Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Your Very Good Health!

The Manchester Run is less than 3 months away and my target of 55 minutes for this year seems enormous at present. After breaking my ribs and getting swine flu last year, my running regime has been somewhat sporadic and I find myself carrying a few extra pounds and horribly unfit again. Boo.

I can't do diets - my maths is too dreadful for counting calories or points and I'm colour blind, so the whole red days/green days malarky is a non-starter.

I don't think I could do slimming pills - the TV ad for the leading brand is enough to put me off. They're called 'Adios', the soundtrack is Burn Baby Burn and the active ingredient is Fucus.

Adios, Burn and Fucus.


It sounds more like the executive committee of the Assassins Guild than a diet aid.

Speaking of diet aids, I was in Holland and Barrett last week for dried blueberries and Dead Sea Mud (tagging along, not shopping).

They really need to rethink their marketing strategy or at least employ doormen to vet the losers trying to gain entry, in the same way posh clubs only allow beautiful people in.

It promotes itself as a health store, yet its customers are the very worst advert for their products. The shop is packed with fat, wheezy pensioners, dragging their tartan trollies while they stock up on prunes and cod liver oil; or pale, obese men eyeing up the instant muscle powder.

Everyone's a before, not an after*.

No, it has to be running for me - and soon - before my clothes start to protest even further.

It could be worse. JP and Tiddler were having a oneupmanship contest in the back of the car recently - largely involving threats of exposure to school mates, regarding valentines, love and girls worth kissing. It was about even, until Tiddler stuck the knife firmly in with:

'If you do, I'm going to tell everyone at school you're secretly fat!'

Game, set and match, Tiddler. There's no comeback to that.

*although if they're taking Adios, they may never reach after.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Tags 'R Us

Whilst I continue to hate shopping, I have discovered a hidden, shopping-related talent which I am considering as a career change.

I am excellent at tagging along.

Yummy Mummy and I recently spent a Wednesday and Friday out (with lunch obv.) looking for curtain and blind fabric for her dining room. The dyslexic leading the colour blind.

I tagged along.

It's relatively simple. You trail about a yard behind, hold shopping bags, alert shop assistants, nod in agreement in all the right places and feed parking meters. Oh and go in search of suitable candidates for purchase, having been given a very strict set of instructions.

As a bonus by-product, you also make purchases - three dogwood trees, 3 must-have-because-they're-perfect-for-your-kitchen-and-you-like-them-and-you-just-broke-your-favourite-anyway-mugs, new school trousers for JP and a place to get curtains made (finally!)

So the shopping also gets done without you even noticing.

It's Brilliant.

But that's what husbands/boyfriends are for, aren't they? you counter.

Yes, but here's the thing. They complain; can't gossip and tag along at the same time because that's multi-tasking; won't share a pain au chocolat and not everyone has one.

I could hire myself out. Yummy would give me a good reference I'm sure - especially since I spotted the purple, silk fabric she eventually bought (gold star for me). They'll be queuing up to hire me.

This could be my millionaire idea. I could start a matching agency - pairing shoppers with suitable taggers-along.

Watch this space. Oh, and email me if you have shopping plans. I'll check my diary.