And I quote; “63 FREAKING CALORIES?”

Ok, two things to be covered in this new fresh post of mine;

1. Exercise. Why, oh why?
2. A little more about the author and such lark.


1. Ok, so New Years was creeping up. I get nervous at the very thought, so much pressure to be doing something cool and socially acceptable. Ok ok ok, I am making (awful) excuses. (The fact that I got completely drunk is not an excuse for being socially accepted by anyone’s stretch of the imagination). And on top of this, you’re supposed to change a million and one things you hate about yourself, then realise by mid February its not happening, and fall (slightly disappointed, and little more weathered) back into the sluggish state you were fine with in early December.

This year, I thought I’d be different, really go for that ‘exercise’ new years resolution, really get those (non existent) guns pumped. Now, please, do not mistake me for some 47 stone ‘lard-arse’ (as the chavyouth so articulately label the morbidly obese, in the UK), I am by no means large, just generally unfit. So I joined a gym.

Yes, I, Ms. Gym-Despiser 2007, I joined a gym. So I’ve been going 4 times a week since the beginning of January, and nothing.

None of these promised muscles, none of the longed for washboard abs. Nothing. Zilch.
The other day I was on the exercise bike (you know, that funny little machine that you sit in, and cycle just like a real bicycle, but…err…you don’t move), and I really went for it. Like, really. I swear I broke a sweat. So ten minutes later, I stop gasping like a dehydrated cat, and get it together, enough to look at the little screen. It stares back at me, mockingly, and says with sheer conceit; “calories burnt? 63” I was so very angry.

“63 FREAKING CALORIES?” That is barely 2/3 of the salt and vinegar snack a jacks I consumed before entering this…HELL.

Exercise darling, are you listening? I may very well give up.

2. So it has been suggested to me, that I chat a little more about myself. Or maybe I’m just self centred.

Ach aye in the nude who cares.
(I am well aware its ’noo’, or ’new’, or ’nuu’. But you see, I am not familiar with the linguistic skills of the Scottish).

Ok, well, I was born in the UK and there I lived my lovely little life (flitting from county to county) for a about 13 years, then I skedaddled on over to the land of corkscrew hats, kangaroos and slang so lazy they melt words together. That’s right folks; Australia. There I dwelled for about 3 years, I learnt many diverse and interesting skills whilst there. For example, guess who now knows how to work a mosquito net. Me. So yeah, that was interesting. And now, good day to your sir, I am back in the land of tea, proper words and so many chavs I sometimes sigh out loud at the sheer disappointment. I realise I sound like I’m 56.

Any other questions? Nope? Yes? Just ask, I don’t bite. (I was going to say hard, but that is just so ridiculously overused, actually, that whole phrase is. Forget I ever said it.)
Must jet
xx