Good v Bad

Good Things

1. Just back from a 4 mile run, much of it uphill.
2. Have discovered lovely places to eat in and around Perth.
3. Have lost target 2 pounds this week.
4. Decorator is reliable, hard-working, good quality, and cheaper than chips. Also pleasant.
5. Rooms decorated look wonderful. No regrets about colours so far.
   
6. New curtains and blinds have arrived.
7. New gym is better than adequate, with good running machines, a swimming pool and sauna.
8. Love my lovely PS3.

Bad Things

1. 4 mile run laughably slow, and am laughably knackered after it. Had to stop for a 30 second break after 5k as had the world's most agonising stitch in right lung
2. Lovely places to eat mean we keep eating out. Last night consumed own bodyweight at The Angler in Guildtown
3. Target 2 pounds only achieved by stepping on scale right after my run. Have sneaking suspicion pounds may magically reappear tomorrow as my stunned body realises point 2.
4. New curtains and blinds have to be hung. This means Fisher has to do it.
   
5. Fisher has had to do everything and is in a shitty mood.
6. New house is cold. My mother will be miserable here.
   
7. New gym is great, but made mistake of swimming 1k in the pool, watched by Thinks-He's-Sexy instructor (long hair in pony tail, Russian accent, way with the lay-deez). Since then, he has made winky-jokey remarks about how, next time, I'm going to do 5 'tousand' metres as a warm up. Goddamn it. Now I can't get into the pool and do any less than 1k or I will lose his respect. Also, Fisher and I spent a long time discussing why he would be so impressed with me swimming 1k when he's a fitness instructor and must be used to far more spectacular feats of stamina. It took us 20 minutes before a thought struck me. I blew the dust off my mental Book of Male-Female Flirty-Flirtiness and wondered out loud if he fancied me.
   Fisher laughed and laughed and laughed.
   Which is fair enough. He has seen me in a swimsuit.
   
8. Fuses keep blowing. Can't put kettle and cooker on at the same time. This morning the heating fuse blew for no apparant reason.
9. I have spent so much money I feel physically sick.
10. Had a small tantrum yesterday as Fisher was grouchy, things had gone wrong in the house - and I just wanted 1 day where everyone and everything was relaxed, happy, and not going fucking tits up.
11. We have a vile little dog staying who drops little bits of shit all over the house and stinks to high heaven.
12. We now have another dog staying who is not vile, but who needs enormous amounts of medicine: eye drops in the morning and at night, a pill wrapped in fish paste every meal time, eye wipes every 13 seconds, arse wipes every time she takes a dump ...
13. Our building chief continues to be a pain in the anus. He will not have everything finished by the time Sister arrives. He is now 6 weeks overdue. He is a cretin.
14. I am cross.
    

Update

So, from previous posts I realise I was supposed to be keeping a food diary. We're drawing a veil over the past few weeks, but now Fisher and I have another bet on. Loser must forgo - well, in my case, ALL FOOTBALL! For, I believe, a month. That gives me until Christmas day to lose a stone, while she must lose 10lbs. Seeing as things are not looking peachy, I've decided to go back to the food diary idea. So far, 2 bits toast with Clover and honey. Must go to the gym, or for a run today - but not til this afternoon.

The plumber is supposed to be turning up today, but he was due at 10 and no sign so far. Unless he's sneaked in while I've been in here typing, and has got to work already. This is not inconceivable, as the walls are so thick you can barely hear anything. Still, he's fucked us around for 3 months, so I doubt very much he's had the initiative to just get on with plumbing the washing machine. Better check though.

Ok, he's not here. But Fisher has returned from a trip to buy paint ... and everything's kicked off! Firstly, she's been assured the plumber is coming, despite the fact the joiners yesterday told him we had no sink for the downstairs bathroom (not true) so, and I quote, there was "no point" in him coming. This, regardless of the fact there's a washing machine and tumble drier to plumb - and an entire cloakroom to put in upstairs! I have a sneaking suspicion that we're going to have to find a different plumber, as this guy's a joke. Then again, they're all jokes, so it might be a case of better the devil you know.

Anyway - that's a minor point. The major point is this:

We have an offer on Holly Frot! In fact, we had one yesterday, but it was 10 grand below the asking price so we rejected. Now, I know that was a risk in the current climate, but let me explain.

First off, the first estate agents we went with stated a figure, and told us that the days of 'offers over' were a thing of the past, and we should look to sell for £10,000 less than the asking price. We were a little disappointed with their estimate, so had another agent in to look. They wanted to put it on the market for £65,000 more than the first lot! This was over optimistic, in our book - plus, Fisher realised that, at that price, a lot of advertising would be lost on websites, as people who might be serious buyers wouldn't even get to see it, as it was outside the price bracket of their searches. So we reduced the price by £15,000, and waited.

It didn't look good. In 2 weeks we had only 2 couples look round. One was obviously interested, the others not at all. Then it all went quiet. Nothing. I began to worry that we had a turkey on our hands - but then:

Yesterday we had an offer! Hurrah!

Ten grand below the asking price. Hurroo.

I was disappointed, but the estate agent told us this was a good price, and urged us to accept. I dithered. We knew the buyers were serious, had been renting for a year, and needed land for sheep. We also knew that we had never gone into a negotiation from the offset with our maximum offer. Thirdly, we recognised a pattern: the first agents had suggested we might sell for 10 grand less than the asking price; now, here we were getting an offer 10 grand less than the asking price. Seemed to me, this was advice being given by solicitors, agents, and Sarah Beeney Of The Lovely Breasts. And lastly, thanks to an indiscreet 6 year old son, we knew that the woman's mother was seriously loaded.

I rejected the offer.

Then I realised that, had we gone with the first agents, we'd be looking at an offer that was almost 15% over the asking price. It's a recession: houses have been on the market for 6 months with no movement. Some people don't negotiate - they put in their best offer in the hopes they'll blow competition out of the water. So I pooed myself a little. We heard nothing for the rest of the day, which made me poo even more. It was quite possible they had made their best offer, and that was that.

Now Fisher has returned, and they have made another offer.

It's the asking price.

I did a little happy skipping dance, and immediately gave verbal acceptance. All going well, I think we've done very well for ourselves. It's the figure I hoped, in my secret dreams, to sell for - until, in truth, my head was turned by the original amount stated by the agents we went with. I thought we might get it for that - but, in truth, they were probably expecting to see for 10 grand less, which means only 5 grand more than we actually went with in the end. But then I think about the first agents - who are a bigger, more successful firm and who deal with most properties in Fife - and I realise how shafted we could have been if we'd gone with them. Basically, they were expecting to sell it for £60,000 less than we've agreed!

The thing is - in truth, we could hang on the HC and rent it out until the market turns. But there's no guarantee we'd sell it for much more, and then there's the hassle and faff of finding tenants, dealing with their demands, worrying about general wear and tear - and the depressing thought that this recession could last for God knows how long. In this case, a bird in the hand is definitely worth two in the bush, and I'm very happy. Now, fingers crossed that it all actually goes through ...

I've forgotten what I was originally blogging about, but whatever it was, it's dull in comparison to the thought of recouping some of the ENORMOUS quantities of money I've been blue-ing on our new house. Now, if only I can think of ways in which to wisely invest ...

Woohooooo. Happyhappyhappy. We're not home and dry yet, but fingers, toes and legs crossed and we'll be ok.

On a side note, the reupholstered furniture we inherited from the old owners of our house is arriving today. We thought we'd be thrifty and reuse it, but thrifty my arse! 3 grand later ... but the upholsterer was quite excited by it, and told us we'd never buy anything like it anywhere. It's all around 80 years old, solidly made, and a really interesting shape. It really suits the house, and I think 3 grand is ok for a sofa and 2 armchairs.

Sort of.

God, is it any wonder I'm so relieved to have sold HC?

Greetings, people. How long it's been! I apologise for not keeping the old Blog-o up to date, but I've been slightly busy. Let me give you a brief rundown of events, in bullet-point form.

Ahurrrrrm.

* Diet: Hopeless. Been eating like a horse, and not only has amount been an issue, but quality as well. Being so busy means I've not cooked properly for weeks. A vegetable is a rare sight indeed - and while we hoped to get back on track after the craziness subsided, that just hasn't happened. It's been a bit of an eye-opener, and a depressing one at that, seeing just how easy it is to slip back into very bad habits. It's been years since I've eaten the way I am at the moment, and now there's really no excuse to do so you'd think we'd go back to our healthier ways. But no. Food really is an addiction, and one I'm determined to break. So:

*Exercise: See above. Went for my first run in over 2 weeks yesterday. Headed out the front door, up the road (which I thought was going to be flat, but proved to be a steady climb for over a mile) and ran for 15 minutes. I then ran back, feeling like shite. Still, I completed a half hour run, and was hoping I'd got close to 3 miles in that time. I didn't have a Garmin with me, so could only estimate distance by time run - but I knew Fisher was going out later and would measure it for me. She did. Result? In just under 30 minutes, she claimed I ran 2.4 miles. Two. Point four. I was gutted. My only hope was that the Garmin didn't like our new area, and was playing up - so I measured it in the car, later. Result? 2.2 miles. Fuckaduck. The Garmin is obviously MUCH more accurate.
* Moving: Has happened! We're now happily ensconsed in our new country house, which is charming and wonderful - as are our friends, who gaily helped us move, with the only payment being some roast chicken and copious amounts of booze. Fisher was quite amazed at how much got done in a single day - especially conisdering how little has got done in 3 months by the builders. I'm telling you - there's a fortune to be made by someone with some vague organisational skills who fancies going into the building trade. It's a mess. We've been here nearly a week now, and we've seen 1 brickie and 1 roofer - that's it. No joiner, no plumber, no chief - nothing. I am PISSED OFF. The chief is supposed to be coming round today, but the likelihood of that happening is slim to none, especially after Fisher sent a snotty text and got a slightly snotty one back, leading to yet more outpourings of snot from her, and back and forth it goes. Hey ho. If things are not PERFECT for sister's arrival, I shall withhold payment.

So that's the bullet-point version. What else is there to say? We're having a merry old time exploring the area, but less of a merry old time with the geothermal heating, which is supposed to heat both the house radiators and the water. We've managed to get the water heater to click across, by manually putting the thermostat-dial-thingy on the hot water heater right down to the bottom - but so far, no luck with it automatically doing it itself. And the hot water is barely warm enough to wash your hands - you certainly couldn't have a bath, or really even a shower. We don't get it, and are living off the ermersion heater right now, which is not the idea at all. Still, at least we can get hot water when we want it.

I'm boring myself. God knows how many readers I've got left after my hiatus - and now this load of drivel. I shall stop, and only return with wildly amusing/entertaining things to say.

We're off to see Quantum of Solace tonight with the gang in Edinburgh. I hope it's better than its title. See ya!

Shaaaaame ...

Yes, well, the old diet is going well. Ahem. Yesterday I consumed a full Scottish breakfast - something akin to pouring lard directly into the arteries. However, I did have a good supper and needed no lunch.

Yesterday Breakfast: 1 3/4 sausages, fried egg, 1 piece white toast, 1/2 piece black pudding, 1/2 piece haggis, mushrooms, 2 rashers bacon. All fried. All evil. 2 cups coffee.
Lunch: A slightly sick feeling from too much breakfast
Supper: 1 sea bass, roasted, stuffed with fresh coriander, ginger, garlic, spring onions. Stir fried veg - red & yellow pepper, broccoli, peas, sweetcorn - in sherry & kikkoman. Rice.

We had Phid round for supper, though, so all that was destroyed by the consumption of a citrus tart with cream (quite a small tart, but still ...)

Today has started well enough though, with a yoghurt for breakfast (and usual vat of coffee). May it continue.

Food - O Why Are You So Good?

So, I managed to order fish at Janus's birthday party!

Hurrah!

Unfortunately, I failed to realise it would be deep fried and covered in crispy, crispy goodness.

Hurroo.

I also failed to resist pudding, or a small vat of alcohol, which left me feeling quite unpleasant the next day. On the other hand, it was a very fine evening of fun and yammer with all my best pals, so sod it.

During the course of the evening, a conversation cropped up that has cropped up before. It's a bone of considerable contention between me and the rest of the Cheese Board, so I think it's about time I addressed it in Blog form.

If a Higher Power were to descend to earth and declare you able only to consume EITHER potatoes OR rice, but not both - which would you choose?

I have always said I would choose rice. Potatoes are heavenly in all their forms - but the thought of going without them doesn't fill me with the sort of horror as forgoing all rice forever more. Yea, verily, I love rice. It's all the flavours I assosciate with rice that are so joyous, so clean and fragrant: ginger, lemongrass, soya sauce, coriander ... the list goes on. How could I live without them?

"I have only one thing to say to you," Koios said, belligerantly.

"And that is?"

"Dauphinoise!"

But no, I wouldn't be swayed. I was insulted, scorned, mocked and spat upon - but my course remains true. Rice is the food of my soul, and I'll stand by it.

In fact, I'm standing by it to such an extent that I have GIVEN UP POTATOES. Yes folks, just to see if I'm right, I'm going on a spud-free diet. I cannot consume it in any form - not baked, boiled, mashed, roasted, sautéed, Dauphinoised, au gratinated. I cannot let past my lips: chips, crisps, potato waffles, hash browns ... you get the idea. Spuds are OUT.

On the other hand, I can eat bread, pasta, noodles, tortillas, and, of course, rice. Riiiice. Oh - and, because they're only distantly related to potatoes, sweet potatoes (yams) are ok too. Unless someone wants to object, of course, in which case, to save argument I'd cut them out as well.

The ban on spuds will last for at least 2 weeks, but for as a long as I wish to implement it in order to either prove my point, or fall on my starchy sword and admit I am WRONG.

So there. And now on to the dullness that is the food diary.

Today:

Breakfast: 1 bowl crunchy nut cornflakes, skimmed milk, coffee.
Lunch: 1/2 bowl Mexican corn chowder, 1/2 bagel with cream cheese & smoked salmon.
Supper: Stir fry chicken and noodles. Pudding: mug hot chocolate, piece tablet.

Result? I feel fat and sick.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but ...

Fuck.

Just got on the scales. Since my lightest, I've put on 9 pounds. Yes, 9 pounds. Granted, I got down to my lightest owing to a nasty tummy bug, but even from my healthy lightest I've put on about half a stone. It's time for some drastic action.

Yes folks. I'm going back on a Diet.

See the capital 'D'? Indeed. It's a proper one. This means that I'll be going back to monitoring what I eat and noting it down in extraordinarily dull fashion in my blog. Seeing as I'm here already, I might as well put down what I've had so far today:

Breakfast - 2 slices white toast with Clover. 1 small vat of coffee. Skimmed milk, 2 sweeteners. To save me writing that last bit down every time, when I say 1 coffee it means with skimmed milk and 2 sweeteners, unless specified. Clear? Good.

Lunch - 30g bowl crunchy nut cornflakes. Skimmed milk.

That is all.

Unfortunately, we're off out to Edinburgh for Janus's 31st birthday tonight (unfortunately for my diet - otherwise, yay!) and being on a diet in a restaurant is just Boresville - for everyone. I shall endeavor to have fish, and no pudding.

Ha. Fat - literally - chance. I am weak.

Gym

Today I massaged the Dentist. She is crazy, in a slightly New Age kind of way, and slightly school-marmish - but I have to admit I kind of fancy her like mad. Fisher thinks this rather funny. In fact, when I said I thought she was fanciable, she looked at me and said:

"I knew at some point you'd say that."

Hm. Clearly Fisher has a highly attuned sense of my taste in women.

At this point I should probably mention that this is a matter of aesthetics. I don't get all twittery and girlish in her presence or anything. It's all very detatched - honest.

Interesting thing about massage. Not being a particularly touchy-feely person, I did worry that the act of performing a massage itself would cause me discomfort - and yet nothing could be further from the truth. Massage is like working out a puzzle with your fingers, while wearing a blindfold. It's all about picturing the muscles beneath the skin, 'seeing' the adhesions, micro-tears, oedemas etc and imagining your hands repairing damage. I think of it as very medical - although, not being a medical person I can't really compare. But when a doctor looks at someone he or she sees a living machine, to be fixed or maintained. It's kind of like that - although with massage therapy being used so heavily in stress reduction, you don't want to get too impersonal.

What I really love about massage is the creativity it allows. The strokes themselves are all a matter of repitition - but people are so different, with different physical and emotional needs, that the best way of providing effect treatment plans is to think of new and different ways of applying those strokes. Plus, with stress relief, there are lots of therapeutic techniques to try out - some you read about, some you invent - and as long as you don't stray into areas that are beyond your abilities, and stay within sensible parameteres, you can have quite a free rein.

I digress. I really only sat down to make a record of my gym session today. After massaging Dentist (who really ought to have a better pseudonym) I went to East Sands Leisure Centre and did a 5k run in 29.24 on the treadmill. I probably ran for a couple of minutes more than that, though, as I decided to start out on a 'weight loss' programme. Unfortunately, I think the machine was broken, as, randomly, it suddenly started whirring and put up the elevation. I knew it was going to after a few minutes - but this happened when the screen showed us still, supposedly, on the flat. The inclination was only supposed to go up to about 3 or 4, too, and this just kept on going! Pretty soon I was gasping, squawking, and hanging on to the handlebars. I just about managed to hit the stop button, while Fisher tried not to laugh as she ran on the machine next to me.

Anyway, I decided it was safer to stick to the usual boring flat run. It was tedious in the extreme, and I am absolutely exhausted from it. I was doing a basic rate of 6 mph, then speeding up to 7 for a minute, then 6.5, then 7, then 6 when I got tired ... and it nearly killed me. Sad. I'm sure I've lost a lot of fitness. And replaced it with fatness. Booo.

After the treadmill I did a weights rotation: Bicep Curl (on 35kg), Chest Press (35, then down to 30), Shoulder Press (20, then 15), Lat Pull (30), Hip Abductor (?), Stomach Press (on 1o. Is that 100kg?), then round again, 3 times in total.

I'm a bit fed up with fitness instructors, actually. Nobody seems to know how much the weight divisions are. It's almost as though the actual weight isn't important when, secretly, everyone knows it is. So if anyone out there knows what the standard weight division is for each machine, let me know. At the moment I'm figuring each arm-based machine at 5kg divisions, and each leg one at 10kg. I don't have any clue what the stomach machine would be. Any info would be gratefully received - in lbs or kgs.

After the gym we walked the pooches, came home, and cooked supper. Now I'm planning on going to bed and watching Star Trek Voyager. Hmm ... it's just struck me that the Dentist is a very little bit like Kathryn Janeway. Maybe that explains it ...