Crap - was that the starting gun?

I don’t know about anyone else but I’m constantly waiting for the ‘right time’ to do everything that I’ve always wanted to do.

• I want to write more on this blog - better wait until I’ve written a few blog posts and have an exact schedule of what I plan to write and when.

• I want to write a romance novel - better wait until the story is perfectly composed in my head before committing it to paper.

• I want to get back in the dating game - better wait until I’ve either lost my steroid weight or until I have some self-esteem.

• I want to get fit and lose some weight - better wait until I’ve started losing weight so that I don’t look like a fool when I’m out running, swimming etc. (I’m not even joking about this one even though I know how ridiculous it sounds!)

I always seem to have some excuse or reason for procrastination.

Even knowing that it’s pure procrastination, and knowing that it’s only because these things mean a lot to me personally that I'm hesitating, doesn’t help me to actually get going.

So, I’ve decided to fire the gun.

I’m not ready.

I don’t know which route to take.

I haven’t stretched.

But that’s too bad - the starting gun has been fired and everyone else is running. Even if I look at it as a one person race, that gun has still gone off and can’t be unfired.

So, I can either take the heart lurch of missing the starting gun and knowing I’ll be a step behind, say ‘shit!’ and just get going, or…

D'you know - there’s never a ‘right time’ which means there’s never a ‘wrong time’ either!

Let’s get going.

Back to Work: Stair Master!

Well, it’s hard to believe that this week was the first working week of 2015.

As much as I adore Christmas (and always enjoy being able to laze about the rest of the time in clothes I would be mortified to be seen in public wearing), I have to admit to a wee bit of relief that I’m back to routine. I do like a routine.

Anyway, to celebrate my return to work, I decided to do a quick update of how my first week went.

I say week yet I’m a loud and proud part-timer so my week consists of just 3 days. Not even that - but saying two and a half days just sounds smug!

It’s a brand new year so, of course, that means lots of wild and fanciful thoughts about being a ‘new’ person at work and being all organised, professional and etc.

*Coughs*

That lasted the walk up the stairs to my office.

The reason? One of my work resolutions was to walk to my fifth floor office rather than taking the lift.

Yes - fifth floor.

Nutter.

However, there were some positives to this plan. I would be a little more healthy and I wouldn’t have to make small talk in the lift. For five whole floors.

To show you how much the second thing is a problem for me, you should know four things about me if you don’t already.

1. I am an introvert.

2. I have depression.

3. On top of the above two things above, I am a little bit odd.

4. I’m not capable of hiding that I’m a little bit odd while stuck in a steel box with strangers.

Anyway, my first mission was to find the stairs. No really - I had no idea where the stairs were. (I don’t want anyone thinking that I hadn’t received any kind of induction at my work place. I assured my colleagues that if the fire alarm went off, I am not the kind of person that would fold my arms and refuse to leave my seat and follow them safely out of the building because I hadn’t been told the exact route to take! Even I’m not that odd.)

Upon finding the stairs, I was pleased to see that the early hour meant they were deserted. I have a funny feeling that the first three items from the list above would apply when forced to walk up five flights of stairs with a stranger, too.

So up the stairs I went.


Ground floor: Look at me going up the stairs. I’m awesome at resolutions! *Smug smile*

First floor: Woop - first floor! I am going to be sexy and svelte in days.

Second floor: How does that say ‘second floor’? I’ve been walking for hours. Can I speak to a manager, please? No, never mind - just keep going.

Third floor: Seriously - who turned down the oxygen? Now I know what people who tackle Everest feel like.

Fourth floor: *Breathing heavily and on hands and knees* Must. Keep. Going.

Fifth floor: I made it! I’m here! I’m alive! *Dripping with sweat, I lie on the landing for a while to compose myself before entering the office.*



I wheeze out a ‘happy new year’ to my colleagues as I pass their desks as quickly as my shaking legs will take me.

Slumping at my desk, my mascara has run, my hair is sodden, I have droplets of sweat beading on my brow. My breathing is laboured and far too loud for the occasion. I look for my bag only to realise I’ve sat on it and squished my sandwich as I’ve fallen into my chair. My lunch now resembles a pancake of bread and meat mixed with some fluff from my skirt. Yum!

My boss comes over and asks where I’ve been - I’m 20 minutes late. Then she sees my white pallor and beads on my upper lip. “Oh - you’ve been ill, poor thing.”

Yes, that’s it. I have been ill. Very ill.

There’s no way I’ll tell anyone the truth. The truth that at the bottom of the stairs I was early, poised, professional, decent and dry.

So much for my work resolutions!


And for reference, these are the pretty outfits that I thoroughly ruined this week with my blood, sweat, sweat, sweat and tears.

Granny's Fudge and a New Plan...

About a month ago my Granny went into a care home.

Such a simple sentence to write and yet it doesn't begin to describe the stress and detail that went into the 6 or so weeks going from independent living (to some degree), into hospital and then into a care home.

It was a difficult time (although definitely more so for my mum) but if I'm honest, it's been a blessing in disguise. Granny is now in a safe and lovely environment with people who are trained and ready to help her with everything she needs. Her room looks like a room from a Travel Lodge (which by my tastes, ain't that shabby) and she not only gets three home cooked meals a day (two courses) but biscuits and homebaking too. She has met interesting people who are in the same situation as she is and gets to enjoy their company rather than sitting by herself in her house. Plus there's entertainment laid on for them every day; Last week she was sporting newly polished nails and a pearl* bracelet that she won during a scrabble tournament. For my granny, the change has definitely been a positive one.

* Most likely an imitation!

I have decided that Care Homes have an unnecessarily bad reputation. Hell, I want to go into one now - it's like university dorms for old people! I don't even want to imagine what those crazy cats get up to when visiting hours are over!

Anyway, Granny has been at the forefront of my mind for a wee while now and so it's no surprise that some of the things that she was 'famous' for are coming back to me. One thing I remember is that whenever we visited there were always three things on offer:

1) Fudge Slice
2) Iced Sponge
3) Chocolate Cake

Surprisingly, I wasn't a fan of the chocolate cake which meant the Fudge Slice and Iced Sponge were all mine! With a hankering for Fudge Slice I decided to air out my Granny's recipe and give it a whirl.

It might not be the prettiest thing in the world but boy, if you're looking for a shot of sugar with chocolate on the top then this is a quick and easy way to get it.

The bottom of this slice is a sweet and creamy fudge with a bit of crunch from the crushed biscuits. A thin layer of chocolate on the top pulls it all together alongside some chocolate crunch sprinkles for prettiness and texture! Being quite sweet, you can't eat too many of these in one go - perfect if you're a food binger like me!


What you need:
4 oz margarine
1 small tin of condensed milk
4 oz sugar (castor or granulated)
2 tbsps syrup (to be honest, I forgot this and it still tasted delish!)
9 oz digestive biscuits
8oz chocolate of your choice
chocolate sprinkles of your choice


What you do:
Put the margarine, condensed milk, sugar and syrup in a pan and melt oh so slowly.

When all the ingredients are blended, put the heat on low-medium and heat for approximately 8 minutes. Keep stirring so that the mixture never sticks to the bottom of the pan (it goes brown when it does this and ruins the look as well as the taste of the fudge). The sugar will dissolve and the mixture will change to a warm golden hue.

Take your biscuits and pop them into a bag. Smash 'em up real good! The smoother you make your crumbs, the smoother your fudge will be. With the best will in the world, I always end up with little lumps but it adds a little extra, I say!

Remove the mixture from the heat and add the biscuits. Stir and blend well.

Pop the mixture into a swiss roll tin (a tin approximately 34cm x 20cm x 3cm) and press down. Allow to cool before adding your chocolate (aka the best bit!).

Melt your chocolate either over a pan of boiling water or in the microwave. I normally melt in a microwave with no issues but I've had a couple of horrors the last few times and I've managed to burn the chocolate. Not only do you then suffer the upset of wasting chocolate, the smell of burnt chocolate is just disgusting. Then there's the other problem of convincing yourself that the burnt chocolate will taste fine, eating it and then wanting to hurl. Burnt chocolate never tastes okay, people. Bleurgh!

Once the chocolate is nice and smooth, pour it over the fudge mixture. Add your chocolate sprinkles if you're using them and leave to cool at room temperature (you don't want any of the white fluff that appears if you pop chocolate in the fridge!).

Cut into tasty bars, eat and enjoy!

The new plan refers to a new way of thinking that I have decided to adopt.

I have realised (not that it's such a big surprise) that I just don't have the desire or inclination to give up yummy food that is traditionally seen as 'bad'. And why should I? Life is short - eat the damn chocolate!

Having said that with such conviction, I do suffer from low self-esteem and I complete hatred of my body image. I'll also admit that I do comfort eat those 'bad' foods. When I say comfort eat I mean binge. Eating one piece of something isn't bad. Eating the whole tray of goodies in one go - that's not healthy.

My dilemma is this:
I like to eat.
I like to eat things that have a large amount of sugar and fat.
I want to continue to eat these things because, as mentioned above, life is short.
Unfortunately, I berate myself daily for my 'bad' food choices and how this makes me feel about myself and my body.
I don't want to continue that.

So, my only option is to exercise.

I think that this (pinned to my Fitness and Health Pinterest board) pretty much sums up what needs to be my motto going forward.

So my new plan is this:

Continue to enjoy baking and eating scrumptious food (although maybe not so gluttonously!).
Exercise to keep my mind and body happy and in order.

I'll let you know how I get on!