If The Table Fits…….

So I board my train at Manchester Piccadilly this afternoon, homeward bound, and already I need the loo. Anxiously I wait until the aisle is clear, just after we set off, and I make my move. I don’t like walking down the aisles of trains; there is never a great deal of room; people always spill their body parts away from the confines of their seat and arm rest causing obstructions; not to mention the tilting motion that sends you ribs first into the Mickey Mouse ear that is the hand rest on the head of the seat in front. Knowing I had only five minutes or so until the first stop I took my chance. Two carriages! I had sat in Coach C so as to be close to the shop for cups of tea at one end and near to the loo at the other; thus minimising the amount of trauma as either my belly or my arse collides with unsuspecting fellow travellers. Alas, the loo was the far end of the carriage behind; but I made it there and back to my seat in good time and, surprisingly, without human contact.

Moving on from Stockport, the aisle seat next to mine is, thankfully, still available. (Yes I know that’s very anti-social of me, but one does prefer the opportunity to spread out.) It’s now a while until our Stoke stop……time for a brew methinks. When I returned to my seat I automatically pulled down the ‘table’ of the empty seat next to me. I can never manage to lower my own as I have too much belly in the way. (Now I have always been a big girl, but even writing that creates disbelief that I have let myself increase in volume continuously for so long). I prepared my tea, leaning over to do it, and then thought, ‘I wonder?’ Looking back towards my own table, I lowered it and, would you believe? It fit! It’s true there is never a great deal of room on the trains, but there is considerably less when you have size issues; i.e. you’re a lardy like me. I’m pretty sure Virgin haven’t suddenly redesigned their Pendolinos since I was last on one, so it can only mean one thing…..my diet is working.

In fact, I have lost 15lb in the first three weeks of my plan and have lost another five since being at my mums. (Official weigh in tomorrow morning, on my own scales.) My jeans are too big, the notches on my belt are steadily moving inward. My size has visibly decreased and I couldn’t be more pleased with myself! I have been so unhappily obese for so many years and now I have found something that works. I know there are a lot of other factors involved; timing, self focus, an awakening; all these things have played a part. Just where will this go? What next?

A few years ago I went to Alton Towers. I absolutely love thrill rides, but I knew from the off that I wouldn’t fit on any. I tried one……nope, had to get off. I wasn’t humiliated; I think to be humiliated at something like that means you are grossly in denial about it. I wasn’t in denial about my size. I have known the brutal and emotional reality of it for many years, even though I could never seem to successfully change it. I was disappointed that I couldn’t enjoy the ride. I did manage to get on one though so it wasn’t a total loss. This is something I can’t wait to do. Something that is so normal for so many people. As soon as I am small enough to go on them, I’m going to book myself in for a long weekend in one of those themed hotel rooms and go on every ride, every day, twice!!!

I think when I get home I might even try some clothes on that I haven’t worn for a while, I might be pleasantly surprised!

Must dash, need the loo again.

To be continued…….



I consider myself a very lucky woman, in so many ways. Except one. Crucially, it’s this one exception that has dictated my feelings for my entire life; one that consistently makes me feel like an unlucky person. You know me so well! Yes, love.

Irrespective of intellect, insight, perception, wisdom, understanding, we all need reminding of just how lucky we are. My Mum has said, for as long as I can remember, “There’s always someone worse off; count your blessings.” She is, of course, quite correct. Yet, as intelligent and insightful as I regard myself, I have bellyached this evening to a friend about how much I hate where I live and that I have not had access to the kitchen to prepare my dinner (according to the diet plan) because one of the three others in the flat that have use of the communal areas has been hogging the kitchen since I got home. Diet plan went out the window and I have had to settle for scrambled eggs and beans. I’m not allowed baked beans, so this was even more aggravating. I am so desperate to have my own place again (saving like billio for a deposit) and this evening’s situation has only compounded my frustrations further; as the chances of actually moving are slim for at least a further six months, having already endured nine months in this hamster cage of a room.

There is so vastly much wrong in all of the above paragraph, I can’t even begin to understand how petit my thoughts have been. I’ve just watched part of Panorama which documented working families who really are on the bread line and one man who only had some teabags and two tins of mushy peas in his cupboard. He’s so strapped for cash he hadn’t even eaten for two days and the poor bastard has a flat but no furniture, not even carpet. Can you imagine? And here’s me, with enough cash in my account to buy up a plethora of goods in the local supermarket and I’m fed up because I haven’t been able to produce my deconstructed beef burgers with rocket salad tonight. I hang my head in shame so I do.

I have a very good life. I have registered my own company, I earn a very good living, I have a good social life and even when I’m not around others I make damn sure I am off doing something I want to do. I am continuously up and down the country; just this weekend a friend and I went to Chester to see one of my favourite bands play an amazing gig, then went on to Liverpool, the next day, for a while before driving five hours back home. This kind of weekend is commonplace for me. I am here, there and everywhere, all of the time. I don’t really know how to be any different. Life has been like this for the best part of four years; it has become who I am, even though at times I would kill to settle down. And it is here that I have to consider luck.

I managed to settle down when I was in Manchester with my partner. I found myself in love and gradually moving in with her. Once we settled into the relationship, all was good. There was so much love and laughter for much of our time together. I had found myself in ‘normal’ mode; a typically, normal life. I worked, came home, we ate together, watched T.V. or whatever, go to bed together and come the morning, off I’d trot to work again. This set-up was something I had craved for so long. To this day it pains me that it didn’t work. Lord knows I did love that girl, but the love just could not be sustained with the issues surrounding our life together.

Since then, I have felt settled again…………but only when Ms Brighton came along. Sensing a pattern emerging?! An entirely different experience to Ms Manchester, and yet that wasn’t right either. It is pretty clear that it is in my nature to feel happiest when I have love. So what do we want the most? I have the money and the lifestyle but I lack contentment because this abundance of love I have within me, aching to be given to my soulmate, lies wasted. I have far more than a person needs to survive. I have squandered more money over the last few years than I’d dare want to realise. It’s criminal really. (Though I should point out that this was after having worked my arse off for years to get debt free, whilst also supporting myself.) It has, if you like, bought me many happy memories…….without the cash I wouldn’t have half the memories I have of all the places I’ve been to, or the days/nights out, the weekends away; and yet it can never buy happiness.

Luckiness is relevant. To the poverty stricken, I am extremely lucky to be in the position I am in….even though I don’t own my own home, I am merely in a dorm type accommodation whilst on contract in the area; I can at least say I have an affordable roof over my head, a warm, clean, safe environment and the money to buy whatever food I want, when I want and to travel whenever the mood takes me. Ironically, a lot of those poverty stricken people who could only dream of being on the salary I am currently on, have the one thing that money can’t buy………the one and only thing I want out of life…………love. I would happily trade any day of the week. I would hand over everything I had and live on pasta and salad cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner until the day I die, if it meant I got to wake up with the woman of my dreams. In a heartbeat. In a Buckinghamshire minute.

I am lucky in life; and, in truth, I can’t really say I am unlucky in love. I have had love in my life; I just haven’t found ‘the one.’ So shall do as my mumsie says and count my blessings. I may never have my one true love, but I will always provide myself with a good life. And as we simply don’t always get what we want, at least some of us can say we have everything we need.