Wednesday, April 08, 2009
I woke up bright and early today, aware that my colleague might try and spring a dawn raid on me again, like yesterday, and I reeeeeeally don’t want to spend the day looking like Danny La Rue again. So - I get up, have a bath and start to draw a slightly less alarming face on. Pleased with my efforts, I get dressed, opting for a skirt in an attempt to feel girly, a red top with a cleavage encouraging neckline (it’s only cleavage enhancing if you have one in the first place) and some really nice new heels I’ve bought. (NB - I haven’t broken them in yet, I usually do this by putting a big pair of fluffy bed socks on with a pair of new shoes, and doing some cleaning. My niece Abby caught me once doing this and said “Oh, Auntie Katie, you look like a Fimble on the pull”, so I only do it late at night now). So, even thought I haven’t done my Fimble-washing-up routine yet, I think bugger it, I’m gonna wear ‘em anyway as they’re fabulous and so am I today! I put a big chunky belt around my torso in the attempt to create a waist out of the 10-inches-that-I-can-pinch, and I actually feel quite…dare I say it… attractive. Well, you know, for me at least.
By the time I’ve got downstairs my new shoes are already rubbing, and my intolerant diabetic feet mean that I can’t risk breaking them in, for fear that my feet might fall off before the end of the day (I’m not being dramatic, honest). So I have to fall back on my only other pair of black heels, some suede t-bar ones from Asda. They’re very nice and once they too were fabulous, but the last time I wore them I got caught in a huge downpour and the suede got wet. Unfortunately they are still a bit, erm…niffy as a result. Also the giant belt is making me really warm, but god dammit I look freaking cool and I am going to wear it!!
I go down to have my breakfast to find that Paul has drank all the semi skimmed AND the skimmed milk (he doesn’t even like my “white water” so I don’t quite know why he did that), and I can’t have any breakfast. So I have to take my cereal to work in a bag again and hope I can rob some milk. Turns out when I get there, that the communal team milk (which we all put money in for) has arrived so I don’t have to feel like a criminal today. YAY! I eat a very small bowl of shredded wheat bitesize, and watch as my colleague eats two slices of white toast with loads of butter dripping off them and six (count them – SIX!!) custard creams. She said it’s a balanced meal, as she ate three with her left hand and three with her right. Absolute genius. Can’t help but notice as I walk across the office that my shoes are starting to poff a bit as they dry out. It’s a bit like old dogs arses. Mmmmmmmmm…. Also, the bit around my middle where the big belt sits is just getting warmer and warmer. If it carries on like this I’ll have to take the fecker off…
It’s getting more and more difficult to avoid the Easter treat-sters… Today in the post, two boxes of Thornton’s classic collection arrived, one for me, one for a colleague. Now normally, I would be dead chuffed that the reps had remembered me at Easter but today I’M JUST MAD!!! I put my box of chocs on the other side of the office and tell everyone not to let me have any; it’s for my health you know etc etc…
I manage to last until lunchtime but I do go and have a good sniff of the box (this doesn’t cost me any points and makes me feel a bit sick, so win-win!)
Lunch – (and the most bizarre conversational exchange ever)
I decide for lunch that as I enjoyed it so much yesterday I will have the ham salad combo from the hospital restaurant again, but as by this time yesterday I had eaten a rich toffee bar and a bag of crisps, I have also earned a small jacket potato for lunch, as this would be the same, points wise. SO, I get to the restaurant, fill a pot from the salad bar with salad leaves, tomato and cucumber, treat myself with ½ an egg (when did the shift occur in my life, where ½ a boiled egg is now considered a treat?) and I go to the jacket potato bar to have the most confusing conversation with the “Restaurant Technician” (aka Canteen Lady) ever. All I asked for was a small jacket potato and two slices of ham, and everything went rapidly downhill from there really…
The conversation goes like this –
Me – “Can I have the smallest jacket potato you’ve got please, to take away, with a couple of slices of ham?”
Her – “Yes love, do you want it on brown or white?”
Me – “Brown or white what? Bread? Erm, no, just on it’s own please”
Her – “What?” (You really needed to have seen her face to appreciate the shock value, you’d have thought I’d asked her to fashion the ham into a small sculpture of Cliff Richard)
Me – “Just the ham on it’s own please, no bread, just put it next to the jacket potato in the takeaway carton”
Her – “Oh. Are you sure?”
Me – “Erm, yes” (this woman is voluntarily sporting blue hair, and she’s questioning my judgement?)
Her – “Do you want butter on it?”
Me – “No thank-you”
Her – “What filling are you having?”
Me – “What?” (Am I at the dentist now?)
Her – (getting impatient now) “What filling, on your jacket potato love, what filling are you having?”
Me – “Oh, nothing, just the ham please”
Her – “On a jacket potato?”
Me – “No, just next to it! Or on it., I’m not really bothered…”
Her – “Oh, right. That’s not very good, is it?”
Me – (Slightly offended but just wanting her to give me the jacket potato so I can make her wear it as a hat) “Well, you know, just trying to be healthy and all that”
Her – “No, I mean, it doesn’t look very appetising, but if you’re trying to be healthy love, you should have had turkey, it’s got less salt in it and there’s no fat to cut off” (Seriously, this woman’s got a blue rinse and an arse the size of Belgium, and she’s giving me diet advice? But, she’s only trying to help and to be fair, she’s right. I didn’t think of actually having turkey, I think I might ask her to change it…)
Me – “you know what, you’re right actually, can you please swap my ham for turkey?”
Her – “Well no love, we ‘aven’t got any turkey” (SERIOUSLY?!!?)
Me - (Breathing deeply now a la Michael Douglas in Falling Down at the McDonalds counter, minus the shotgun) “Ok then…phew…. Right, just the ham please, with a small jacket potato to take away, no butter, no filling, and no bread.”
Her – “D’you want garnish?”
Me – “Oh for fu… Yeah, yeah, go on then, give us the salad garnish, I mean why not, it’s free innit?” (and I’ll probably need the extra calories as I have been here now for about three days)
Her – (after about 20 minutes of piddling about with a jacket potato, she comes back and shows it to me in the tray with a salad garnish, and three slices of ham)
“I’ve tried to make it look nice for you, as dinners go, it looks a bit crap”
Me – “Oh, erm…thank-you?”
I then walk away with a bewildered look on my face, and the next woman (who, I might add, has been laughing at the whole scenario as it unfurled before her) orders a turkey salad and THE BLOODY CANTEEN LADY JUST GIVES IT TO HER!!! Where did the frickin’ turkey come from?? I didn’t even want any, but now the other woman has some, all I have is my high in fat, salty ham in front of me AND ALL I WANT IS HER TURKEY!!! And why is she not questioning every element of her order? Oh my god, I think I need to have a lie down in a darkened room… the sheer stress of the situation has made me really warm, and the bit where my big belt is sitting is now really sweaty, so even if I wanted to take it off, I can’t as they’ll be a big wet patch around my middle. Also, the “old dog’s arse” smell is getting worse and people are starting to stare. I think they think I have farted. Perhaps this is why I wasn’t allowed any turkey. My “attractive” feeling is fading fast…
When I get back to the office most of the chocolates are still there, and I have to count my two slices of ham as three points instead of two as they are so large you could use them to cover tables.
Apart from the rising smell of my shoes in the heat, and the slideyness of my big belt in the sweaty patch, the rest of the day is quite uneventful. I am nearly talked into having a Thornton’s choccy about 5 times (my colleagues are all bastards) but I refrain and have a banana instead (ooh, have-a-banaaaaana). So when I get home I treat myself to a rich toffee bar (yum) while I contemplate what to have for tea. I have a quick sit down on the sofa, and TOH dives on me – he wraps two plastic bags over my feet, secures them with masking tape and stands back proudly. Apparently the smell of my feet is so bad it warrants an ambush. I would be offended but it’s actually quite effective in keeping out the old dog’s bum smell, so I keep the bags on and go sliding about the kitchen floor while I am cooking tea. Does this count as activity points? Hmmm….
Yesterday’s Adventures in Freezerland resulted in the discovery of a 500g bag of white fish portions, which I am led to believe is very lean and therefore good for you. I work out the points and it’s 1 point for 100g (not bad, not bad) so I decide I’m going to knock out a fish pie. I cook the fish, stick it on the bottom of the dish and add some purple headed broccoli (TOH got it off the whoops counter at Tesco in a rare supportive moment, I think he saw the “purple headed” bit and thought it was too funny an opportunity to miss). I chuck in some mushrooms and onions as they’re free, and a measured portion of white sauce mix. A whole bag of Smartprice mash is only 6 ½ points, so this goes on top. I even piped the mash on the top in liddle rows, and added a widdle mashed potato piped fish in the middle, with a peppercorn eye (Delia must be shitting herself). I bang it through the recipe builder on WW Online and it comes out at 14 points for the whole thing, and 4.5 points per portion, we eat it with some no point veg and I’m feeling so virtuous I have another ½ a piece later on. Well good! TOH is feeling so virtuous that he puts the remaining bit of fish pie on a butty. A pie butty. Seriously. You can take the lad out of Oldham…
Overall, I think I’ve had quite a good day today, and I have 5 points left to eat, but I’m actually full! Oh my god, I always knew this day would come….Must be all that mash… so I end up falling asleep on the couch in a mash coma and wake up to the smell of burning… oh bugger, have I left the oven on? No – turns out one of my foot bags is loose and the smell of burning rags is just me feet. Probably time for a bath then… I’ll save 4 of me points for another day, and will try not to feel too bad about the fact I’ve not done any exercise, although if talking to the mentally challenged was an Olympic sport I would be getting gold today, it’s a shame there are no activity points for it…
Chocka girl, checking out… I bitted it and writted it, so I did!!