Wedding Belly

Lilsister is getting married in October, and I can’t stop eating scones.

Ever since cutting the ties with my last job I have found that my local supermarket makes the biggest most sugar filled beautiful scones I have ever eaten, and I can’t stop eating them.  It is a daily battle not to drive up and buy six of them.  It is a battle I am losing.

To combat my scones and Lilsister’s belly, we are Going to Do Something About It.  We have six months, I have told her we will be running.  We have gone outside once since I made this statement, and I ran three times (running time in total about forty seconds due to excessive wheezing, oncoming heart attack) and Lilsister, in pink walking shoes, ran for about eight seconds before giving up and saying her neck hurt her (?).

We have both purchased our dresses (her wedding, my bridesmaid) and our bellies fit into them currently.  Should we fail on a massive scale with our health venture, we will fit into our outfits, but I will feel a little bit sad.

All Pain and No Gain

In an effort to be fit and fabulous for my upcoming social mingling disaster tomorrow night, I did a slight run on Sunday.  I say ”slight” because I was actually walking but felt buoyed up by listening to my 80’s music on my walkman, and broke into a slow trot for most of the second chorus of ”Train of Thought” by A-ha.  Now it is Tuesday, and I have pains in my legs, hips, back and arse (literally – I am actually struggling to sit down) and I am feeling frumpy and forty.  I should be a triumph tomorrow!

To combat the fact that I am unable to move, rendering exercising out of the question, I am attempting to eat less and failing miserably.  I cooked a batch of scones after my excessively not long run and then purchased jam and cream to go with them – delicious, but not diet material.  I have also been suffering with chronic PMT and have had to turn to chocolate much more regularly than normal.  So myself and my hormones should be in peachy form by tomorrow night.

Dirty Pints and Catching Billy’s Eye (Part 2)

The swan song of Saturday night came when myself and Trevor fell out of the Italian restaurant, with Trevor loudly belching her appreciation of her meal, probably ensuring nobody else enjoyed theirs.  Outside, a woman actually jumped as Trevor continued to let rip. 

Back on the streets again and with a hunger for more dirty pints, we happened upon a pub which Trevor declared herself and Boo Boo never went to, and went there.  

It was sticky, sweaty, and full of ugly people so terrible in the face department that me with my makeup now running down my face and a new hole in the back of my top, looked positively classy and attractive.  SO attractive in fact that I immediately caught the eye of a man I can only say looked like a ”Billy” – a rotund and teethy individual practically wearing the brown suit that is in the wardrobe of all eligible bachelor farmers in their mid fifties.  He flashed me a smile and I sat in the only available seat in the pub, which was directly in front of the ”band”.  Billy moved on, catching the oddly shaped eyes of two extremely large and undressed females, who were only too delighted with the  free vodkas and cokes bought for them.  I focused on who was the ugliest of the ”band” and in my drunken haze, could not figure it out.    I DO recall the piercing in the singer’s lip, which kept catching the one light working in the bar, and finding it quite distracting, and wondering why he drank dirty pints instead of dancing or ad-libbing for the many guitar solos.

We ended up moving to the back of the pub, near the pool tables, inhabited by younger scumbags, and discussed the hazards of immigration with somebody who was on the way to Tanzania to work in a quarry.  We all declared that leaving Ireland was shit, and that our government should be shot to death for allowing thousands to depart our shores each week for the unbelievable privilege of seeking actual work.  For shame, Ireland’s politicians!!!

Trevor has since been told by neighbours that she was seen slumped forward at this pub, but as I was sitting right beside her and didn’t see that, I can only refute these ungrounded claims.

Afterwards, Lilsister advises me that I called her to sing the Irish footballing anthem, Ole Ole Ole, but had to stop because I had fallen in a bush.  She tells me the voicemail was initially full of singing, then banging, then foul language, then pleas for Trevor to pull me out of the bush, then more singing, then complaining because now that Trevor had fallen into the bush nobody would be able to pull anybody out.  I have no idea how long we were in the bush, but I do remember that afterwards Trevor seemed to have a sudden lease of life and brought me into a field, and told me to run around it three times.  I could see it was a big field, so while Trevor skipped off, I patted the wet grass as if a pillow, and lay my weary head down.  Trevor eventually figured out that she was alone in her mini marathon, and joined me to look at the night sky and argue which lights were satellites and which were celestial beings.  It was extremely comfortable and I have no idea why we got up in the end.

Back at Trevor’s we were thrilled to discover that Boo Boo had left us soggy chips in the microwave, with plates, cutlery and cups already filled with teabags – as if knowing we would be incapable of  obtaining these items ourselves.  We inhaled, went to bed, passed out, and only rose to find headache tablets.  Trevor wisely told my niece, Little NN, not to go and disturb her visiting auntie as she was very sick in bed, which I was.  Boo Boo took Little NN out to swim, and when they came back, I lay on her bedroom floor and told her the reason I couldn’t play with her princess castle was because I was closing my eyes and visualising the story she was to tell me, and please tell it quietly.  Trevor stepped over me to tell Little NN that her auntie had to be driven home now, and I suffered a two day hangover, only helped by the coffee cupcakes Trevor had baked for me to take home.

Goodbye Grey Hair and Grey Skies – Ireland Shimmers

Well what a fabulous day I am having.  Here is Ireland, in the GRIPS of an actual HEATWAVE – no joke, it’s been 25 all week and sunny, with maybe six clouds over the last few days in total.  And allegedly, according to our unreliable weather service, it is set to continue hurray!!!  Excellent news if this lasts through to next weekend as the Dublin Gaelic Football Team have their first championship match, which will be attended by moi, Lilsister, Scarydancer, Papabear and Papabear’s mad friend, who hates anyone born outside Dublin.  Whether we win or lose we will live it up afterwards in Baggot Street at a proper boozer, and Papabear will sing songs, and Dublinlover will shed tears and tell stories about different times he beat up non Dubliners after football matches.  Gaelic culture lives!!!

As I type this, Ireland has just scored a goal!!!!  Yes, our Irish playered soccer team, playing in the full rays of the sun in Dublin, has just scored against Bosnia – GO IRELAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Mr Long, we salute, and adore you. xxx

So I had my fruit and museli for breakfast, and had every intention of going out for a morning constitutional, even though I was dreading it (the face being quite easily burnt, even though I have had to purchase Factor 50 sunblock – could I BE any more Irish?).  Luckily, Lilsister came into my boudoir for hugs, and this delayed me somewhat, and then she talked me out of walking in this heat, so I popped to the shops instead for breakfast goodies, arriving back to cook my amazing scrambled eggs and inhale tea.

Afterwards, we headed up to Mammy, to take advantage of her sunny back garden, and catch some rays whilst the soccer blares from the tv in the front room.  We swopped health tips with the visiting window cleaner, who has given up dairy due to being lactose intolerant, and stopped mammy from giving him chocolate icecream because eh, he’s lactose intolerant, and chocolate and icecream contain much lactose, sorry.  Don’t worry though – Lilsister and I suffer from no such ailment, and happily munched on the lactose-levied sweets.  Yum!

I’ve also had Lilsister touch up my grey hairs with the hair dye whilst lounging in the backgarden, and then do my toenail painting for me after she saw how awful I am at doing it myself.  I used to get pedicures but this was before I got a job that paid just enough to eat breadrolls and nothing else all day.  Afterwards, Mammy did our tarot cards and stand up comedy came up AGAIN, so really it has been a busy day at the back garden salon.  Ah, summer in Ireland – you can keep your Italian Riverias and your Spanish coastlines – when the sun comes out in Ireland, and one half of the country retreat to their own backyards for barbeques, beers and beauty treatments, you are truly in the best country in the world.  Avoid us at your peril travellers!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Puffed to a Crisp

Earlier this evening I was lucky enough to catch Lilsister laughing at what, I didn’t know.  ”What are you laughing at,” I unwisely ventured, only to be told that she was laughing at me, because my life is a joke.  Wonderful.

My running is continuing well, thank you for asking, and I am nearly up to a good twenty second jaunt, which makes me feel fabulous and fit.  I also got burnt yesterday in the raging morning sun, I think the rays penetrated my factor 30 spf cream and I feel dry, crispy and old.  Ireland is experiencing another little heatwave, with soaring temperatures of 15 degrees yesterday – sure how could I NOT get burnt to an elderly crisp?

Needless to say on my way home today I stopped at the chemist and purchased Factor 50.  I did not run – it was too hot at an alleged 19 degrees.  What is this, Qatar???!?

Work is hideous, naturally, and only the sweet non-rememberance of alcohol consumption gets me through the nights, not that I can have any during weeknights, as if I was to come into work hungover the customers would literally eat me alive, which they attempt to do on an hourly basis, and which I have so far, been strong enough to resist.  Having said that, I have inbibed a little prosecco this evening before tapping this entry out, purely for sleeping purposes, as I have had difficulty sleeping the last week, being filled with bubbling rage most nights.  Right now I feel mellow and ready to snooze – ah drink, you blessed friend of the stressed.

Speaking of alcohol, I was able to partake of a little over the weekend, with Friday night drinks with Sisinlaw and Lilsister, and then Saturday night beers with Lilsister at an alleged comedy club in the city, which cost a fortune to enter, had flat pints and a comedian that looked EXACTLY like Robert de Niro in Taxi, making the whole night quite unsettling.   They also stamped my hand on the way in after being fleeced with the entry cost, and even today, I can still see the magic word on my hand – ”Puff”.  EXCUSE ME?  What does this signify?  Except that it is strangely resistant to several showers and scrubbing  brushes?

So with my snoozy boozy drink, I depart and seek my bed, in the hope that tonight I sleep, and forget the unfunny joke that is my life now.  Sigh…

 

Attempt to Run; Smear Chocolate on Self

I just ran up to the bathroom, and against my own advice looked at myself in the mirror, and noted that the chocolate icecream I had been inhaling downstairs is now, inexplicably, all over my neck.  Why why why?   And all this as I sit across from a picture of Dita Von Teese.  Sigh.

The icecream comes hot on the heels of some bad job news, I got a job, then they withdrew it, as they don’t need me anymore.  Major sigh.  I have come straight to Mammy’s, and had fried food with her and Papabear, and then inhaled icecream, as it is my favourite dessert.

Lest it sound pig-like, I will also have you know that I have been out walking and exercising several times each week in the last few weeks, and yesterday I even attempted running!  Wonderful timing on my part, as there was for some reason, a full gale force wind going on, which may sound awful, but it wasn’t sleeting and hailstorming and rain, and I could see a blue sky, so I went straight out into it.  I walked outside the door of our apartment block and my baseball hat was immediately blown off.  I did consider not chasing it, as this was not part of the exercise plan, but I really needed it, because it meant my hair had now blown fully into my face, and seeing in front of me was becoming an issue.  So I ran after it, retrieved it, and ventured out into the cruel cold world.  Please note this was NOT the running I was referring to, although it should count, as I did trot about the carpark chasing the hat, so it was at the very least, a warm up.  Ha!

Anyway, whilst doing my usual ”round” I felt extra bouncy and decided to give the old running a go.  I had ten euro in the right boob part of my bra (to stop at the shops afterwards, and buy the Sunday papers, after I sweated all over the counters and scared off the children), and my walkman (to encourage fast walking with 80’s pop music) stuck into my left boob, so everything was secure and ready for action.  I began to run, and immediately had to lean forward, towards the ground, to stay on my two feet, such was the might of the gale force winds.  I then began to worry about my hat again, so for extra sexiness, I pulled my hoodie over my head and tied it beneath my double chins, and attempted to run that way.  Unfortunately this ”look” is flattering to no-one, least of all to a 37 and seven eighths year old woman with no makeup, sunstroke (as we had some extremely weak sunrays pushing through, and I have no experience of this, so I was quite red) and leaning forward in the aforementioned unattractive manner.  Luckily, the White Bright Light running man I spotted some weeks ago was nowhere to be seen (I think) so I haven’t ruined my chances just yet.  But give me time.  I will.  I always do.

Thirty seconds later and I was heartattacking, panting and wheezing, but still on two feet, so I’m getting better.  I even looked up proper running shoes on the internet to help with my sloping foot which affects my gammy knee, so it’s getting serious.  Luckily the Olympics are a hop skip and wheezy jump across the pond in London; by June I should be marching through the opening ceremony, Irish tri-colour in hand, ready to do my country proud.  Or – maybe not.  Maybe I should just down pints in the pub with everybody else and watch Ireland in the football instead.  Hmmm.  Either way drink should be involved, which brings me to my next point – I need to start drinking again.  It had been several weeks since my last sup, and on Saturday night, filled with rage and general grumpiness, myself and Lilsister downed a couple of bottles of our beloved prosecco, which caused Lilsister to fall asleep and leave me and Scarydancer up discussing the merits of German versus Czech beer.  However, I woke up with an awful headache the next day, and I conclude that this is due to the fact that I have not kept up with my regular drinking, meaning I have become weak, and pathetic, and sober.

It stops here.

Wine, beer and spirits must once again enter my life, or I will become like a child – unable to handle the drink.  We have Ireland in the olympics, the European football and the Gaelic Football season all about to begin, and here am I, clear headed and not slurring – it will not do!!!  It WILL NOT DO!!!