Nuneaton isn’t a small town. It’s actually a very large town! Chatting to a guy on a train recently, he mentioned that he’d never been to Nuneaton, but that it didn’t seem to matter where you were, there was usually a road sign mentioning it. Jasper Carrot has regularly abused Nuneaton in his stand up routines, along with many other comedians, so you would assume that in order for it to be mentioned, never mind ridiculed, it would have to be a pretty large town, probably with a wide and diverse multicultural population. Which it kind of is...but then if you speak to the neighbouring towns and cities such as Coventry, Tamworth, and Hinckley, they’ll all call Nuneaton the same thing.
Treacle Town.
The reason for this is the stereotypical view that people from Nuneaton are thick and slow. The thing with stereotypes is that they’re usually drawn from a number of people’s opinions of a shared encounter or view. Whilst I wouldn’t say that this stereotype is justified, the insinuation is, that the residents of this delightful mining town, are slow largely due to the high levels of inbreeding within the area. Very funny no? Chortle Chortle (note the sarcasm). Nuneaton’s 70’700 (ish) strong population probably disproves this theory somewhat, unless you’re happy to assume that a few families have been at it like freaking rabbits over the last few decades.
Despite its large town status however, Nuneaton has a small town mentality. It seems as though literally everyone knows everyone else’s business. When my seventeen year old cousin goes out and gets drunk, falls off her six inch stilettos and flashes the world her arse, I am guaranteed to know about it within approximately twelve hours. (Yes Hatty, don’t think I haven’t heard about your escapades missy!) Likewise, when I go out, get utterly gazeeboed and end up snogging some random, it’s pretty much a given that friends who up until four minutes and forty-five seconds ago had been enjoying a drink in a different pub/club, half a mile down the road, will descend to drag me away and prevent the humiliation of me discovering in my morning-after-the-night-before state that I actually copped off with the elephant man.
You know exactly what’s going on in everyone’s love life, home life and work life, and the jungle drums beat loud and furiously whenever there is gossip to be shared. Some people love this. Me...I’d never really let it concern me. My mum is Nuneaton born and bred, and I have always been used to walking through the town on a Saturday and bumping into people who knew me because of her. I moved here when I was eleven, so regularly bump into people I was at school or college with. It’s only now, that it begins to bother me. Every time I go out now, I spend the evenings amongst friends and acquaintances, which is great...but if you’re already friends with everyone, how are you ever going to meet someone who could be more than a friend?
The man-pool hasn’t been diluted by relatives, as our neighbouring towns would like to insinuate, it’s been diluted by friends!...or the brother of a friend...or the cousin of a friend...or the ex boyfriend of friend (and thus the golden friendship rule states you NEVER go there) or even just the random guy who has carnal knowledge of the friend of a friend, which means you can’t go there because it will make your friends relationship with her friend a little tense!!!
What I wouldn’t give to live in a large city, where the population is mixed with so many millions of people that no’one knows me, or knows anyone I know. Maybe then the odds of finding Mr Right won’t be completely stacked against me!! Failing that of course, I could always move abroad... maybe a wider man-pool and a sunkissed tan will help my spinster status??? Best start packing....Oz, here I come!
Sunday 27 February 2011
Sunday 13 February 2011
The House
This house has seen more things than she can bare to imagine.
The house doesn’t forget the two lovers, who spent lazy mornings wrapped up in each other. The walls hear what he says to her now, but they saw it for themselves, and they know he lies to protect her feelings. They saw the way he held the one before her, and heard how he whispered his love for her, just as he does with her now. Each wall in each room witnessed their intimacy, every stolen kiss, every passionate embrace, every time they made love.
She knows what the walls have seen, and hates that there was someone here before her. It doesn’t matter what she does, both she and the walls know, that his heart belonged to someone else before her. So she paints the ugly walls, hoping that she’ll paint over the images in her mind. The thought of their bodies tangled together, the realisation that if there’s been one before her, there could be one after. So she paints and makes the house hers. She stakes her claim on this life...on this home.
But new paint fades. It becomes tired and cracks over time, showing the truth written there on the bare plaster.
She knows that eventually, the walls will tell their story again. But what breaks her heart is that she knows it won’t be told to her.
The house doesn’t forget the two lovers, who spent lazy mornings wrapped up in each other. The walls hear what he says to her now, but they saw it for themselves, and they know he lies to protect her feelings. They saw the way he held the one before her, and heard how he whispered his love for her, just as he does with her now. Each wall in each room witnessed their intimacy, every stolen kiss, every passionate embrace, every time they made love.
She knows what the walls have seen, and hates that there was someone here before her. It doesn’t matter what she does, both she and the walls know, that his heart belonged to someone else before her. So she paints the ugly walls, hoping that she’ll paint over the images in her mind. The thought of their bodies tangled together, the realisation that if there’s been one before her, there could be one after. So she paints and makes the house hers. She stakes her claim on this life...on this home.
But new paint fades. It becomes tired and cracks over time, showing the truth written there on the bare plaster.
She knows that eventually, the walls will tell their story again. But what breaks her heart is that she knows it won’t be told to her.
Wednesday 9 February 2011
The Dreaded Scales!
Why is it that when you’re dieting, all foods, even those you wouldn’t usually pick off a menu, appear ridiculously appealing? I’m currently watching the cookery channel and practically salivating over the idea of sprouts. I hate sprouts???!
This week saw myself and two friends (Laura and Gaga) returning to Fat Club. Whilst I was secretly rather pleased that I’d only put on 2lbs over Christmas, getting on the scales was still a rather traumatic experience. I always have this fear that when I step on the scales, rather than a weight, they’ll simply flash up with “One at a time please” or worse, they’ll just display that digital message “Errrrr”, which would essentially mean the scales were telling me that my arse had got so enormous they were now point blank refusing to tell me my weight for fear of me taking my own life, and perhaps the lives of some of the other members who’d been lucky enough to reach goal, in some kind of bitter jealous rage.
All three of us have our own personal goals, and we’re all determined to achieve them. For the first time ever I have set myself a deadline for when I want to reach my goal. I’ve never done this before, because secretly I don’t think I’ve ever felt I could achieve them. With the big three-oh approaching this time next year, I’ve decided I’ve got to have reached goal by then, and I’ve also established that it’s more than do-able, so definitely not an unrealistic target.
Interestingly though, going to Fat Club with two good friends is already making the world of difference to me from a motivational aspect. Now some would assume that there would be a form of competition between us, along the lines of who can get to goal first etc. The fact is, none of us have really discussed how much we weighed in at, or how much we want to lose. Given that we’re all varying weights, and are losing it for very different reasons, competition isn’t what’s motivating us. In fact, it seems it’s a mutual contempt for dieting that’s drawing us all together!
The last few days have seen us texting each other with tips on how to make it “not feel too much like a diet”, as well as complaints to each other about how hungry we feel, or how much eating the staple diet of your average house rabbit, sucks big time. It’s easy to become a diet bore when you embark on a new eating regime. People around you tend to get bored of listening to you harp on about not being able to eat nice things like cheese and cake and chocolate. They’re supportive at first, but the more you hate your diet, the more they wish you weren’t on one so they wouldn’t have to listen to your moaning. This is where your fellow dieters come in useful. If you don’t have them, then eventually your non dieting friends will tempt you to break your self imposed rules. They’ll practically shove goodies down your neck in order to stop your incessant whinging! Your diet buddies however will join in with the moaning, and complaining. This allows you to bitch about how unfair it is, refocus and carry on without spoiling all of your hard work.
Now obviously the biggest motivation comes from seeing results on the scales. We all have certain rituals for weigh in day. Myself, I always ensure I’m not wearing jeans for weigh in. (They can add as much a 1lb dontcha know!) In fact I’ll opt for a light cotton summer dress in the depths of winter if I think it’ll help me shift that ½ lb that I need in order to get my next half stone award sticker. (Yes, it’s true...even at 29 years old I’m still excited by getting gold stars for my achievements!) Gaga...well she’ll pretty much remove everything – bangles, tiny stud earrings, cardigans, hair grips...her underwired bra...(!!) If she could step on the scales completely in the buff I think she probably would! Other people drink wine the night before weigh in to make sure they’re good and dehydrated, and thus not retaining ANY fluids which could add to their overall weights, and I think any dieter will admit, that they’ll ensure they’ve gone for a tinkle immediately before weigh in (usually as soon as they reach the church hall the meeting is held at) in order to ensure any saliva they may have accidentally swallowed in the five minute journey from their house to the meeting is pee’d out literally seconds before “crunch time” on the scales. Well...you just never know – could be the difference between a loss or staying the same!!
Either way, with all of the rituals, and feelings of deprivation, I am cheered by my fellow diet buddies. I have a little support network I can rely on to slap me hard around the face if I’m tempted to indulge in a Krispy Kreme, and a constant reminder of why I’m being good. Given that I’m also part of their support network, I’m also motivating myself every time I offer them advice, or cheer them on, so it’s like a double motivator. I feel 100% confident that we’ll all reach our personal goals, and when we do, I think we’ll all be able to feel rather smug about it! Right, well if you’ll excuse me I have some zero point dust to go munch on...Dust? No? Dust?...Dust? No?...Dust?
This week saw myself and two friends (Laura and Gaga) returning to Fat Club. Whilst I was secretly rather pleased that I’d only put on 2lbs over Christmas, getting on the scales was still a rather traumatic experience. I always have this fear that when I step on the scales, rather than a weight, they’ll simply flash up with “One at a time please” or worse, they’ll just display that digital message “Errrrr”, which would essentially mean the scales were telling me that my arse had got so enormous they were now point blank refusing to tell me my weight for fear of me taking my own life, and perhaps the lives of some of the other members who’d been lucky enough to reach goal, in some kind of bitter jealous rage.
All three of us have our own personal goals, and we’re all determined to achieve them. For the first time ever I have set myself a deadline for when I want to reach my goal. I’ve never done this before, because secretly I don’t think I’ve ever felt I could achieve them. With the big three-oh approaching this time next year, I’ve decided I’ve got to have reached goal by then, and I’ve also established that it’s more than do-able, so definitely not an unrealistic target.
Interestingly though, going to Fat Club with two good friends is already making the world of difference to me from a motivational aspect. Now some would assume that there would be a form of competition between us, along the lines of who can get to goal first etc. The fact is, none of us have really discussed how much we weighed in at, or how much we want to lose. Given that we’re all varying weights, and are losing it for very different reasons, competition isn’t what’s motivating us. In fact, it seems it’s a mutual contempt for dieting that’s drawing us all together!
The last few days have seen us texting each other with tips on how to make it “not feel too much like a diet”, as well as complaints to each other about how hungry we feel, or how much eating the staple diet of your average house rabbit, sucks big time. It’s easy to become a diet bore when you embark on a new eating regime. People around you tend to get bored of listening to you harp on about not being able to eat nice things like cheese and cake and chocolate. They’re supportive at first, but the more you hate your diet, the more they wish you weren’t on one so they wouldn’t have to listen to your moaning. This is where your fellow dieters come in useful. If you don’t have them, then eventually your non dieting friends will tempt you to break your self imposed rules. They’ll practically shove goodies down your neck in order to stop your incessant whinging! Your diet buddies however will join in with the moaning, and complaining. This allows you to bitch about how unfair it is, refocus and carry on without spoiling all of your hard work.
Now obviously the biggest motivation comes from seeing results on the scales. We all have certain rituals for weigh in day. Myself, I always ensure I’m not wearing jeans for weigh in. (They can add as much a 1lb dontcha know!) In fact I’ll opt for a light cotton summer dress in the depths of winter if I think it’ll help me shift that ½ lb that I need in order to get my next half stone award sticker. (Yes, it’s true...even at 29 years old I’m still excited by getting gold stars for my achievements!) Gaga...well she’ll pretty much remove everything – bangles, tiny stud earrings, cardigans, hair grips...her underwired bra...(!!) If she could step on the scales completely in the buff I think she probably would! Other people drink wine the night before weigh in to make sure they’re good and dehydrated, and thus not retaining ANY fluids which could add to their overall weights, and I think any dieter will admit, that they’ll ensure they’ve gone for a tinkle immediately before weigh in (usually as soon as they reach the church hall the meeting is held at) in order to ensure any saliva they may have accidentally swallowed in the five minute journey from their house to the meeting is pee’d out literally seconds before “crunch time” on the scales. Well...you just never know – could be the difference between a loss or staying the same!!
Either way, with all of the rituals, and feelings of deprivation, I am cheered by my fellow diet buddies. I have a little support network I can rely on to slap me hard around the face if I’m tempted to indulge in a Krispy Kreme, and a constant reminder of why I’m being good. Given that I’m also part of their support network, I’m also motivating myself every time I offer them advice, or cheer them on, so it’s like a double motivator. I feel 100% confident that we’ll all reach our personal goals, and when we do, I think we’ll all be able to feel rather smug about it! Right, well if you’ll excuse me I have some zero point dust to go munch on...Dust? No? Dust?...Dust? No?...Dust?
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