Cola and insomnia a couple of lovers

Waking up again in the early hours of the morning is a pain. As usual it becomes a matter of deduction and trying to reason what the cause was this time. Besides not getting enough exercise I have come to the notion it is drinking Cola in the evening. Because of the caffine content. Like this morning for example. At 3 a.m. I wake up, the bed is hot because there's a lot of covers and it's prepped for winter, consciousness is like a ice bucket challenge. Yet the usual tossing and turning kicks in, with a search for just the right position which will allow sleep to touch my eyes and body. It doesn't. I'm farting and awake. Maybe the coke has too much gas in it, maybe I have too much gas. But I can't sleep. At this point it is ludicrous just to lay there when nothing is happening. Weird shit is going on, shit I can't seem to control. I get tired in the middle of the day and could drop off like a log just after lunch, yet at night in a comfy bed sleep is elusively stolen away. Like a very early morning alarm clock that small caffine hit has come back to haunt me a few hours later.

I noticed this at first when I was drinking three tins of diet cola in the evenings. Not all the time, just when the fancy took me and the thirst had to be quenched. So I dropped it down to two tins at most, even when I wanted to get nice and merry with a dash or two of JD.  Then last night it was dropped to a single tin of cola, but yet here I am awakening at 3 a.m. again. Time passes and getting fed up of laying in bed I now write a blog at half four in the morning. What is going on? What is this thing which is making me cranky?

Shortly sleep may jump on my shoulder and stroke my brow. It will try and influence me to return to bed, a maiden of comfort leading me into a land of dreams. Except of course nowadays it feels like I barely dream. I know I do but I just don't remember any of them. They are too weird, which could well be some kind of psychological complex of inducted amnesia. An instruction which says when you wake up that shit will be instantly forgotten. I wouldn't mind remember if it was the reason why I got insomnia, even a bad dream gives a reason. But there is no residual it's just consciousness piercing through the world of somnambulance.  Damn that cola, get thee behind me cola, for thou are the taker of my dreams and I will persecute you when I next fall asleep.

I just hope it's pretty soon.

Rice the gassious of carbohydrates - the fart food for short

It is normal for me to take lunch at a Chinese, but a couple of weeks ago I realised more than usual I had a whiff about me.  A kind of pong was going on. I'm sure it was related to the ingredients in the chicken and black bean sauce on steamed rice.  There is also garlic and chilli in this dish, but the pong was probably generated by the rice.  I believe rice is the food of farts. Or it is for certain western people, or maybe as said earlier it's the combination of ingredients.  So this week I began an experiment, but it was not just centred on this major culprit, I did my very best to hit every white carbohydrate which normally passed my lips. To try and find an alternative, which ultimately came down to brown bread sandwiches or rather my favourite of brown breads being malted granary. It's got grains in it and has a nice slightly nutty chewy texture. Every breakfast would be some kind of toast from this bread.  Lunchtimes were also brown bread sandwiches, I must admit though I personally don't like eating sandwiches all the time, but this experiment meant I had no alternative. I had to keep to it as closely as possible.  Figuring it would take maybe two to three days for the old food and effects to go through the digestive process.  Fortunately it was closer to one to two days.

The results were amazing, I mean absolutely amazing. A significant decrease in the number of farts. My breath didn't have a garlic like whiff to it after lunch, because I wasn't eating garlic any more. At night time I am prone to a few blistering explosions in the bed. These had nearly stopped, I was changing, no longer the epitome advert of a middle aged man with the farts, grumpy, moaning and always best to keep a few yards from. Yet at the same time I am fighting an addiction and love of carbohydrates.  I love pastries, the occasional white bread bit of toast, cakes and biscuits (which I just about keep at bay) and many other carb foods. Yet being in love with these foods is not socially acceptable, particularly if ever enclosed in a small space and feeling the urge to flatulent behaviour; it's the old lift (elevator) scenario I'm thinking about - where we have all been.  Farting means those people who are the closest to you suffer.  Unless they have some kind of sinus problem. It also means if you spend a lot of time undisturbed in a room then walk out of it and return you notice an invisible pong sits there.  Effectively you have been stewing in your own farty smell and not just breathing it, it has seeped into your clothes.  Your odour is no longer a high class EDT product nice to smell and attractant to others or so the adverts say, but rather one fat old and loyal dogs have near the end of their life, or cats. I remember Tiggy, he was a beautiful affection cat, but if you squeezed him to hard or he just sat around you purring for too long soon you'd realise his silent farts were as bad as your own.  Hetty's dog Barney was another example, he'd just lay on the floor nearby, occasionally wag his tail and occasionally drop a stink bomb.  I loved them both very much, more than anything in the world yet sometimes loving a pet can mean having to put up with a lot.  So the evaporation or greatly reduced smell around me was noticeable, certainly to me so I expect it may have been of notice to others as well.

There is only one solution and it is one which I don't like to ponder on too much. I have to give up on the high carbs.  Closely examine the glycemic index and fight my own addiction to food I have been brought up on.  Which at times is like trying to fight a sneeze. It's not easy, definitely not easy. I'm sure it is to do with the conversion of sugars during digestion and blood sugar levels, with this is the need to diet and exercise. Words which are like garlic and holly water to a vampire. I truly think controlling food intake and living a healthy life is probably the most difficult thing to do in the modern day.  Just looking at the bulletin boards of people affected by this phenomenon leads me to know I am not alone, if only I had a buddy I could talk to whenever the urge grabbed me, like an emergency service number.  But it seems with the number of fat farty people about these are rare individuals. The thing is you need someone who has been through the same experiences as you have, not one of those hypocritical skinny people who has never felt the cravings of a carb addition, not someone who has never experienced stuffing their face and still wanting more.  I need to stop this rant and get out for my Sunday walk, which is late now. At least outside I know there is a lot of fresh air. This room is starting to get a little stuffy.

24 hours without food

After a dicky tummy episode one morning I knew was something not right.  Having last eaten the previous evening I decided to continue with this abstinence.  So from 8 p.m. on one day to 8 p.m. the next I ate nothing hoping it would cure the shites.  My belief is intestinal acids build up and then incinerating the dirty little virus thing dwelling within the gut.  Just as it helps not to have a stomach of food which eventually would have to find it's way out.  However, I am not a biologist but it sounds reasonable enough to someone with their head screwed on.  Abstaining from food doesn't hurt either, some do it for religious reasons, others to diet. Whatever the reason it would have a multifaceted advantageous effect on me.  This belly could do without a few calories and the scales might even look on with happiness as well. I can hear them now, "get off ya fat bastard" if they could talk that is.
The other thought besides the need to stop running to the toilet, was this whole thing would be a test of my own determination.  Fasting for me is not something which comes naturally, whereas eating is, and starting in the evening meant all I had to do was endure a few hours before going to bed because there would be no desire to eat while asleep. Providing I didn't wake up in the middle of some erotic food related dream. Mind I don't remember my dreams much anyway. So it was, the day began.

I thought the morning would of been difficult, sitting in the kitchen and drinking a cup of tea listening to the radio. When normally it would of been toast, tea and radio. I did notice a feeling of just taking it easy and not needing to rush about. Probably this was the residual of a recent holiday and the post holiday euphoria kicking in again. I must admit the tea did have a better fuller taste to it than normal does. Perhaps this was linked to my expectation I was not to eat all day long and had to savour every drink from this moment onwards. Which reminds me I must learn how to make Indian Chai.  It wasn't until I was sat at my desk at work I could then feel my belly rumbling. It knew something was missing, but I just looked at the monitor in front of me and thought concentrate on work, do your job, if you do this then your mind will be taken off the need to eat.  It seemed to work, but waiting for lunch time to come took forever.  Again at lunch I know considered well I will not be spending money on food. If this is an exercise I can do on a more regular basis it could work out to save me some dosh. I do spend too much money on lunchtime food as I rarely make my own sandwiches.  Walking through the market at lunch time I could smell the open fast food stalls, one specialises in Nepalise the other in plane greasy burgers and there's a third does Caribbean food.  I could of gone over and bought something. But no, I carried on walking to the pub where I have my lunchtime coffee.  It's nice sitting in there. Getting my phone out I could spend more time catching up with the BBC news website and of course make a phone call to Sparkling Eyes.

While inside the pub someone had ordered a plate of fish and chips. The smell of the fish was pungent and I could feel my nostrils flare up. It was like if I could breath in deep enough I would be tasting this fish and chips, even if it was overly smelly.  The experience of being forced to smell it was awful. My belly was again having some weird stuff happen. It felt swollen on account of the undiagnosed self diagnosed IBS. It had become solid as a football. This is one of the things I hate about being overweight, having a belly which means I don't get to see my feet unless I'm sat down. It's not a pretty sight.  So with purpose, I managed to get through the afternoon, constantly trying to distract myself by getting on with my work. I had a similar temptation period after leaving work and popping in the pub for a pint of Guinness, some lads had ordered burgers and chips. Bastards. The smell of those chips almost made me break, but I wasn't going to now, only a couple of more hours and it would be a full 24 hours.

Later in the evening I did eat and managed a full 24 hours.  However, I should of gone through to the next morning again just to make sure the belly virus was burnt to hell.  Missing out on a day's food made me feel a little better about myself and it probably has helped a little in trying to lose weight as well.  A full pound in weight is 3500 calories and an hour's walk is about 450 calories. It sure is a lot of energy.  There are two parts however to a diet, one eating less and two exercising more.  Damn it's tough to, because exercise gives you an appetite just when you should not eat the desire is so much more. 

Another salad day, where's the rabbits

Today I made my own salad lunch, it was an achievement considering I wasn't particularly motivated. The rabbit side of me just wasn't present and chopping up all those bits and pieces took ages. I should of got up earlier, next time I'll just put a raw but cleaned carrot in the box for ease. I'm sure it has cut down on my calorie intake but I can't help the little naughty side come out. Like eating two packets of chrisps, having a Guinness in the pub and also two bourbon biscuits with a cup of tea this morning. It will be all these little extra things which will probably mean I've achieved absolutely nothing. The thing is it could all come down to buying food, if I buy less food then the less likely I'll eat it, but at the same time the desire to eat is great. Food is like air, I'm addicted to it, the worst thing of all is coming into autumn and winter months. At this time of year it is even more difficult to diet and lose weight. I've not seen many rabbits dieting in October, although there are probably a few which have been caught and put into stew pots. Come to think of it I've probably only eaten rabbit once in my life as a child, it was stew. I was told by my mother it was rabbit, my sisters didn't eat it either, the thought of Bright Eyes in a stew pot was pretty distressing. Saying this, it was a few years ago and those memories may not effect me now. There is even a curiosity as to what it would taste like now I'm more adult and much more carnivorous than I was those days. Well, except for the DIY salad lunch things. Hell there should be health warnings on chopping up a lettuce, along the lines of, "warning this product may not satisfy your greed by 5 p.m."

I wonder what real rabbits eat when they are on a diet. Then there are some pretty big rabbits about as well. Surely they can't all be nibbling away at carrots and lettuces all day long. Well, certainly not the fat ones, the real obese ones which are big and cuddly rabbits. They must be secret fast food addicts. I can see little but fat Harry the Rabbit in his hutch this moment, on the phone ordering a take away for one rabbit, probably chicken curry, a couple of poppadoms and some nann bread. He'll not order any rice on account of it bloats him and Harry to is conscious of what too many carbs do. After all he'll have an entire day of rabbit seeds to quietly tuck into. Or perhaps Harry prefers Chinese food instead, me and Harry would get on fine in this case.We'd sit and keep each other company, especially if it had to be done in secret so no one knew we were breaking a curfew.  Harry may indeed be someone I could swop recipes with and learn what the finer points to food preparation for vegetarians is, for example how to disguise a dozen rashers of streaky bacon with a few pulses. We all know vegetarians are only vegetarian so they can boast about it and when they are home behind closed doors they like their meet still dripping with blood. Harry sounds a bit evil now. In fact with those big teeth he's got and those long ears, in the right lighting he may well be mistaken for some nefarious character of the underworld.

Hey, not everything in fur is soft cuddly and loveable, but unfortunately you always know what you get with a lettuce.  Not much at all.

Three Salads

For three days I made my own lunch, each one was a tub of salad, the ingredients of which were bought on a Sunday. This is the start of healthy eating, of the new me, I'm fed up of feeling fat, uncomfortable and like nothing actually properly fits me. Except today I didn't eat a salad and went to the usual Chinese.  But for three days I ate food which had been grown from the ground. Food which even prepared still looked close to its natural state. Why did I break down? Tomorrow is a new day an new start, there isn't enough food there to make a day four of salad. I'll try and do something else. Hit the shops for a sandwich, made with salad instead of eating inside. Or maybe I could use my imagination, use the existing bits and pieces and see what turns out, it could be another vegetarian feast. Which makes me wonder, do vegetarians feast at all?  I shouldn't of eaten those three dark chocolate biscuits earlier, I need to get on the road again. The straight road not one which twists and turns, taking detours at every fast food place there is. Not one which desires a curry at the weekend. Exercise. This should not be a dirty word, yet it is something I don't do and heard on the radio most adults don't but yet this is the main ingredient to a healthy life, to living long, fighting all sorts of human illnesses. From cancer and heart disease to illnesses of the mind. That's it, it's all in the mind. When I see food I don't really need it, I am feeding the desire, but hell the desire to eat is a pretty strong one.

Got to think. When I die will they need six skinny men to carry my coffin or will it be a fork lift truck?  Exercise, it's almost like garlic to a vampire, hmm garlic is nice when mixed with ginger it's the basis of a lot of foods. Back to food again, how can this meandering stop?  Three salads, tomorrow lets make it a mixed salad sandwich, one day and I'll try to see it as a little blip, better than a big fat elephantine looking man.

I love Momo

I can't help it but I have fallen in love with the Nepalise/Ghurka/Tibetian dumpling dish called "momo." My love of this beautiful dish began only in the last two to three weeks. A portable kitchen has been parked in my local market and ran by some Nepalise. I'd passed it a number of times and a lot of Nepalise people were using it. This has got to be a good sign for any restaurant, if the locals like the food it has then the food must be authentic. Funny how I've never seen Indians though eat at an Indian restaurant, only British people. I saw the menu and recognised the Chow Mein, which didn't really do anything to excite me at all. However, when I saw momo I was curious, I'd seen it before and it reminded me of Dim Sum, so it couldn't be a great deal different. For the very reasonable price of £3 I was able to purchase a take-away portion. This consist of ten momo, they will be either chicken, pork, beef or lamb depending on your choice. I've had the lamb and the chicken.  With them comes a small tub of an orange coloured chilli sauce. I noticed the cook put part lemon juice in this, perhaps thinking it is too hot a sauce for an English man to eat. When I then began to eat these delicious dumplings I was completely amazed by them. What struck me was the absolute freshness of the ingredients. I could taste onion, spring onion, ginger and some other mixed herbs in the dumpling. With the chill sauce they just go down very easily.  I love them, I absolutely love momo. Now I've got to the stage of having to eat them at least three or four times in a week. They finish of my home made sandwiches perfectly.

Now after spending about an hour watching Youtube videos I think I could make momo, they are not too difficult. Momos are indeed a version of Chinese Dim Sum and from my last holiday in Poland the same kind of recipe is probably used in making Perogi, which is cheese and potato filled dumplings. It seems a good way to finish these off is by making your own tomato chilli chutney sauce, which is also pretty easy to make going by the videos. If this works I can see this becoming a regular item in my personal cooking repertoire. Well it beats beans on toast. After some additional research on the Nepalise momo in Tibet these may be made with Yak or buffalo meat as well. Well I'm glad for the pork and beef recipe or even a shrimp one because I not seen many Yaks about here. I guess they're not too fond of momos then? Well you can't keep all the people happy all the time.

Keep your chocolate safe

I distinctly heard an announcement over the tannoy as approaching the railway station. It said "take care of your chocolates." The only thing was I didn't have any chocolates and I surely could not of distinctly heard this broadcast. It had to have been a generalised safety announcement to stand back on the platform, or perhaps to keep your belongings with you, it certainly should not of been anything to do with chocolates. Why I heard something which clearly was not there I don't know. it wasn't like I had earphones in, or had been thinking about chocolate, eating chocolate or anything with chocolate at all. It was in short an auditory hallucination, it could not of existed. I thought it was funny how my mind had played tricks.

Funny thing is, I've not eaten any chocolate all day long.

Food is expensive

Yesterday i took Monster Boy to the Science Museum in London. To begin with he was not much company. I think it's probably a matter of spending too much time on his laptop and not getting enough sleep. For an eleven year old sleep is important. He tells me he gets up at six a.m. I don't know why but he does. It took half a day before he began to come around. The Science Museum was OK but I'm starting to think it's a bit on the boring side. It's the second time I've been there in about five years and there has been very little change to it. The exhibits look great but old, they need to inject some kind of newness back into it. Have different themed exhibitions during the year. Perhaps change them according to the season. We found the cafe downstairs and I saw the price of a cup of tea had been set at £2.30. I was desperate for a cup but there was no way I would succumb to this extortionate rate.public rip off.  There happened to be a free drinking fountain, thank flying pigs water is sometimes free. Although not when it is boiled has a tea bag waved over it and then a splash of milk.

After a round of the Museum we headed outside. Monster became more chatty and it was off to lunch at a Chinese in Wardour Street called the Wong Kei. A place I can barely believe is still in existence and it looked like the waiters hadn't changed since the last twenty years ago I was there.  Monster loved his chicken noodles while I ate beef ho fun. The ho fun had been put on a plate and then the beef and vegetables put on top of it as a second thought. It didn't bring me delight but it filled me up and magically the meal was cheap. Which was what mattered.  In London most restaurants are expensive even the ones which pose as cheap restaurants and have a cafe like appearance. It's as though their cheap look and cozy feel is a red herring just to hook you in and then open up your wallet to find the cashier has just helped themselves to every note there. I don't know if it is me or just a sign of the times. The price of food has gone up, and if it keeps on like this I'll end up losing weight and no longer have the hash tag of fat boy.

I heard on the radio during the week some parents nowadays are missing out on their main meals so they could ensure their children are fed. In this day and age you'd of thought this was something which could not happen.  It must be though, for this is not the only time this story has come out over the last year. Charities are now being set up to distribute food to families who just can not afford to feed themselves. It's the cost of living.  Everything is going up. The recession bites down even harder than it has done before and it continues. And the recession is hungrier than the people. Someone's going to lose out for sure. Perhaps I'll just go and set up a stall oustide of the Science Museum and sell cups of tea for 50 pence. I'm sure there would be a lot more takers than those who use their cafe.  Then there are always idiots who have more money than brains. They probably think going to see scientific stuff will make them smarter, but it just doesn't work this way.  It only took about thirty minutes to get to the Chinese. Even hunger can be put on the waiting list, and I'm sure the Chinese Tea was just as good as the tea in the museum. A lot cheaper anyway.

Nepalise chicken fried rice and Humbug

Today rather than go to a Chinese lunch I tried a Nepalese inspired lunch.  The cafè is ran by Nepalese who haven't quite got the hang of spelling English.  Bacon was spelt as Beckon, and Chow Mein as Choumean.  At first it was confusing as I saw the menu and the words and had a problem reading them.  I mean it's not what it says but rather what it sounds like. Thankfully the pictures were a good clue and the taste of the chicken fried rice did not reflect the same errors as the misspelt words.  None of it was mean in any sense of the word, wicked might be used but not mean. It was fresh, the plate of food wasn't as large as I usually get but these Nepalese people are somewhat shorter and smaller in stature so their portions probably reflect this. Big fat Europeans like big fat portions of food, we are following the transatlantic trend in food size, and related illnesses as well. It wont be long before we are called the Big Bums of the World.  No mean feet for such a small country, but ever growing faster country (UK).

So meal finished and I sit in a nice pub, which normally isn't as busy as it is today.  Where have all these people come from I ask myself?  It must be the sun, a little sun and every Tom, Dick and Harriet have to get out to enjoy it, I wish they didn't have to enjoy it in my pub though. It's too busy.  People make noise.  Adults bring children, and children are even more noisy.  Humbug. A baby crawls about the floor while it's mother stands guard watching where it goes.  One arm in front of the other, it marches in goose step fashion, corduroy dungarees shine the lacquered floor.  Another woman comes in with a pram.  For the toffs a baby is another fashion accessory.  Humbug.  All this disturbance and the constant din of voices around me is bad enough, but it's been rounded off by a new member of staff giving me a coffee like nats piss. Therefore the coffee last longer than any normal coffee should last.  It may even go a little cold. The pub will lose out giving me nat's piss coffee, for it has the power to make my wallet tight, tighter than a hundred year old clam.  Humbug.  I dislike pretentious clientèle as much as people who esteem their working class as though it is a badge wrapped up in a blanket of ignorance.  I can never understand why many working class people don't strive for self education. It is a breath of fresh air to hear a voice of intelligence and reason in any situation, it cuts through toffs and the highly ignorant working class.  But unfortunately is despised by both classes. Education doesn't just level a field it rises above it, so does the ability to voice an opinion in the face of perceived authority. When in reality nobody has authority, it's all perceived.

During one conversation this week, chatting to Sparkling while in a Humbug mood, which I couldn't shake off, she started to sing Monty Python's "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life," a half smile erupted on my face.  Then Sparkles began the whistling bit, the singing was funny the whistling not. The conversion of high frequency sound waves over two mobiles led to an awful screech which went through my head and echoed on the way out. I nearly fell over by the impact.  It could of been a grenade exploding right next to my ear, it bowled me over. It hurt. I didn't get out of the blues; but sometimes you can only remove such feelings by re-viewing the world, the experience of it and by stop being an idiot. Yet the idiot hat can get super glued to your head and be difficult to remove. A little like a Humbug attitude, they're one and the same really.

The coffee lasted an hour, half a pint later and I'm feeling quite a bit chilled. Yep, my view of the world has changed.  People who had invaded my hideaway retreat from the stresses and strains of life have gone as well.  Eaten their overpriced lunches and ran back off to their overpriced homes.  Even the taste of Humbug is going. What was that line again?  Always look on the bright side of life...

Falling off the wagon into a portion of chips...

Last night I fell of the wagon.  Yep.  Went to the pub had two pints, felt pissed but happy.  Then went to the chip shop for a portion of chips, the price £1.40 cheaper than in Scotland.  I asked for a squirt of ketchup, which cost nothing and in some places they charge for a small sachet.  Then I found myself asking the young man how he was, I was so mellowed out.  I found he worked a 12 hour day 6 days a week.  I'm sure he is only getting minimum pay as well.  He's not an English young man.  Which is not to mean young English men would not work such hours, this is just an observation.  Possibly an observation of the relative value and understanding of money.  Hard to get, easy to spend, this is my own very saying and I've not heard anyone else say it, unless they know me and they haven't so it might not be catching on.  Well, maybe after writing it here the world will know, but I'm sure they'll not attribute it to something they read.  When things are remembered and it can't be recalled where they come from this is called cryptomnesia. So last night it was as if I didn't know where my appetite had come from, it was there and it needed to satisfied.  So it was chips, drunken message phone calls left on answer phones, home, an Eccles cake, and half a packet of shortbread biscuits.  Damn.  All those fermentable carbs are now having their effect on me.  I had been reasonably good all week as well.  Oh, and I forgot to mention text messages sent to Sparkling.  Who would of realised I was merry, because I'd mentioned popping into the pub for a couple.  She's used to it now.  At least I ring people up who know me or either know to ignore my call on a Friday night.  Sometimes they do entertain a conversation and keep my company when I get on the train.  Full of dour faced commuters.  When you're happy and are met by a bunch of sad looking stressed people they are not open to funny or happy discussions.  They should drink more often, and eat chips.  The best cure in the world.  You can quote me on it as well.  Don't over drink, just a little to feel happy.

I've now discovered a piece of software which plays music for free.  Except for the intermittent advert being played after every two or three songs.  It's called Spotisfy.  I thought I'd get round the adverts by turning down the volume on the Spotisfy control, but this didn't work.  The advert just paused.  Bloody thing, however it could not avoid the more direct root of reducing the volume on the headphones.  Tough on the advertisers, shame, I'll cry in my sleep for them, not.  There are so many ad blockers, cookie stoppers, pop up killers and virus hunting things about nowadays they do a pretty good job of keeping the nasties away.  But even with these can't get away from the simple, manual off button.  Followed by a IT user who has a obstinate, persistent attitude.  Which is something gotten at the drop of a hat nowadays.  If only I could drop the had of desire to scoff my face as quickly as getting annoyed at IT things.  I don't know what it is, but I get this odd phase, where listening to music is the only thing which cures it.  Not old music either.  The hunger is for the most up to date music around.  Pop music, the top 40, the best selling albums.  When this happens I'm hunting down internet radio sites, Youtube any source at all to satisfy the chip-like hunger.  Unlike chips this desire lasts longer, in the region of an hour or two.  If only it was possible to remember every artists name and song after just one listening.  Unlike having to work off the fat from too many chips which takes a bit longer than it does eating them.  Reminder, look for an MP3 and radio thingy.

The hundreds of daily views from persons in the Netherlands has now stopped.  It's a shame because I had considered taking up language lessons.  In exchange there's been a slight increase in views from Spain.  You'll not find any Paella recipies here Spanish persons, just chit chat about chips.  Not fish and chips either, fish is expensive.  Only on the odd occasion does the fish get a look in.  Fish in batter, which must be a purely completely British invention, well I think so.  Totally unhealthy so it has to be.  A little like the deep fried Mars bar, fortunately there were none of them in the chip shop.  OK here comes another advert, I've had enough of listening now, better go and exercise off some of those chips.  Hell, the good things are always bad for you, as Sparkling once said to me, on this occasion she didn't call me fat boy but could of.

Death by food

This morning in an effort to reduce my carbs intake, I had fish for breakfast.  No toast, when bread stuffs are a normal staple this was an effort, but afterwards I felt better, I'd eaten pretty healthily.  I then had it in mind I would later hit a supermarket and get a salad for lunch, today was to be the day when things changed.  After doing two and a half hours of gardening so as to burn up calories I was on track.  Big moma had told me we were expecting visitors for lunch as well.  She was cooking a large chicken and lots of carbs.  Roast tatties, tatties, Yorkshire puds.  But something told me to stay at home and not go to the supermarket.  So I did.  Our visitors did not turn up, Big Moma had got her wires mixed up and it meant the additional three extra meals on the table were not going to be eaten.  If I had bothered to get a salad then there she would of had six dinners all to herself.  So there was no choice but to get stuck in.  To eat as much as possible, because food is expensive and can not be wasted, even though most of it was.  The start day of my diet was over, I feel demoralised as though everybody doesn't give a shit any more and I am going to get fatter and fatter and there is nothing I can do about it.  It's easy to say you have a choice not to eat, but do you?  Big moma had spent hours cooking that dinner.  There wasn't really a choice at all.  Packets of crisps littered the sideboard.

So when it comes to dieting it's not an easy thing to do.  When it comes to trying to live a healthy life, again it is not an easy thing to do.  There is temptation purposely put in the way, there is obligation to stuff your face put so close to you that to go against it is sacrilege.  No wonder the West is getting fatter and fatter.  No wonder I am getting fatter and fatter.  No matter what exercise you do, eating as much as this isn't going to burn off the calories, definitely not in this century.  I sat and did an hour of typing this morning, but hell how many calories are burn in an hour sitting on your arse pushing keys?  Not enough, that's for sure.

I relayed to Sparkling the awful day of not fasting.  She listened and laughed.  I'm on a no brainer to a place six feet under or a clay pot and weighing so little a small child could lift me up.  I want to cry over it.  I've had enough of it but can't stop myself at the same time.  It is like I have now become a complete prisoner to the habit of eating junk food.  Every little step I take to be good and healthy is hit back by a big giant step to being fat and unhealthy.  Trapped, no where to go, no guidance, no support, stuck in a rut.  A unhealthy food rut.  With no one understanding the consequences of shit food and over indulgence.  If I kick the bucket next week don't say I didn't warn the world.  For I have.  Only remember me.  Sit down at a table and have a great big jacket (carb ridden) potato then say cheers Crazy, I knew him well.

Get the Ice Cream vendor...in the open

This morning i had my usual Sunday walk, it was a little less time than last week's four hours, one and a half hours to be precise.  I roamed some shops, picked up a few bits and pieces and headed home.  After lunch coming over a little tired I decided to have forty winks.  I see this as a privilege of age.  Also its probably linked to the amount of Batternburg cake I ate, a big sin.  I read somewhere when people do exercise they subconsciously give themselves a licence to eat junk.  Well I'd say it's true.  As I lay there counting sheep outside a diesel van pulled up.  Suddenly and loudly blasted out "Popeye the Sailor Man" in a bell like jingle.  It was an ice cream vendor, probably catching the beautiful weather and a few more sales in before autumn and winter kick in.  After which his van will be locked in the garage for 6 months.  Unless he has some dual use van and serves burgers on the side.  Funny how kids will eat ice cream no matter what the weather is like or the prospect of pneumonia.  So bloody Popeye jingled away and I woke up startled, wondering what the hell was going on.  The first impulse was to kill the ice cream vendor and go back to sleep. The jingle didn't seem to stop.  Eventually, after a while the van drove off.  It's the distinctive diesel engine, pumping out those "p" particles as all diesel engines do.  So small they have been found to be more damaging to the environment and humans than petrol once was.  There was a moments silence as the vendor was no longer parked in our street, until it happened again.  In another road, not so far away.  Someone and the Ministry of Defence (MOD) could easily market guided ice cream vendor missiles, get two for the price of one.  They'd make a fortune from disgruntled afternoon sleepers.

It's funny how fast the day has gone.  Up late, breakfast, a walk back home, sleep, interruption, up again and then followed by some home work, which I'll not get paid for.  Hell the Fish Factory has become worse than it has ever been. Maybe I should become an Ice Cream vendor.  Maybe the man in the diesel van did work at the Fish Factory.  Bastard, he got out of it.  Escaped to a life of legitimate crime, robbing small children of their teeth by long term tooth decay.  The Fish business stinks.  It stinks of not enough fishes to run the business, no wage increases, over working and pressure.  Last year I thought I was stressed, this year I realise last year was a walk in the park. All inside a brand new building, more like an open-planned car park than an open planned office.  All they need is a ramp and the Ice Cream vendor will be able to drive up and hand out 99s or oysters for our mid morning snack rather than a cup of tea and a biscuit. With the many windows around it you could also argue it makes a good Fish bowl. If there's one thing I have now appreciated it's the normal office.  With the advent of open plan offices actually doing work has become a premium.  It just doesn't get done as well.  Too much noise, too many distractions, loud voiced neighbours who you don't know but would like to throw out a window, whiffs of pungent perfumes which bring on asthma attacks, noise again, in fact so much noise you can't think, no self respecting knowledge worker can think in such a place.  As for privacy, like making the phone call to a colleague you know is going to be difficult, becomes so much more difficult.  The open planned office has become a regressive step and there is no stopping it.  Except for Popeye the ice cream vendor, he might have the power to stop it, quite openly even.  It's odd how the people who hold purse strings will say they have saved so much money by going open planned, but then after various studies begin to show there is lower productivity they are on the back foot making justifications for less work being done.  The loss of orders, unless you sell ice cream.

I used to love the beginning credits of Popeye, it was one of those animations which marks growing up through childhood.  Then I became and adult and now appreciate the sound of silence and time to think.  It's about space for the mind.  Where the mind runs, jumps and dances in cognitive aptitude.  The ice cream vendor has gone for now, just so he can appear the next time I lay my head down in the afternoon.  Between now and then there is a lot of time Popeye.  A lot of time to think.  Be afraid, be very afraid, the MOD is just a phone call away and I've got an idea which could help pull the country out of recession, we'd sell it to the rest of Europe.  How to be rid of noisy ice cream vendors in one simple click of a button.

The Big Kapow

I feel I can not live without the most important person to me always being in my life, Sparkling.  So am progressing on a self inflicted bad health campaign via the help of little exercise and food. Yesterday it was a Singapore fried noodles and today it was steak and onion pie with chips.  Both high cholesterol lunches, one day a week exercise is all I get.  Sparkling isn't looking after her health and has high blood pressure, so I'm not going to bother looking after mine.  Which leads me on to think I'm going to be up for the biggy heart attack at some point.  It will be Kapow, I'll survive and be on drugs for the rest of my life or I'll be pushing up daises.  Well we all come from nothing and all return to nothing and we can take nothing with us because there is no where to go anyway.  It's all down to zero.  We have moments in time and a sense of humour.  So I'm going to put my head in the oven just to fill it up so Sparkling can't put her's in it.  There'd be no room anyway.

Feeling better and a sandwich

It is with wonderful delight I find my cold of the last few days is subsiding.  No more do I sneeze every two minutes, no more do I need to run to the supermarket and purchase another box of tissues.  It's wonderful, almost like being able to breath fresh air when being locked up in a room.  Which is another thing, the sense of smell returning again, but oddly I find my appetite is not what it used to be.   I just don't feel inclined to eat as much as I used to eat.  I still eat, but it's the amounts.  Yesterday I left half a pint of Guinness, today I ate sandwiches from the shop rather than going into a cafe.  This is a big thing for me as my habitual requirement is to eat hot food.  A couple of more days with the echinacea capsules, vitamin C and liquids and all should be healed.

Talking about food.  My biggest personal dread when the Olympics comes along is being able to get to my local shops and get lunch.  The dread is based on there being millions of additional people about.  People who want to take my seat in my cafe or pub, people I'd call trespassers.  When it's all over I will still be here but these villains will be gone, never to be seen again.  I'll be lucky if I don't starve to death when the events begin.  Ironically it could be at the end of the Olympics I'll be at my physical peak, having lost a couple of stone and walked everywhere.  At which point I could even be a record breaker.  One thing is sure, a slimmer looking me would give even Hussain Bolt a run for his money, especially if there was a hot meal at the end of the track, and I'm not kidding.  Just when the scientists thought running was about putting one foot in front of the other faster than anyone else, it's not.  It's all to do with the right motivation. hmmmm, yum.

I took Monster Boy for a walk this evening around a local urban lake.  It's only a mile in circumference.  He wouldn't stop talking.  He just went on and on and on.  I don't know what he had been eating or in whose company he had been.  Whoever it was they hadn't listened to a word he said all day.  Or possibly for the last week.  It was like he had saved it up and waited till he could spill it all out.  Just having someone to talk to for him was wonderful.  I thought my ears were going to drop off.  I kept saying "yes" and "is that so" and occasionally when he said something which didn't make much sense I'd question it and he'd have to think about whether what he said was a load of rubbish or not.  In the end as we neared his home I said to him I thought he must be all talked out and probably didn't have any more words to say.  Because I knew if he did talk any more then there would be nothing but silence, his lips would move but there would be no voice.  He considered this for a moment or two, and this gave me a short sweet delicious 30 seconds of silence.  I couldn't take any more after that and decided to go.  A sandwich was waiting for me, cheese and pickle.  Guess what?  I got home pretty quickly as well.

A week of Sandwiches

A day has not gone past without me eating a sandwich for lunch.  There were a few reasons for this.  Firstly I have always eaten food from cafes or restaurants.  I like hot food for lunch.  It's real and substantial and I feel lunch time should really be lunch time.  It should be slowly taken.  In the same way the French treat lunch.  As a very important part of the day.  So I ensure it is an hour long.  As for the hot food there is another disadvantage and this is down to my waist line.  Trousers and jeans are getting tighter than they have been.  I can not even dare to buy anything which is slim fit.  It's the fear if I wore something slim fitted the seams will tear.  Then there I will be walking along with split arsed trousers, showing my pants.  It's not like I wear fancy boxers either, whatever shows will not be a pretty sight.  However, this is the general problem every ever waist increasing person has to deal with.  Next reason is financial.  It costs more money to go into a cafe for a meal and a drink than it does opening up my own sandwich box.  It is surprising how much it costs.  One day after the other, visiting the pub in the evenings doesn't help either, even though I have done my best to have a break from the odd pint as well.  The combination of home made sandwiches and abstinence must of saved a few pennies.  I'm sure it has in all reality.  Financially it has been a five week month to pay day rather than a four week month, so therefore it's been tough.  Fortunately I've come through it and can see the light.  What a relief.

I must admit eating granary bread sandwiches and sometimes up to 8 slices of this bread a day has also been having another effect on my belly.  It feels a lot more settled.  Like life is easier.  It could be I've had more than my fair share of greasy food and sandwiches are a health food kick.  I should stick with them, but watch out for the boredom factor.  Which comes with eating the same ones over and over again.  It's a matter of doing something different but small which changes the sandwich eating experience.  Like chili flakes.  I need to get some, they will give them a little variety.

In London the sun has come out.  Only a couple of weeks ago we were all moaning about how cold it still was, but now it is hot, some places over 26 Celsius.  It's always difficult wondering what to wear.  The Fish Factory has great air conditioning.  So you can go from the feeling of being in the Artic to being in the Sahara when stepping outside.  There is a water feature I see as I commute, it's two large slopes with a walk way in the middle.  Water runs down one slope, then is pumped under the walkway and again goes down the other slope.  It is amazing to see the small children go paddling in this water.  It is barely deep enough to cover the tread on your shoes, so is more like an artificial aquaplane.  The children play football, splash in it, run about and slip over and then get completely wet.  They laugh and their predicament is infectiously funny.  Big smiles abound.  The sun beats down and this water feature is the best place to be in the world for them.  Parents sit at the sides, some may paddle in as well.  Bare footed seeking relief to their sweaty feet.  It certainly has an entertainment factor.  It's the start of summer, and perhaps unlike previous overcast ones this is going to be one scorcher.  Better get my shoes and socks off, take out my sandwiches and chill.

Morning Sandwiches

I made my own sandwiches today.  It may not seem like a big thing but for someone who always eats in cafes or down market restaurants for lunch it is.  In fact it has been so long since I last made my own lunch I can't remember when I last did it.  A long time ago.  It's no longer stored in the part of my brain which holds long term memories.  Sad as it may be, while I made my sandwiches I was unable to put my feet up and enjoy breakfast.  Which had to be eaten at the same time I made them.  Yes, the quality time I'd just sit on my backside and take it easy was taken up by sandwich making.

The supplies I got for my sarnies cost a little.  To recuperate this I am now obliged to make them at least three times this week otherwise it would of been more expensive.  I even decided to give the pub a miss this evening just so the expense ratio would come down a little quicker.  If I carry on like this it will not be long before I am the sandwich king.  I once read a book where an enterprising person retired from work to make sandwiches for his own organization.  He happened to be an accountant and had regularly collected statistics on lunch time habits.  Come to think of it, he was probably made redundant.  To make his business work he sold as cheaply as he could and operated an honest box system.  Of all persons paying for their sarnies he found those who earned the most were less likely to put money in the honesty box.  The rich were therefore rich for a reason, they engaged in petty criminal behaviour.  Unlike the fat cat bankers of the UK who engaged in large scale just under the net fraud to bring the UK to its knees.  A sandwich is not just a meal to some people.  It's an indicator of honesty.

Somehow tomorrow I'm going to have to do it all over again.  Tomorrow the cost of sandwich materials would of dropped to half of what it cost today, so the incentive is pretty high.  As a secondary incentive I'm hoping these morsels will help me in my own quest to lose a little weight.  But I must admit when I got home this evening I was very tired and had to lay on the bed for a half hour catch up cat nap.  Those cats are so lucky.  I must learn how to sleep and appear to be working.  Match sticks under the eyelids perhaps.  Sandwich in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.  OK better hit the hay, things to do in the morn.  Bread to be spread filling to be laid and Tupperware lids to be sealed.

Two Americans in Krakow, Poland.

Yesterday I came back from Scotland, and a day earlier I was in Poland, Krakow to be exact. I always think it is incredible when returned from a holiday to think only a few hours ago I was in a different country some hundreds of miles away.   It was real.  I did it, have the photographs, drank the beer, vodka and mushroom zupa (soup) and even made a momentary Polish friend.  Who couldn't speak any English which was just as good because I couldn't speak any Polish.  He happened to be a doctor as well.  But even doctors sit in pubs, smoke and drink beer.  Yes.  In Poland you can smoke in the pub provided it is in the designated area where smoking is allowed.  Which was OK for the people I went with as they were all fumigators.   In a bar on two separate occasions we met Americans.

On the first occasion it was a woman.  She was from Chicago, was suffering from job burn out and had decided to see Europe.  Sparkling saw her looked at me and through her glazed sparkling eyes, because she'd drank a few vodkas at this stage said "you love her," I didn't know I loved her, Sparkling said I did.  It was just an American girl.  The truth being I hardly spoke to her at all, it was L & B man and the woman from the Revenues did.  Although the American girl seemed a lonely figure, at first she did not engage in conversation and sat quietly to one side.  My response to Sparkling she was the only one I loved, through dazed dizzy sparkly eyes her reply was "awe," followed by a flicked pointed finger.  Sparkling was happily merry, she lazily closed her eyes and had a hiccough under her breath.  These were to continue to plague Sparkles when she took the raspberry vodka.  Almost like clockwork.  Revenues woman was engrossed in conversation with the American girl.  After about an hour it seemed Revenues had enough of the American and left her with L & B man.  Revenues said the American girl was nuts.  She didn't seem to know where her heritage was and disagreed with Revenues woman over Schindler being a hero or not.  Her view was he was an opportunist capitalist.  She had read some literature on him and she also had a grand parent or mother who was either Jewish or German but knew more about it.  I can't say for sure because the conversation seemed oblique.  As some discussions are when you are sitting in the pub and suffering from a dodgy belly.  Krakow belly in my case.  About another half hour passed and we left with L & B man shortly leaving his conversation with the American Girl who may or may not of been nuts but clearly Revenues didn't quite like.

On a separate night we met the second American, a man.  The conversation barely lasted five to ten minutes and then he went off, but he left an impression.  He appeared confident and loud in my mind.  Immediately I saw him I took a dislike and thought he was a tosser.  He was asked by L & B man what it was which bought him to Poland.  The American man said "the girls."  This was followed by another comment which pissed me off even more, "why be a poor American in American when I can be a rich man in Poland?"  I thought he was abusing his relative wealth.  It's true, Polish people did not seem to me to have much of a mixture of the classes.  They appeared generally poorer.  But they also gave the impression of being very honest people.  They didn't like to be over tipped I found.  Although there was the one or two who would accept large tips at the bar or possibly over charge.  Generally speaking they seemed like very respectable people.  Of course I'd be careful about their Police, because I've heard stories.  I won't go into them.  I liked the Polish people and even leaned to say Thank-you in Polish.  The American didn't give the impression he respected them or anything else, the impression he gave was he would take advantage of them, and probably frequented prostitutes because relatively speaking they were probably a lot cheaper by his standard of prostitute.  It was no surprise after this very short time Sparkling through her dizzy haze said to me "you see him, he is all I hate about Americans," this was followed by "when he comes back I'm going to knock him out."  She might of been inebriated but I certainly wouldn't of put it past Sparkling to have tried to of landed a punch on the American.  She repeated this a couple of times.  The American man didn't come back.  He probably had a sense.  If he had though and even faintly responded to Sparkling had responded back, both I and L & B man would of waded in for a full bar brawl.  Regardless of having Krakow belly or not. The girl and the man were two very different people.

We may be going again to Krakow in December, our taxi driver told us it could get as cold as minus 25 degrees at this time.  The prospect of this doesn't excite me, however I'm sure a chilled vodka would go down even better.  Then I can purchase a real Russian hat as well.  Better get the phrase book out and learn some more words.  Now, how do you say? "no raspberry vodka thanks, it gives me the hiccoughs."

A dream about oyster soup

OK got up this morning from a dream about oyster soup.  There was a manic desperation because the soup had to be correctly flavoured.  Vinegar was missing, I think there may have been single cream as well.  I don't have the faintest idea where this dream comes from but then the unconscious mind works in mysterious ways.  I was laying on my back and may of also had a snore.  This is happening more often nowadays.  In the background the cat was meowing and wanted to be let out.  The only thing of matter though was my soup.  I was making it, tasting it and desperately seeking seasoning. 

It's cold out.  I'm awake and about to leave.  No oyster soup insight.  However, a little Irish stew wouldn't go amiss.

Chrimbo day stuffing, a late Chinese and an anaphylactic shock

Strange how Chrimbo days are times of special events.  If it's not a psychological war of the between relatives there's something else going on.  Which is probably one reason why I have spent more years in Scotland than in London at Chrimbo.  It's a little more calming to be in the presence of Sparkling for me.  I just happen to feel more relaxed around her.  Even when things are not going well at the Fish Factory, which unfortunately has been on my mind quite a bit lately as well as nose bleeds from high blood pressure and bouts of mad-man-anger.  Just to say there are a few things I need to get off my chest in the Factory.  Fortunately, Sparkling is understanding and together we have done our best not to allow the steamed up crazy-red-popping-anger head to get a hold.  Although I will say it does get more difficult bringing it down over a period of time.  Enough of that.  So as I was saying.  Besides the times of psychological permanent scarring, which in this wonderful man-made-christian event, other things tend to happen.  Things which can not be anticipated.  Like they have been pulled out of a magician's bag, and instead of a white rabbit there's a bloody pink elephant.  Like someone has been drinking too many martinis.  The magician's bag obviously belongs to Doctor Who.  There can be no other explanation.  So it was as this Chrimbo day came to be other things decided to take place as well.

As a change from the norm of dried up turkey, we decided to have a dried Chinese instead.  However, Chinese isn't dried up and tastes a lot better.  So the order was put in for a Chinese, it was due to arrive at 5 p.m., in the mean time Sparkling decided to put a few items in the oven, little snack things needing to be cooked off.  Mini sausages, stuffing balls, prawn sesame slice things, the usual little snacks.  It was some time between 4 p.m. and 5 p.m. when Sparkles had taken these out of the oven and took a fancy to trying one of the stuffing balls.  These were sticking to the silver foil and ended up being a disaster in more than one way.  She pulled one off the foil and thought no more of taking a couple of bites.  The rest of the bits and pieces were put on plates ready for the evening's party.  The Chinese pre ordered would be on it's way, and Rock Chick with Dangerous Sports lad in tow had done a little bit of Chrimbo visiting.  This left just me and Sparkles in the house.  I went into the kitchen to see how things were going and Sparkles looked at me.  It was a worried look, a frightened kind of stare she had in her eyes.  Followed by the words "I'm taking a reaction.  To the stuffing balls."  Sparkles pulled up her sleeves and there I could see the tell tale sign of hives.  Big blooming blotchy skin welts all over her forearms.  Oh my gaud, I thought.  It's real, it's a anaphalatic shock.  Sparkling was nervous and shaking.  She drank water and there was a problem with swallowing.  I wanted to call the ambulance, Sparkling kept shaking her head.  Saying "no, I'm trying to get it under control."  I wanted to ring immediately but Sparkles was doing her best to keep control.  I felt myself welling up inside, a bubbling kind of panic.  Heck, I didn't know what to do.  Sparkling gave way and I rang the emergency services.

It seemed to take forever to get through to the ambulance service, while inside me I was thinking every second counts.  Sparkles was blotchy and red, she said she was having a problem drinking water.  She had gave a gagging motion when she tried a sip or two.  The operator came through, I gave details of address, Sparklings age and then answered some simple questions.  Like "is she conscious?" fortunately for me she was I don't know how I'd of held it together were she not.   The ambulance was on its way.  The operator asked

"Has she used her eppipen?"
"No."
"Then tell her she has to use her pen."
"Darling, you have to use your pen."  Sparkles was sat on the arm of a chair, half panting and kind of nodding her head to say yes she knew she had to use it.  The voice returned on the end of the phone.
"Has she used her pen?"
"No, not yet."
"You have to use your pen Sparkling."  She looked at me once, looked at the pen and plunged it hard into the side of her thigh.  It was dull.  She looked at the pen again, pulled the top off and again stabbed it at her thigh.
"Has she used the pen?"
"Yes, she has now used the pen."
"OK, tell her the ambulance is on the way, keep her calm they will be there soon.  I will stay on the phone to they arrive.  How is she?"

Somewhere in between this conversation I managed to make another phone call to Rock Chick to get and tell her about the situation.  The conversation went on with the lady on the end of the phone, I managed to keep it together and not turn into a screwed up panicking mess.  Even though I was feeling like this on the inside.  An emergency medic turned up, he attached a machine to Sparkling which monitored her vitals.  Pulse rate was 67, blooming Aida I thought, Sparkles is an athlete.  Blood pressure was high, which apparently was a good sign in this situation.  It's when the blood pressure drops a full anaphalactic Chrimbo after all.  Rock and Dangerous walked in to be greeted by three emergency personnel. 

In the back of my mind I kept wondering where the blooming Chinese was, and if it turned up now whether there would be enough to share amongst everyone.  We'd find a way I thought.  But it didn't come to it.  The machine was disconnected and little sticky pads were left on Sparkling's arms.  We were all relieved.  Sparkles had an adrenaline high over the next couple of hours and the stuffing balls went in the bin.

Long live the dry turkey.

Exercise makes you eat - the alternative...

The problem with doing exercise is it makes me want to eat.  Then usually the idea of doing the exercise in the first place is to reduce the extra pounds around my girth.  Not to mention the doughnuts either.  I just don't know what it is.  My appetite becomes even more voracious.  It's not like I'm eating good quality healthy food either.  Take yesterday for instance.  I got on my bike and had a 6 mile round drip ride, to a supermarket.  Got there, bought various items and ended up having a meal for one Indian, chicken madras, rice, nan bread etc followed by a couple of slices of battenburge cake (very nice to) and a few strawberries.  The Indian really wasn't up to much, which is the way it goes with ready made meals from supermarkets.  I looked at it before throwing the thing in the microwave and wondered how come the pieces of chicken looked so palid, like they hadn't even been cooked in the sauce?  It was obvious, they hadn't, the sauce and the chicken had just been dropped into the container, probably by a machine which didn't care a great deal about it.  Mind, I must say the sauce was OK, I've had controlled flatulence all day long.  Controlled meant running off away from people to have a good fart somewhere less populated.  That will teach me.  Big not to self.  When having an Indian make sure it is on a Friday or Saturday.  In fact any night where the next day I'm not going to need human contact.  So with the cake, Indian and strawberries I doubt if the 6 mile bike ride actually burnt off as much as I consumed. 

Alternatively it could be some reluctant part of my personality or brain which is subconsciously saying "you don't want to lose weight, be slim, fit, healthy or a stud muffin.  It's hard work.  Live with yourself.  Get over it."  It's not a loud voice which says this, it's like a whisper I can barely hear, well, if I heard it then I would be suffering from not just weight gain but some mental disorder as well.  Hell, one problem at a time is enough, I don't need two.  When I think back to the days when I used to run miles, maybe 4 or 5 times a week.  I was skinny.  Now I understand why.  Then I didn't eat much either.  On account of not having much money and a poorly paid job.  When you look at third world developing countries being fat is something they generally don't have any issues with, on account of not many of them being fat.  I could go and get my jaws wired up, or even stomach surgery, but I'm not as grossly fat as that.  Just enough to be disturbed by it.  Maybe I should start taking some of those berries they advertise.  The ones which cost an arm and a leg.  It makes sense, if you spend a lot of money on dried up health food berries you won't have so much to spend on food and then you will also want the berries to work, on account of their cost so in turn don't eat so much.  Hypnosis.  This is what I should consider.  I once saw a show where they hypnotist made his subject jump up out of the seat as though it was on fire whenever he heard a certain word.  There must be a suggestion which can be made to make me feel I don't have to eat so much.  I know "you're fat, stop eating that doughnut" I'm sure it will work.  Unless of course my subconscious mind decides to jump in there and negotiate.  It's enought to drive one crazy.

Well if it comes to it, I'll just have to give up exercising.  Put the bike on ebay, avoid the pub, all Chinese restaurants and find another highly addictive passtime.  But as I sit here, I can't think of anything I'd like to do.  Maybe I should have a cheese and pickle sandwich, it'll get the little grey cells working.