Now these are the kind of working hours that I aspire to. I was briefly in Picardy, France for the day job this week and saw this sign at a library:
It's good to be back home. Once I've tackled my mega pile of laundry I'll wrote a proper entry. Bon weekend, mes amies!
Dr G and I have escaped to the Lake District this week. Hooray for holidays!
I was planning on a week of tea and scones and reading books but of course with Gareth around it's always slightly more strenuous than that. So we stomped up a wee hill and I must confess I did a bit of bitching and grumbling because it was raining and it was windy and it was slippery and there were loose rocks and I forgot to bring my sticks.
My main issue was that it was steep, because who would have thought a hill could be anything but flat and gentle? Honestly it was such a pathetic display that I cracked up laughing at my own ridiculousness. I really do try to like hillwalking for the sake of our marriage, but some days you just can't even fake it! :)
On Monday we played Pitch n Putt golf. I'd not played golf before but both my grandmothers were ace golfers so surely it would be in the genes? Not quite. I came this close to manslaughter charges. On my very first shot, somehow I whacked the ball into the safety barrier net thing, which I still do not understand as I was clearly aiming for the green. It freakishly whizzed through a tiny gap between the net and its metal frame, ricocheting off the frame then smacking hard into the wall of the golf shop... missing the head of a little old lady by an inch!
She had been quietly sitting on the veranda of the wee shop well behind what she rightly thought was the safety of a GIANT SAFETY NET. I rushed over to make sure she was okay and apologised profusely and she really was far too gracious about it. She was laughing! Maybe a brush with death makes you laugh? I would have demanded I buy her a KitKat at the very least.
Meanwhile Gareth had dropped to his knees - I thought he was shaking from laughter but he said it was sheer relief because he saw it all in slow motion and thought I was off to jail, for sure. Holy crap what a terrible moment. Very Nice Lady, if you ever find this website somehow (perhaps by googling "pitch and putt ginger menace") once again, I am so sorry!
Incidentally Gareth kicked my arse, 2 holes to 7.
So I'm keeping things low key for the rest of the week. Thank you everyone who listened to the podcast! We have no idea what we're doing but we're having a lot of fun doing it. Once I'm done with hols and a work trip next week, we'll get cracking on a podcast website and a new episode. Thanks again for giving us a go!
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.
Hello world! I know some folks get annoyed when I write about Book Stuff but I assure you this is the very last Dietgirl translation and it would be rude to give shoutouts to Germany and Norway then ignore poor old Finland.
So... hello any Finns out there! I've already heard from some lovely Dieettitytön huimat seikkailut readers (thank you!) who said they particularly appreciated the passionate love story. Not Gareth, but rather Finnish chocolate.
It was a brief but intense affair - just three days in Helsinki almost five years ago. But I still wake up drooling from Fazer chocolate dreams, especially the Tupla and Geisha bars. I think the chocolates got more adjectives in the book than poor Dr G.
Apart from the chocolate and the reindeer with mashed potatoes, my other lingering memory of Helsinki is of wind. Not the excess-broccoli-consumption kind, but rather the wild stuff that blows things over. I was still in my Avoiding Cameras phase back then so the only photographic evidence I've got is a self-portrait beneath the Sibelius Monument that still makes Dr G bust a gut laughing. A ferocious Finnish breeze is all you need for a stunning Flock of Seagulls hairstyle.
The book looks very cool - hardcover with lots of vowels. The acknowledgements are slightly confusing. In the UK version, I thanked Gareth in the last paragraph and ended with, "YOU RAWK" - the Finnish translation of this sentence is "SENKIN LIVERPOOL-FAN!" Very strange!
(Thank you Meri for your help with the entry title!)
The night before I laid out my outfit three different ways. First in a long line across the hotel room, in correct order of putting-on-ness. Then in alphabetical order. Then finally draped over a chair in formation, like I'd been flattened by a truck - dress splayed, tights dangling beneath, boots waiting below, bra and knickers in the right spot; I even balanced the earrings on the top of the chair. Just in case I couldn't remember how to get dressed by the time morning rolled round.
Yes, yes, the nerves again. I know you long-time visitors are bloody sick of hearing about them, but I still get frazzled before Big Unknown Events. I learned from the kickboxing grading that being ultra-prepared helps, so I slept better knowing that the clothes were in position and there were two alarm clocks and a wake-up call keeping them company.
I woke up by myself at the crack of dawn. Got dressed and then it was 6.15. Two hours to kill before I was due at CBS. I perched on the edge of the bed and practiced not slouching. All the different advice I'd been given played on a loop. Be calm. Enjoy yourself. Don't say anything stuuuupid!
I can't wait to tell my sister Rhiannon that there's a chain of bakeries over here called Crumbs. Back when we were kids we used to play Barbies, as you do. The Barbies lived in a dinky dollhouse with doors that only came up to their waists.
But the fact that the Barbies had to crawl around their own house did not stop them pursuing their dreams. They didn't just lie in bed tangled up with Ken all day; these dames were entrepreneurs. They turned the kitchen into a restaurant and it was called Crumbs.
This is getting a wee bit silly now... I've been postponed again. Should be Thursday morning now! Fingers crossed.
At the very least I have had a grand old time in this city. Today I soaked up the inauguration atmosphere in Times Square then guzzled orange juice and cold tablets in the hope of downgrading my nose from Rudolph Red by Thursday.
Now I just have to grovel to my boss again then go out and buy some more knickers!
I did some quality blognobbing while in New York. Meeting bloggers always turns out to be the highlight of my travels. Aye, even better than the food!
When I started blogging in 2000 people would gasp in horror if you mentioned meeting Internet Folk. Axe murderers! Unwashed nerds! But now everyone spews their guts online so it's cool.
Gareth has come to enjoy tagging along, too. We rock up to our destination and he says with infinite patience, "Any appointments? What stranger are we dining with this evening?"
Seems Brooklyn is where the bloggers are at; we spent half our time over there. On our second night we met up with Pamela in Park Slope. We've been blog buddies for yonks and finally met at BlogHer last year, so I was dead chuffed to see her again.
We started off with a spot of neighbourhood window shopping. I fell in love with a robot sculpture in a hipster boutique - it had a ye olde box camera for a body and flash bulbs for eyes. But it was $600, dammit. We also rummaged through vintage clothing shops, in which I realised I'd need to drop at least another twenty pounds for vintage clothing to be really viable. Then I decided I couldn't be arsed and would just have to stick to H&M.
Two alliterative blog entry titles in a row! Where and what shall we be tomorrow? Ecstatic in Edinburgh? Topless in Toronto? Maudlin in Madagascar?
So we're back in the Dunny. We zoomed out of New York at Thursday 8PM and somehow six hours later, it was Friday 7AM in the ol UK. When I started writing this entry it was 3PM and I was determined to stay awake til 9PM at least, to assist my return to the land of the living! In the end I was up until 3AM, watching the US Presidential debate thingo. Then slept for twelve hours.
. . .
Nerves aside things went well at Harper Collins; they were all lovely people. It was great to put faces to names after emailling for so long, and now it feels real that soon the ol DG book
For a book nerd, it was brilliant to stickybeak behind the scenes at a publishing house. I got to visit Transworld in London last year and it was much the same - an endless maze of corridors, posters of bestsellers hanging proudly on the walls; wee offices with editors peeking out like Kilroy cartoons from behind vast stacks of books. Hella cool :)
. . .
Gareth spied these Wo/Men's Health magazines on a newstand. How come the men see results in 8 days but the chicks have to wait 12?!
Hello dear comrades, it's your trusty foreign correspondent again. I am slightly malnourished after a weekend upstate at a music festival where there was nowt to eat but gyros and candy bars, I shit ye not. Woman cannot live on rock and roll alone unfortunately.
The thing is, my stomach KNEW there was danger ahead. It said into me on Friday morning, "shauna, there is danger ahead. Go to the wee deli round the corner and get some fruuit and veg and sarnies or similar, otherwise I will be growling with pain and turmoil for the next three days."
"Aye right," I said. "we'll be fine!"
But lo, the stomach knows all and the food was really bad and I paid the price. But the music was fab!
Now we're back in NYC for one more day, lots to say but must go to sleep as I am meeting the lovely folks at Harper Collins tomorrow morning to talk about the us dg book which is out in December and if I wasn't typing this on a telephone with one finger I'd tell you about my bundle o nerves and wondering if I should have spent the last six months getting totally svelte and glam and whiter toothed so i'll be more impressive rather than saying "umm...I got an A- for my orange belt, will that help with our marketing at all?"
Hope you're having a great week, luvvies.
Best wishes from my right index finger,
DG
Hello comrades! Lacking in imagination, we've come back to New York for our hols this year, combining business with lee-sure. I am tapping this out at snails pace on my phone, no links or cut n paste or edit... fark!
On the plane we got peanuts with five different kinds of sugar... Is that a world record?
We went to the park to watch the nannies and squirrels roam; a pug attempt to mount labradoodle.
Back to the hotel at 6pm, 11pm back home, to rest our eyes Just For Five Minutes. I said to G, "what do you fancy doing now?" and he mumbled, "Dancing. Studio 54" and suddenly... it's now 6AM!
Must've been tired. Such wild party rockets we are.
Gareth has decided that he prefers to remain an enigma, so I'm afraid it's back to verbose ol' me again!
My gut was sore from laughing at his entry; it took him all of twenty seconds to tap out yet he'd managed to distill seven years of public babbling and a lifetime of lard-related angst.
I'd been feeling self-conscious as it is lately, doing press for the book and sometimes being struck mute mid-interview thinking, What a ridiculous thing, to spend so much time going on about the size of ones arse.
But I'll keep on anyway, because I've been meaning to tell you about what was quite possibly The Greatest Day of My Life. Woohoo!
(Warning: I'm really knackered therefore beware of rambling and excess exclamation!)
You may recall my road cycling debut of mid-October - tears and trembling and brown underpants. It was a crash course of sorts, because the following week we were off to New York and I'd booked us on a cycling tour.
At first it seemed like a crafty way of disposing of Gareth for a few hours so I could do some shopping, but then I decided I wanted in, too. Sure I have no peripheral vision and I cannae hand signal but I've done twenty minutes on a Scottish country road... LET THE MUPPET TAKE MANHATTAN!
We assembled at a bike shop near Union Square – me and Gareth, three chicks from Kansas and a Melbourne lad with wholesome soap star looks. The two tour guides helped us chose a bike. I'd hoped they'd all be pretty pink ones with baskets on the front, but it was a random tangle of scary Sporty Ones. Where was the BELL? How would I cry for help?! My beast had a terrifying 21" frame with a really high crossbar. I called it the Crotch Masher 2000.
There were two guides. They were former couriers, with that lean sculpted-calf appearance that, if a pathetic amateur, might leave you intimidated and tugging at your husband's sleeve, "If you ride off on me, I'll KILL YOU!"
We were told to keep in line behind the front guide and he'd make hand signals telling us when to go or stop or slow down. Nae bother. As we set off I kept my eyes glued to the guide in front and totally blocked out the fact I was in New York otherwise I would have vomited. I couldn't look anywhere but straight ahead and I couldn't change gears because they were twist grip gears and I never knew there was another kind of gear!?
But after five or ten minutes I calmed down. I looked up at a street sign and it said 5th Avenue and I thought Hee hee heeee I'm riding down 5th Avenue! Then a bus whooshed up beside me and I could feel my ribs rattle. The adrenaline kicked in and I spent the next five hours in a state of joy and delirium!
Some highlights:
So this happened two months ago and only now can I talk about it without getting teary and/or giggling hysterically. I know people ride bikes in cities all the time; my Amazing Adventures may be your tedious commute. But I had never felt so deliriously happy in all my life...
(even during the last half hour of the tour, when the guide that was supposed to stay at the back of the group drifted forward, leaving me and the Old Lady of Kansas to swear and scream and dither when the lights went amber, as to whether to stop and get left behind or go forth and pedal to our deaths)
... I suppose on some cheesy level it was a bit of a Wow I used to be welded to the couch now look at me moment but more it was so deliciously surreal to see places that you've only known from the telly, while on a bicycle, when you used to ride over sheep poo in Australia. It just makes my mind explode sometimes, life and all its possibilities. Now I wish I could go back to every city I've ever visited and see it again from a two-wheeled perspective.
Here I am back on British soil. Damp, dark British soil! But it's nice to be home. While we were away, the leaves were busy morphing into even toastier shades of gold. Those leaves still left on the trees, that is. Bare branches against a grey sky are always a beautiful sight, anyway.
So, I LOVE AMERICA. It always shows us a good time. The people are glorious. I want to go back nnnnow! I can't decide if San Francisco or Chicago or New York is my favourite city so far. I think New York has the edge right now; I still feel so hyper and exhilarated and grinny. It's like those dizzy days when you first fall in love and everything in the world suddenly seems more colorful and sexy. What a town!
But now I'm thinking of all those other unexplored states. In my alternative lottery-winning fantasy life, I have jacked in my job and I'm driving around America for months and months in an obnoxious tank of a vehicle until the immigration people kick me out. Look out people. Toot toot!
. . .
In days of yore, I always came back from holiday and filed a report en blog re: What I Ate Abroad, often footnoted with loathing and remorse. But these days it seems I can be let out of the country without gnawing everything in sight. In fact I was so overcome with excitement and delirium (or drink?) in the first two days in New York that - gasp - I lost my appetite. We had dinner with a friend on the second night at an Argentinian place and I barely nibbled a third of my main course. Then when the manager presented us with a free mega platter of spectacular desserts and I all I could muster were a few idle bites. There just seemed to be too much else going on to bother with food. All those sights and sounds and craziness!
But by day four the stomach was back! I made my way through my Things To Eat In NYC list. Things I'd read about in food blogs, mostly, like famous cupcakes and pizza and burgers. But I was very modest and had just one of each of those things, instead of multiple sortees. A much better way of doing things, methinks.
(TANGENT: Every time I ate my lunch in a New York park, I would casually fluff my hair and look around in the hope of seeing the Elastic Waist dears filming an episode of Are You Out To Lunch. That's where they ask random punters to guess how many calories are in their lunches. It's my favourite thing on EW, and not just because the Nutrition Data Center guy is foxy. ANYWAY, despite sending ESP messages and thinking very hard about the calorie content of my Shake Shack burger and making sure I didn't get it all over my face, etcetera, I didn't see Sarah and her microphone. Hehe.)
ANYWAY, methinks I've gained a bit of lard. It is so bloody annoying how small my threshold is. Despite being choosy and walking a bazillion miles a day, I was still eating far more than I would at home. And a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast at the hotel each day is far more stodgy than I'd normally have. But bloody delicious, mind you :)
After five days of bagel brekkies I could feel my UK size 14 jeans clinging unpleasantly to my thighs and belly. This was the same day I tried on a size 10 US petite dress and it was too big... so that ego trip didn't last long, mwahaha. (And I really liked that bloody dress too. I thought if I crossed my fingers and stared hard at it, the power of my mighty thoughts would make a petite size miraculously grow long enough to cover my podgy knees... WRONG!)
So now I am back home and faced with the task of getting back to normal. And all I can say to that is (Homer Simpson voice) - BORRRRRRRING! There is nothing more tedious than that Home From Holidays thing, where you realise the fun is over and you have to plan the meals and order the groceries and wash your skanky clothes and resume your exercise routine. Life... it keeps rolling on!
My exercise routine has been pathetic for the past few months - sporadic heroism of bike rides and mountain climbs with very little everyday grunt sessions in between. So I am going back to how I did things earlier this year - before I descended into Manuscript Deadline Hermit Hysteria - and that's the good old Weekly Exercise Plan. It starts on Monday evening with a return to kick boxing class. I booked in this afternoon. I am committed! Woohoo!
This weekend may involve some walking and weights but mostly socialising because I turned 30 yesterday! I grow old, I grow old. But thirty feels good, I tell you. At the start of this year I was still obsessed with the idea that I had to get a certain number on the scales before I turned 30 OR ELSE I would be the biggest loser in the universe. But writing that darn book made me look long and hard at my life helped me let go of that freaky dieting mentality for good. So I say let's dive into them thirties with a delicious sense of sanity and joy and pride and healthiness for living in this ol' body of mine.
This entry was brought to you by the letter J for JETLAG!
Hello lovelies, I'm in New York and it's 12.46AM, also known as 5.46AM in the good ol' UK and extreme delirium has set in. I've had far too much to drink tonight but just wanted to say HELLO! Thank you for your kind comments on the last entry; I really didn't want to post something so blue but it's always such a relief to be honest because once you turn these eelings into words they always feel so much easier to sort out. And a change of scenery has been bloody marvellous too!
ANYWAY, whoa. Too much delicious, rosy red wine tonight! I've been blogging about our day at WNP and hope to keep doing so during the trip instead of taking six months to write Wot I Did On Me Hols, dodgy wifi connection pending. Hope you are doing fine and dandy! :)
Have you ever been to New York City? Fancy sharing your ideas or tips with two hapless foreigners? I know I could get on the Goog but asking real people what to do on your holidays always gets better results! There's an entry over on my non-fat blog where any scraps of information will be gratefully received!
It only takes a few days in a foreign country to start picking up on their lingo. Thus after just a week in Chicago I manage to absorb the word "awesome". I thought Americans only said that on the telly but many folk I met used it frequently! So now I've been saying it, except my accent is rather screwed up these days so I say totally in a vaguely Scottish way ("tote-leh") and awesome in an alarmingly nasal Australian way ("Oar-some. Mate!").
Anyway, I'm not going to keep banging on about BlogHer because I'm sure it must be tedious to read, but I just wanted to preserve in writing about two more OARSOME people I met.
You asked for Chicago photies and I shall obey you!
Exhibit A: Token Food P0rn
American Snacks were provided yesterday afternoon so I got to experience Chicago Dogs and these giant pretzel things, served with mustard and a delicious pile of yellow goo!
Exhibit B: Brush With Fame
Jen and I went to a lunch with Jillian Michaels, trainer extraordinaire from The Biggest Loser show - just a dozen or so chicks sitting round chatting to this superbuff dame. She was only obliged to be there for an hour but instead it almost hit two because she just wouldn't shut up, in the most wonderfully open, honest way. Sweeeet.
Exhibit C: Windswept Vixens
Back: Jen of AFG and YAWWBlog, Queen Jennette. Front: Corinna of Celebration of Curves, that Dietgirl weirdo, Wendy! Five chicks who happen to write about their bodies sometimes. But a helluva lot of other stuff too.
Late last night I also got to hang out with Weetabix but I was too intoxicated to remember to take a photo! But you will just have to take my word for it that she is hilarious, foxy and a most generous hostess to boot.
Over the past year or I've felt a little lost. First I went through a phase of being rather obsessed with reaching my magical goal weight, then lately I've moved on from that obsession and lumped with a sinking What The Fuck Do I Do Now feeling. Because I've spent 6.5 years pouring so much energy into Operation Lard Bust. I've wondered and worried as to what I'm all about; what there is to me aside from being The Chick That Lost Heaps Of Weight.
But meeting all these foxy vixens this weekend has truly kicked me up the butt. I met them because of what they've written about their body Issues, but now I've found out more about what they do and what they think about when they're not talking about their butts. So it's a timely reminder that there is so much more; that I have done so much more with my life than this. And I can do so much more. We all can. You can look after your body and get healthy and sweaty but it's just one cog in the wheel. Rock n roll.
Very quickly and shoddily written first impressions from Chicago!
Chicago - rockin'
Jetlag - turns me into a babbling moron :)
Deep Dish Pizza, slice of, eaten at midnight - will take approximately seven weeks to digest
Meg - hilarious, wonderful, even-better-in-person got me smashed on a margarita!
Jen - warm, funny, oozes intelligence and a great gal for a good chinwag :)
PastaQueen - tall, slinky, gorgeous complexion, witty... she's not The Queen for nufin, people!
Pamela - We meet at last! She is a lovely, lovely woman and I can't wait to chat to her more. I also met her wee son and her Scottish husband and I almost burst into tears o' joy at hearing his accent. Mmm, Scottish accent.
Kate - Another chick who just radiates so much intelligence that it makes you swoon. I was glad to chat to her for a few wee minutes :)
Weetabix and Sarah - I managed not to squeal like a fangirl and even tho I only got to talk to them briefly they were incredibly charming. I hope to stalk them further today!
Wendy - Oh man. Mah hero! She did a great job on the Bodies panel yesterday. I hope I get to chat to her again, and I hope I don't make a dick of myself. I stood up in the panel yesterday and sprouted some incoherent babble and did you know what I thought? "Aww man. I can't believe I sound so stupid in front of WENDY."
Hehe.
Sorry this entry is devoid of all style, wit, substance, editing, etc etc but it's breakfast time and I don't see the point of being at a blogging conference and spending your whole time behind a computer. That's what you do back home in your jammies! Now is the time for pressing the flesh. And eating the free bagels.
A quick word about the Bodies panel yesterday - I felt quite gutted by some things I heard; the thoughts we have about ourselves. I just wanted to crash tackle some people to the floor with a bear hug. Because I used to feel like that and I remember it all too well. And though I will never be a You Go Girlfriend Love Your Body type of person, I have to say how amazing it feels just to enjoying occupying my skin, every lump and bump. I just want to eat up the world with a spoon, the same way I used to do with the Nutella. I wanted to tell people that it is possible to get a different place, even though it's a very loooong and wacky road to get there.
Remember the old days when I was hysterical about keeping this blog anonymous? After a very public outing to friends, family and colleagues via the Scottish papers I thought, "Righto, that's it. Finally everyone knows." But there was one frontier that I'd forgotten, and that's Folks Back Home. Home, as in the wee town where I grew up.
When I left for university in 1996 I was already a considerably lardy lass, about 100 kilos (220lb). I managed to gain a spectacular 59.2 kilos (130lb) over the next five years and was so bogged down with shame and loathing that I basically became a hometown hermit. Whenever I went back I'd hide out at Mum's house, not telling anyone that I was around. We'd go out shopping but I'd insist on waiting in the car, not wanting anyone to see me waddling down the aisles. I lied my way out of many parties and reunions. It wasn't until I was back down to about 120 kilos that I started venturing out again. I remember feeling rather smug and evil, "MWAHAHA. Nobody will ever know how big I got!"
But now people have found the site and the truth is in here. It's nae bother now, though. I yam what I yam, I was what I was. It's all me, no matter what size the undies are. So welcome aboard, old chums :)
. . .
Speaking of friends, I finally met my dear mate Argyro in Athens this week. The Greek Goddess first wrote to me many years ago when she found this blog and I was instantly charmed by her passionate prose, endearing English and general lust for life. Her blog is private these days but she's an inspiring dame for many reasons, one of which being she's lost over 50 kilos.
Argy was one of the first people I ever "met" who'd lost a shitload of weight so I was overjoyed to find someone who understood all the crazy things you go through. I have a tendency to get intense and obsessive but like to smother those feelings with lame jokes. Argy always cut right past the jokes and made me get to the honest guts of the matter. She's a good egg, I tells ya.
I've not met many fatbloggers in person yet but from my limited experience I can already see one pattern. People are always smaller than you'd imagined. It must be the way we describe ourselves in our writing, full of sprawling adjectives. We speak of mammoth chests, loaf-like arms and bulbous butts that knock over children and trash cans when we walk down the street.
It happened when I met Lainey last year. She stood up from her chair to greet me looking bloody gorgeous and I remember thinking, "Where's the rest of her!?" Likewise in wee small hours of Friday morning when I stumbled off the plane, there was Argy holding a rose and looking SO bloody tiny. I don't know if we describe our bodies in such terms because this is the way we perceive them, or maybe we're trying to lower expectations? Hehe.
I know Argy mou has a lot of fans out there so I'm happy to report that she is even more brilliant in person. After about 27 seconds lounging in her stylish abode, it felt like I'd known her for a hundred years. Do not hesitate to meet her, and I'm especially lookin' at you Cat :P
So we had a lovely five days in roasting hot Athens. Argy is an extremely kind and generous hostess. After all these years of tantalising descriptions, I finally got to sample her culinary skillz for myself. Oooh yeah. Stuffed peppers with bulgur wheat and loadsa herbs, pasta with lobster sauce, pungent homemade pesto I'd sell my grandmother for. We made Greek salads sprinkled with the famous herbs growing in pots on her verandah and ate cherry tomatoes still hot from the vines. I ransacked her gigantic jar of homemade pickled veggies and we sampled her homemade peach liqueur, warm and potent from baking on the windowsill. Everything tasted so pure and clean and fresh and made you glad to be alive.
It wasn't all about the food, of course! I met her family and friends and swam and pottered around Athens. We went shopping. We went to the farmer's market. Hang on, that's more food, innit?
I also thought I would wilt away while visiting the Acropolis. It was 41'C (106'F) in city on Tuesday, and lord knows how many degrees hotter it was up there on the hill with the sun bouncing off all the bright white columns of the Parthenon. DUDES. I was frying, despite giant hat and 27 layers of sunscreen!
(NB - I was at the Acropolis by myself so a nice American tourist took my photie. She put me in the corner! I promise I wasn't doing the old Fat Girl Hiding trick :)
But my most favourite part of the trip was when we were lazing around at 4AM, talking about everything under the sun. Inevitably the subject of lard-busting would come up from time to time, and it was heartening to see we've both reached a peaceful place with food now. A year ago I'd have been sick with worry, going to Greece for five days with all that amazing tucker to tempt me. But these days I'm more calm and rational and in tune with the ol' body. And although my jeans felt a bit snug on my return, I got back on track right away. I can finally enjoy food passionately but moderately; there is no more Crime and Punishment mentality.
. . .
I've been back in Scotland for three days but my head is still reeling from all the sights and senses and emotions. There's so much more I want to say, and no doubt will end up writing on WNP, as that's where I keep all the travel stuff. But what I do know is that the more I venture out into this world, the more I learn. I see things in different ways and feel my mind opening up, exploring and discovering again what's important.
PEOPLE! That's what's bloody important. Not wobbly bellies or doughy arms. I was so scared of people for a long time, hiding away in my house with the blinds drawn; thinking I shouldn't disturb anyone with my lardy presence. But now I'm determined to make up for those lost hermit years. Life just gets so much more interesting when you reach out and connect with the humans. I'm determined to make a better effort. There are some bloody brilliant people out there. One day we all shall have that Fatblogger's Convention.
Right now I've got a huge stack of emails with a Reply To label stuck on 'em so I'm going to get cracking. Bon weekend, comrades!
I had this brainwave to make a wee photo album for my sister of all travels. We came to Scotland together in 2003 on a working holiday visa, where the idea is to work work work then see as much of Europe as you can before your visa and/or money runs out.
I poked through a gazillion folders trying to find pictures of us in front of famous landmarks but it was slim pickings, folks. Take the first ever trip we did, a long weekend in Paris. I was so excited to finally be off the couch and seeing the world, but wasn't bold enough to want photographic evidence of this newfound adventurousness. Every time I got the camera out I'd think, My hair sucks. I need a new bra. My head is enormous. My body is revolting. And it was hot and my face was red so I told myself, I'll just come back here some day when I'm smaller and better dressed.
So all I have are a few dodgy shots with my noggin lurking in a corner.
Even as I lost more weight I still kept hiding. On the rare occasions I let Rhiannon take my picture, I'd bark orders, "Make sure I'm just in the corner! Don't go below the waist! Actually, don't go below the chin!" Or I'd try to hide my body behind statues or trees or sunglasses or hats.
We went on a tour of Russia and Scandinavia in 2004 and I nearly keeled over from Photophobia. Every seven seconds in front of another church or museum someone would shout, "GROUP SHOT!" I'd fight my way to the back row and hide behind the tallest bloke. So despite having been desperate to see Russia my whole life, I only have two fuzzy, barely-recognisable pieces of photographic evidence that I ever went there.
I would love to go back in time and kick my own arse. DUDE! Why didn't you just GET IN THE STINKING PICTURES!? These were once in a lifetime experiences! Sure I looked like hell while travelling, but most people do, especially when you're on a budget.
I know I have the memories in my head, but there's something special about having a souvenir photo on your desktop or mantelpiece. I'd kill to have a decent shot of Rhiannon and I together in Red Square or Reykjavik. We worked long and hard to afford those trips so it's sad not have captured the euphoria and relief on our faces when we finally got there. But at the time it didn't feel like I'd be collecting memories, I just thought I'd be documenting FAT FAT FAT!
My favourite picture from our travels is this one from Estonia in 2004, that Rhiannon took without my knowledge. I look like a clown but I'm clearly not thinking about the fact my jeans were a snug size 18. I'm just thinking, "WOOHOO. Life is a hoot."
Every time I look at it, my resolve is strengthened to just jump into photos then laugh if they turn out dodgy. I'd rather have a dodgy photo of a happy moment than no photo at all. Half the joy is looking back and sniggering at your bad haircuts and questionable taste in fashion. I no longer say "I'll come back another day when I'm skinny", because the moment is already happening... right then and there!
So this is a call to any fellow Photophobes out there. Don't scream! Don't hide! Don't put yourself in a corner! After all, you don't have to post the pictures on the bloody internet. They can gather dust on your hard drive, ready to make you smile and spark your memory when you're old and grey.
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I'm Shauna Reid, Scotland-dwelling Aussie
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