Hitting the Wall


It’s been a while since my last post and it’s fair to say that I’ve well and truly hit the wall in more ways than one. Diet-wise, I’ve fallen off the wagon and landed on Pie Island in the middle of a sea of cool, cool beer. Anyone who’s following me on Instagram will have spotted, in amongst the photos of Richmond Park deer, visiting cats and old tube trains, increasing numbers of photos of food and drink, leading up to the nadir: a Sunday Roast at the New Inn’s gut-busting carvery.

Not a morsel was wasted. Sorry, not sorry.


It had been going so well. Half a stone dropped pretty quickly and the exercise was paying dividends with my general fitness. I was eating well and all was going according to plan. But it’s so easy to slip back into old ways. Beer, bacon, brie and bread have started to become staples of my diet, rather than occasional treats. My exercise regime is also flagging; from three times a week at my zenith, down to once or twice a week now.

But this is a difficult time of year for me. The sun is out and there is simply nothing better than sitting in a sunny pub garden with a pint or two (or three or five) and the temptation has been too great after the long cold spell over winter and early spring. And with the beer comes the morning after when I crave savouries and carbs. It’s a cycle I’ve all too easily failed back into.

And this is my problem; there is always an excuse. If it wasn’t the wonderful sunny afternoons we’re currently enjoying, it would be the balmy autumn evenings, the lovely cold winter nights in front of a pub fire or simply being stir-crazy in March due to the relentless cold and pre-BST darkness. And then there are birthdays, Christmas, holidays, weddings, anniversaries, barbecues, oh look, a food festival! – you name it.

The natural adornment to a summer pub garden
I do feel compelled to add that the contents and the glass did not match

The malaise has also impacted my writing as well. As I said at the start, it’s been a good while since my last blog post and it’s not because I’ve been busy with other projects. I simply haven’t written anything of note for over a month now and don’t feel the least bit inspired to do so. In fact, my only piece of writing recently was a “poem” (the quotation marks are entirely deliberate and justified) written on and about a tedious train journey to Norfolk. Here it is in its full glory just to prove to the world how bad things have got.

A Greater Anglian Sunday Afternoon

Although the departure and destination points remain the same and the mode of travel similar,
the journey from London to North Walsham is anything but familiar

The weekend engineering works have knocked my travelling plans askew.
Instead of one train to Norwich, I will have to take two

Comfortable seating and spacious tables are but an illusion
and the friendly buffet car merely a myth and fairytale fusion

My fellow passengers, rather than being dotted infrequently throughout one of three long premium carriages
are instead crammed into a sixth of that space so we are closer than some people’s marriages

First Class in the context of the 14.28 to Cambridge is something of a misnomer.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- 

My tiny triangular proto-table protrudes not quite enough for a small laptop
and is slightly too high for me to comfortably work atop

It mocks me as I sit bolt-upright and strain to reach the keys
and teases me further by being too low for me to work with it on my knees

The train plods its way through North London and Essex, my mouth dry,
while I dream of my usual train with its coffee that I don’t even have to buy

I resolve to never again to travel long distance by train on a Sunday.
This is really no way to spend what should be a fun day

At this rate, when I arrive in North Walsham, I shall be in a veritable coma.

It’s enough to make Pam Ayers turn in her grave (except she’s not yet dead). As you can see, I’ve well and truly lost the rudder and the engine and am drifting along watching my life tick by. My initial good intentions have stated to pave that well-known path. So this blog post is the public admission of my current status and the first step in acknowledging I need to try harder. One saving grace is that the exercise I am still doing has meant my relapse has not added to my weight, so I haven’t gone backwards in that sense, but now is the time to saddle up and get back on that horse. Sensible eating, minimal alcohol and back on the treadmill. Not exactly inspiring but, as a friend of mine said recently, “Yes it’s boring, but sometimes you just have to knock back a big can of Man Up”. It’s time for me to hold my nose and gulp it down.




If you enjoyed reading this blog posts, you may want to check out previous entries:

More Than A Milestone - That Fifty Feeling

Fifty Fat & Unfit

Up Against The Clock - A Play In 24 Hours

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