him.

Usually when Dr G goes away I plonk my bag in the hallway when I walk in the door, shed clothes all over the house and take a casual approach to dishwashing and bedmaking then clean up in a frenzy an hour before he returns. I am trying to overcome a long history of sloth which I've written about before but can't find the link... during winter I'd iron just the collar and one sleeve of my school shirts then carefully hang them in the wardrobe, so when The Mothership opened the door for a spot check it'd look like I'd done my chores. You can imagine the pitch and boom of the famous schoolteacher voice when she finally rumbled that one!

Another thing I do when Dr G is away is eat lots of lazy salads. He likes healthy food but kind of gets a haunted Is This It look when it's only green things. Hehe. Last night included green lentils, feta and cherry tomatoes but I totally overdid the dijon mustard in the dressing. I couldn't stop snorting as I watched Scotland's Andy Murray go to five sets Wimbledon.

Tonight I made Leon's Superfood Salad which I'd had on my To Cook list for two years. The main ingredients: quinoa, broccoli, cucumber, alfalfa sprouts, mint, parsley, peas, sunflower seeds and avocado that I neglected to buy so substituted chives which is no substitute really but it was the right colour. Oh and our old friend feta. Then lemon and olive oil dressing to tie the room together. So bloody tasty! Even better than the one I ate at the Leon in Carnaby Street years ago, no doubt coz I was about 300% less stingy with the feta.

Serve with a glass of water
and an idiot-filled episode of Property Snakes And Ladders

Hoping to get back to some regular witterings; everything's been a little crazy and busy. Hope you guys are doing well out there?!

Freshly Baked

This weekend at Cow Poo Manor: a fresh delivery...

 

... accompanied by a strong breeze which wafted right through our kitchen window. It was just the ticket for a hangover.

(ETA: The Pile is about 300 metres from the house - this was the first time I'd ever caught a whiff!)

I read an interview with Matt Lucas of Little Britain fame where he said, "If I never drank alcohol again I wouldn’t be in the least bothered... You could be spending your money on crisps, couldn’t you?"

I feel exactly the same about booze. And yet I ended up quietly rat-arsed on vodka when I met the lovely former House of Sport colleagues on Friday night (if any of you are out there, HELLO! It was rockin to see you). I got home just as Gareth arrived back from a thrash metal gig. He said he was hungry so I said, "I KNOW, chips and curry sauce!"

Next thing it's 2AM and we're watching Twenty20 Cricket highlights and I'm waxing lyrical about how good chips and curry sauce and fried rice are together; how I was a fool to mock Gareth for the combination all those years ago; how the nubbly texture of the rice balanced the slop of the sauce; how it was oh so wrong but somehow right... this is why I don't drink very often; it always leads to trouble.

Then Saturday 1PM; finally functional enough to make some vegetarian sausage rolls...

Whoops, conjoined.

Tastes amazingly sausage-like but no animal parts here whatsoever... just nuts, oats, herbs, breadcrumbs, etc - recipe here at Green Gourmet Giraffe. Best sausage roll ever! Aside from Cornucopia Bakery in Braddon, Australian Capital Territory, OZ.

Next up: stumbling around garden, giddy at first sign of actual tomatoes.

Currently the size of your pinky fingernail!

Also a sudden glut of roses out front that we have no idea how to look after, in the most daggy coral colour that reminds me of old ladies I have known. 

 

Then we headed off to Carnoustie to see more good friends and their herd of children and dog. Went for a walk and got chased by frothing German Shepherds. Then curry - proper; not the drunken chip kind. Then almost falling asleep into a glass of wine.

Today, a kayaking party at the lake for two of the kids' birthday. I didn't partake because I cannot kayak for shit. I know you have to do it more than once to improve but I choose not to improve with ten eight-year-olds as witnesses!

Then we had a BBQ. Then the kidlets toasted marshmallows and when they ran out of marshmallows they just toasted anything they could find. So here we have a delightful fusion on a stick: strawberry, cherry tomato, cocktail pork sausage and a Terry's Chocolate Orange segment.

Now salad and leftover snag roll then BED. Hope you all had a good weekend!

Moonwalk Tips

Here's a great idea. Let's gather up 10,000 of us and stay up until midnight, then take off our tops then parade around the streets of Edinburgh in our bras for 26.2 miles. C'mon! Where's your sense of adventure?

A year later the painful sweaty memories of the Moonwalk marathon have mellowed. Except for the part with the 13 miles of leg cramp and turbulent stomach. Apart from that it was a pure magic.

Since that fateful night lots people have arrived at this blog by Googling "Moonwalk training tips" and I thought, "Yeah! I should write some Moonwalk tips!" But I've faffed around for so long the 2009 London walk has already been and the Edinburgh one is next weekend! Let's get on with it anyway and we can help Saturday's ladies and the Googlers of the Future.

I canvassed some of my teammates for their hot tips too, so it's not just whingy me hoping others might learn from my mistakes. And I know there's some fellow Moonwalk Veterans out there, so if you've got any wisdom to share please feel free to join in in the comments!

Salad Days

Less than four weeks ago these little green whippernsnappers were floppy and uninspired. And planted really crookedly by some flaming amateur.

Despite their snug quarters and my long history of killing plants, they're actually doing pretty well now!

 

So are the herbs, despite repeated attacks.

The rocket plants were reduced to shreds by the same boofheaded creature but after a week in the greenhouse ICU, they were back from the brink!

NB: Rocket means arugula in the American language. Rocket is also a Scots word for a crazy person. Try it on your friends today, ya mad rockets!

The greenhouse also features a random pile o bubble wrap and this stunning portrait of Urquhart Castle.

This flower has nothing to do with our efforts, it just appeared on Friday. It's a biggun. Does anyone know what it is?

Today I finally chopped down some salad. That is once I'd removed the stray feathers and dodged the leaves anointed with pheasant crap. But there was plenty of goodness left. Oh YEAH... it was tasty! And the rocket was the most peppery and delicious I'd ever eaten. Much better than paying 99p for a withered bag of supermarket stuff. I go through about three bags of various salad leaves a week so this is GREEN GOLD, baby!

Happy Snaps

I was thinking about happiness after rediscovering a ranty pants entry from 2006:

For me happiness is sifting through the shitty bits of life and looking for the good things to latch onto. And always making sure you have something to look forward to, whether that's a weekly choccie bar, an episode of The Avengers or an island holiday. Anything will do...

... I have to work as hard at staying happy as I do at getting to the gym or making sure my guts don't explode out of my trousers. It's a habit that I had to learn. You just have to work on it, every single day.

The only thing more annoying than a smug, happy person is when the smug, happy person is yourself.

Begrudgingly I must agree with Me of 2006. My brain finds it hard to hold on to optimism and cheeriness unless I consciously work at 'em.

My personal formula for happiness:

1. Making time for small, everyday feelgood stuff (e.g.: kickboxing, recent gardening addiction)
2. Having an overall bigass goal to sink my teeth into. A purpose!

Without the above I get all reclusive and maudlin. I used to blame this tendency on my weight, but now I know that I can be happy or miserable at any size!

While I was back in Oz in April, I found some old photos from 2001 - the first year of lardbusting. I was amazed at how cheery I looked. But I remembered the moments the pics were taken and realised why I felt so bloody brilliant back then and why I hadn't been feeling so good these past few months. Back then I was living the formula, baby... big goals; simple pleasures.

NB: The captions on these pics say 2000 but it should be 2001. I can't find the originals now, d'oh!

In this pic I was dead pleased with myself as I was down 40 pounds and for the first time in years I'd managed to keep up with my friends on a walk to this park. All the leaves were broon and Harry the Dog was being his usual demented self.

I think I was another ten pounds down here and taking a progress photo. The dopey grin was coz I fitted into a new size 24 jumper. I was pretty freakin' determined.

And six months later, this is when I got my hair chopped off and felt rather foxy. I'd also been swimming and went to a pub, tackling two big fat girl fears. I'd finally realised that I didn't have to let my weight hold me back. That was a gobsmacking revelation. I was pretty much delirious back then!

It's now actually a month since I started this entry and I can't really remember why I started it and now it's nearly midnight (curfew fail!). Sorry this is not much of a weight loss blog in the traditional sense these days; it's more about happiness gain. I'm latching on to the good things and trying to savour them right as they're happening. Yeehah.

Review - Jillian Michaels: No More Trouble Zones

I don't really like the use of the phrase "trouble zones". A dimpled arse or a wobbly arm is not on par with Basra or the Gaza Strip.

But you can't blame Jillian Michaels - these products need magical all-promising titles to suck in the crowds. If she gave her DVD a more honest and accurate label, such as I Am Going To Kill You In Forty Minutes Flat, she would never make a living.

No More Trouble Zones, henceforth known as NMTZ like a failed boy band, is a full body resistance workout in a circuit format. There are seven six-minute circuits, each consisting of two sets of five 30-second exercises.

It's less complicated than that sounds. All you need to know is - no matter what torturous exercise Jillian throws at you, you only have to endure it for 30 seconds at a time! Just when you are swearing at the telly and spluttering up your lungs, POW! She moves on to something else. This is the beauty of circuit training - it is brief in its brutality. Unlike say a Body Pump class, where you must perform bicep curls for the duration of an unfortunate Bryan Adams techno remix.

Friday Link Feast #4 - Active Recovery Edition

Mornings are brilliant, if you can get past that having to wake up and get out of your scratcher thing. Mornings mean you get a fresh start every twenty-four hours.

This is painfully bloody obvious now that I think about it, but nevertheless an opportunity I'd been ignoring. Recently I gawked up the ceiling the morning after a particularly rubbish day and thought, I could do something differently today. Doesn't have to be important or perfect or loud or dazzling, but it could be different. It could be better than yesterday. Why the hell why not?

Anyway. Here are some links to things that have lit up my world lately.

• Keri Smith's Wreck This Journal
  The title is self-explanatory. It's a journal that you systematically dismantle. Every page has a simple instruction - punch holes in this page, set fire to this page, rub dirt on this page, sew this page, scribble on this page, chop out this page and mail it to a friend, etc etc etc. I bought it back in 2007 but was too scared to mark it; I couldn't decide which pen to use, for goodness' sake! But now the time for mindless destruction. It's great.
   
• Jazz Apples.
  Not to be confused with jazz mags. I bought a bagful just for the amusing name but they are sweet and crunchy. Normally I fall asleep halfway through eating an apple because they are so bloody boring, but not so the Jazz Apple.
   
• The Black Dog Books
  Kylie May, are you out there? I've been trying to hunt you down to say a huge thanks for sending two wonderful books - I Had A Black Dog and Living With A Black Dog.
  
  They are both picture books, the first about depression and the latter designed for someone who knows a depressed person. If you struggle with depression and can't put the fuzzy bleakness into words, these are the books to shove into a loved ones arms. They take all of ten minutes to read but are funny, insightful, helpful and full of hope.
   
• 8 Steps To Conquer The Beast Within
  This Martha Beck article about tackling your demons was in an Oprah magazine I'd bought for purely the cupcake recipes. But months later I felt compelled to read the non-cupcake pages, as I feel the same guilt for an unread magazine that I do for a shriveled carrot in the bottom of the fridge - the object has not fulfilled its destiny because of my laziness and neglect. Turns out every article resonated, and this Beck one mega useful, particularly the Lifeline Graph exercise.
   
• My Tiny Plot
  It's been eight whole days and my brand new herb garden is not yet dead! I'm devouring all things gardening and Gillian's blog about her Bath garden is the dogs' bollocks. That's Bath as in the City Of, by the way; not a garden full of bath tubs. Although that could look very cool.

Note: I didn't end up finishing this until Monday, but let's not spoil the alliteration!

Green Tea Blues

Still stuck in the phoneless internetless dark ages since British Telecom cocked up our order again. But I had to sneak on elsewhere to thank everyone who emailed regarding the evil "Sandra" and her "weight loss blog" wherein she claims to have zapped 47 pounds by swilling green tea and snorting acai berries, while bearing an uncanny resemblance to yours truly.

Aye those photo stealers are at it again. Is it wrong to be less huffy about the identity theft than the fact they caption my before and after pics with a piddling 47 pound loss? Boo!

I've been trying to get the photos removed since Gordon first informed me last month and despite the kind advice of Twitter pals I've not been successful thus far. Next tactic is a Google Millennium Copyright Thingo. If anyone out there happens to stumble over the offending site, if you could let me know what search term you used that would be really helpful.

Meanwhile, I miss Internetland! What's been happening with you all? How's tricks?

It's rather quiet at Cow Poo Manor without you - just me and Dr G arguing over who should pick up a dog turd off our front lawn. Yes we now have steamy dog poo out front to complement the giant mountain of cow out back. It might even be fox poo, WHO KNOWS - it is a veritable barnyard. It was ME who ended up disposing of it,  for the record, because Dr G is a wuss and also promised to make me a cuppa if I did it.

Which leads us neatly back to the start of this entry - If It's Green Tea, It Ain't Me. The only tea I endorse is Yorkshire Gold, strong and milky!

UPDATE: I got a response from the purveyors of the product who say "Sandra" is an affiliate seller. They ordered her/him/it to take down the photos. And lo, a miraculous transformation! Sandra Williams remains a mother of two with a 47lb weight loss, but she's now a brunette.

The Bike Shed

We have successfully wedged our worldly possessions into Cow Poo Manor. There's no garage this time so I'm not quite sure how this pantry/bike shed hybrid is going to work out.

I've had Valentino the Bike for three years now and I reckon I still have enough fingers and toes to count the amount of times we've been out together. The cost per ride is still about £20! Whoops.

I really want to love cycling, so Gareth and I have something in common... but I never think yay, cycling! the way I instantly thought yay, kickboxing! I'm going to have to work a little harder at this one. I did enjoy the ride from the old house to the new, and didn't run out of gears coming up the little hill... so that's a good start, isn't it?

Meanwhile BT stuffed up yesterday so we're not getting the phone on until next week, and I can't sort out the internet until that's installed. We're stuck in the Dark Ages but it gives me more time to enjoy the view from the window. Aside from the Pile o' Poo there are pheasants, robins and sparrows galore... even a freakin' deer lopes past now and then. It is impossible to hold on to gloom with nature poncing around in your face like that. Life is good.

Cow Poo Manor

We're about 70% moved in to Cow Poo Manor, so named for the eeeenormous pile of manure that graces the otherwise charming rural view out our new back window. Right now I'm sitting in the empty living room in our old place, where the internet connection has miraculously started working again now that we're bloody leaving.

I will miss this house so much. It was a little cold over the winter - you could see your breath in the kitchen, and the olive oil turned white and frosty. But now that spring is here the garden is stunning and the grass is freakishly plush and velvety. I've never known lawn you could cuddle up to! The gardens of my childhood were riddled with bindis - tiny evil thorny weed things that hurt like buggery if you tread on 'em. As I explained to Dr G, in Australia even the lawn wants to kill you.

Cuppa tea and a Violet Crumble in the backyard - best day ever!

Thank you a bazillion all for your kick arse comments and emails last week when I chucked my wobbly! I'm moving into Stop Moping, Start Coping mode now. I hate being a whinge bag on here but by the same token pretending all was well wasn't working too well. I think I said  before, sometimes you need to just spew out the Mope before you can start to Cope. Feeling much better now...

Oh dear... better get back to work as I can hear Dr G very pointedly tidying things up. Hehe.

Crazy Eyes and Cold Comfort

While in Australia at Chez Mothership, we came across a bulging folder of all the "stories" I'd written in kindergarten.

It was clear as a five year old I was already disgruntled with my appearance. I had very short red hair and hated it so much. As if my inability to hold a pencil properly wasn't already holding me back, but cropped ginger hair too? Dude.

I was spewingly jealous of my follically-blessed classmates. There were at least a dozen stories about my long blonde friend Marnie. This is Marnie, I would write. Marnie has long blonde hair. Marnie is very pretty. I like Marnie. I love Marnie.

Holy crap, run for your life Marnie!

In this story I daydreamed on an Ideal Me, all flaxen locks and pretty bows.

Sometimes I would attempt a more honest depiction of my appearance, as in the April 1983 masterwork, "The world is big and we live on it".

Although if you look closely you can see the madness in the eyes.

Another highlight of our Australian jaunt was the consumption of this here chocolate thickshake at Gus' Cafe in Canberra. There must be half a pound of ice cream in there! Just wrapping your paws around that frosty metal cup feels like home.

I'd already had a thickshake at the magnificent Paragon Cafe in Goulburn but I had to squeeze in one more in before heading to the airport. It tasted all the sweeter because The Mothership, Rhiannon and Gareth were there too... the first time the four of us had been in the same place since I introduced the future son-in-law on Mum's 2004 Scottish tour. I think she can actually understand what he's saying now.

Rip it up and start again

Do you ever go through a phase were everything suddenly feels old or stale or just plain wrong? Your favourite foods give you no joy,  your favourite exercise class holds no appeal, not even a Grand Designs marathon on the telly gets your heart racing. You're twitchy and cranky and toying with the urge to stand up in a middle of an important meeting and bellow Homer Simpson style, BORRRRRRRING! before stalking off into the sunset?

There's been a stinky little pot of discontent brewing on my stove for a long while, but I don't think I really acknowledged it until I was away in Australia. The distance from the everyday grind helped me look back with more clarity. Spending time with lovely friends old and new and hearing them talk so passionately about their work and lives made me see that things aren't quite right.

I need new purpose and meaning and direction. I had some big ass dreams this last almost-decade - lose a little lard, go overseas, write a book that I felt such urgency to write. I never thought I'd actually do any of those things so it's bewildering to be here. It often feels like an accident, a series of fortunate coincidences that I didn't really deserve and after that really cool diversion I'm back with the real me, the same confused twerp of my teens and twenties.

Then there is a small and hopeful part that believes I must have more to offer to the world, that I can feel alive and engaged and passionate again instead of barely there with the annoying black dog humping my leg and licking my face.

I don't have the answers yet so can't tie this entry up in a neat little package but I do feel hopeful after my trip Down Under. I'm ready to do stuff to help clear my mind and move forward, instead of just dozing on the train to Tedium Town.

Right now I am shaking things up in small ways; throwing spaghetti at the wall and seeing what sticks. I am going out into the (limited) sunshine. I am reading a book called I Could Do Anything If I Only Knew What It Was, how sad does that sound? (Thanks LBTEPA :) I'm looking at my neglected 43 Things list to remember things I want to do and reflect on things I've done to remind me I am capable of being bold and digging myself out of holes.

Just wanted to say again, thank you everyone for reading and writing all these years. It means an awful lot.