One For Robyn

Our Robyn's taken up knitting again. I'm asking for a sharp punch on the upper arm here as the last things she knitted were rather splendid, but who can resist the ever-wonderful Natalie Dee? Certainly not me.
Have fun knitting, Robyn. I expect photos.

WTF Monday - Tacky Kitsch Crap

Who buys this stuff? Please tell me it's not you.

Old Dive's Miracle Non-Diet

Hey, peeps! Prithee celebrate with me. Raise a glass of the alcoholic beverage of your own choosing to Old Dive's Miraculous Lightening.

A year ago this week I caught sight of myself on video, standing sideways on to the camera and - as I put it at the time - screamed like a girl.
Here is that offending video and the post that confirmed I had indeed swallowed a planet.

I weighed myself that very day and found to my horror that I weighed 104 kilos (almost 16 and a quarter stone in real money, or 229.3 pounds in American).

Having stuck a big red sign on my fridge saying "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!" I proceeded not to go on a diet, not to cut down on the booze and not to exercise any more than I did at the time.

What I DID do, however, was begin a regime of portion control. For the past year I've eaten and drunk what the hell I wanted, when the hell I wanted it, but have not "cooked for two and not let it go to waste" which was my previous kitchen habit.
I have consumed many a gallon of Barolo and Pinot Grigio and Islay malt, together with a lorry load of Green and Black's organic chocolate, a veritable Tsukuji Market of fish and shellfish and have committed atrocities against the vegetable kingdom that would shock the squeamish.

This morning, as I stood on my scales (which read the same as those in my doctor's surgery, I'm happy to state) I find I weigh (tadaa) a mere 83.4 kilos (a little under 13 stone 2, or 183.8 pounds in American).

A year ago, I thought the only way I'd lose twenty pounds of ugly fat was to cut off my head, but instead, having shown no restraint whatsoever and not at any moment felt like I was was dieting, I discover I've shed 46 pounds.
Forty-six pounds! That's more than six-and-a-half seven pound babies! Sheesh! Try lifting that weight of bottled water and hefting it up and down the stairs and you'll see just how happy my knees are. Yay for the new, gravity-free me!

Without a belt, my jeans now fall straight to the floor, much to my amusement.

Anyhoo … I'm chuffed to bits, so while I stuff myself full of crayfish tails and salad I wish you all a very merry Sunday. Whoop whoop!

Saturday Statuary

Don't know what's supposed to be going on here. It's called "Monument to Dedalus" though why they can't spell Dædalus is quite beyond me, and why Norwich needs a monument to Dædalus anyway is a mystery.
It looks to me, however, for all the world like a bunch of spare props left over from the Robocop movies … er … on a stick, but then what do I know?

Friday At Last

I've run out of Phil's Indian Ocean driftwood photos, so he'll have to go back and take us some more.
In the meantime, here's some local driftwood from here in colder climes. It may not be quite so warming but I hope it helps you drift into the weekend.
Happy Friday, peeps.

Bugger This

Off to work in another smegging blizzard this morning. Looks like spring's simply not bothered getting up this year; like a teenager moaning that it will haul its lazy ass out of bed sometime in the autumn.
Damn, damn, dammit!

Car Porn Thursday - Ladies' Man

And yes, Speedway: behind our sexily posed hunk of manhood that's another one of Jim Clark's Lotus machines. Sweet.

Wednesday Window - Let Them Eat Fruit

Remember, kids: fruit is an essential daily part of a healthy diet. Get it any way you can.

The Usual

The sun's out today. Bloody typical. Spring waits for the day after the Easter break to show its face.
It's still about minus a million degrees outside, though.
I know just what's going to happen: it's going to freeze all week and then next Monday it will be ninety in the shade and too sweaty to move.
AUGH!

WTF Monday - Choose Carefully

Many thanks to Linda for sending this through: the natural home of Dan Brown, Fifty Shades of Shite, TV tie-ins and Zelebrity "autobiographies".