'You cannot by dieting, resolve a problem that is caused by dieting.'  

Came across this description of how a diet is broken.  'Something sets you off and food is the only thing that will scratch this life-or-death--MUST-eat-now itch and you don't just modestly nibble on something, you devour food in savage urgent gulps, in a frenzy of euphoric excitement, you eat anything and everything that's been off limits.  What started out as an innocent attempt to lose a few pounds has spiralled out of control.  You think about food ALL THE TIME.  Your life is  being consumed by a constant and relentless inner tug-of-war between the desperate desire to lose weight and an out-of-control desire to eat.  These are actually the proven results of dieting and when your body reacts to dieting in the only way that it can, you then label yourself as a binge eater, a compulsive overeater, a disordered eater and a food addict.'  I hear ya sister!

Just read this advice on one of the gargantuan amount of design blogs I follow:  'turning books around so that their spines face away from you visually de-clutters a bookcase and aids more restful sleep'.  Then we wonder why people want to kill us.

So I've been pretty housebound with a rotator cuff impingement, yeah, don't ask.  Downside, I haven't been able to stop eating, seriously and trust me, nothing healthy is passing my lips.  I'm pretty sure I would have trouble recognising anything that grows on a tree or in the earth right now.  I feel so, I dunno, bleuuuuurgh.  Insane amount of DIY going on at the moment, plus doing what I do best, moving 'stuff' around.  I swear I should never commit to doing anything 'built in' interior wise cos I get seriously pissed off when I can't then move it.  So, the main mirror in the bedroom has been moved and I decided to buy a small face sized mirror for my chest of drawers so I don't have to pole vault over my bed in order to put make-up on and when I glanced in it today, I thought, I like my face and what's more, it's quite delicate, well sometimes it is.  Then.  There are the larger mirrors.  Then.  I catch sight of my naked body and I think......well, I don't recoil in horror but delicate is not what I think and how is it possible that my body does not match my face.  So the question I find myself asking, is do I throw away all the mirrors apart from the one that provides me with the image that pleases me and live in complete blissfull ignorance and also, if I can't see an image of my body, will I stop fixating on food and body image........finally lose weight and finally sort myself out?  A lot of questions.

The difference between travelling when you're older and travelling when you're younger is that when you're younger and you visit somewhere particularly breathtaking, you have the arrogance of youth on your side allowing you to think that you'll one day come back here.  When you're older, you are aware that you may never ever lay eyes on this place again.  Or maybe that's just me.

Whilst watching my style icon, the late great Margaret Rutherford in Blithe Spirit last night, I jokingly told my daughter that she was about my age.  A quick check on imdb confirmed that she really was.  It did make me think that women have come a long way in so many ways.  Our lives were over at a much younger age and there were so many things that we couldn't do BUT,  we are under so much pressure to look great at every age and I would have liked to have been released from the tyranny of having to look fabulous all the time by now.

How soul destroying is it when you meet up with some people, sometimes you haven't seen them in ages, sometimes it was more recent, but you come away with one realisation.  They spent the entire time talking about themselves.  Not once did they ask about you, your life or anyone in your life.  Just what is it with some people?  Are they honestly so full of self importance, love the sound of their own voice?  However much they might have going on in their life, it surely only takes a couple of seconds to think 'oh hold on, someone's here with me'.  Jeez.

Why is it, that no-one in my house can hear me shout, but I can hear every single person speak, no matter where in the house they are?  And while on the subject of sound, I miss the days where people in the house would speak on the phone and I barely heard anything, now I have loud Skype calls to contend with.

Today I walked through the doors of a place that I not so long ago swore blind, I would never ever grace again.  Yup.  A slimming club.  Slimming World to be precise.  WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS WRONG WITH ME?  Anyway.  Moving on.  Just going to stay till I lose a stone and a half.  The leader, yes, they really are called that, told me that I needed to accept straight away, that it was only going to work if I accepted that I had to attend for the rest of my life.  Sell the damned thing to me why don't you?  Whilst there, 2 things came to mind.  Years ago, a friend told me that when she looks at food, she only sees protein, carbs and fats.  I remember thinking that I never ever want to be that person.  Secondly, in my late teens, in a restaurant with friends, eating an avocado with lemon and olive oil, because let's face eat, there aint enough fat there already and thinking only one thing.  Yum.  What I would give to go back to that time when I had that relationship with food.

Today we buried a friend.  Younger than me by 8 years but part of a group of people where we all grew up together.  Our families were bound together, first by friendship and later by marriage.  She was 44 years old.  As if this in itself was not heartbreaking enough, she leaves behind 2 young girls of 9 and 12.  Her life was taken by cancer.  After years of not much contact, following various family break-ups, we became facebook friends.  Throughout her illness, I was constantly amazed by her humour, spirit and honesty. People often talk about bravery and today I saw it in her elderly mother and in her girls.  As with most funerals there were so many faces not seen for a long time.  Faces from another life and I realised something.  Where there has once been love, in most cases, it never truly goes away, even when you haven't seen each other in forever and that people very rarely, if ever, forget kindness.  That shared history can bind you so much more than you could ever believe.  Thank you Gina, for reminding me of all this today and for showing me the capability of what can be overcome.  Goodnight darling.

'School is supposed to be a safe environment to learn and grow, yet I can't think of anywhere more horrible to send my children.  No one ever sees the torment that happens every day.'

Stuff to think about.

Latest barmyness (is that even a word?) from the education frontline.  Letter arrived from son's school telling me that from his report, said son has demonstrated a commendable attitude to his studies.  Jesus H Christ, I fucking know.  I have read the report and signed it confirming that I have.  Aren't we supposed to be saving trees?  Aren't we supposed to be saving money and making cutbacks.  I cannot believe that someone is being employed to type letters about stuff that is blatantly obvious to the majority of parents.

My son is in the process of picking his school options, at 13, a year earlier than children used to.  The term 'options' should probably be used as loosely as the 'choices' we have in what schools we send our children to.  I'd like to know the wisdom behind children now having to study all 3 sciences and a foreign language.  Who decides that these subjects are worthier than humanities and arts subjects?  Or that the compulsory RS is any more useful than cooking, yes I know that's not what it's called but I can't keep up with what is now home economics or domestic science or something else altogether.  I suspect that the governments at large daren't get rid of it because of the right wingers waiting to start hysterically screaming that it's something to do with the amount of foreigners in Britain.  Once my son has finished with the compulsory Maths, English, PE, RS, 3 Sciences, a foreign language and a Humanity, he has 2 'options' to 'choose' and I got the distinct impression that this was for a bit of fun.  Tired as I was of the talk of  'if you want to go to a 'good university', why not be honest and scream 'I'm talking about the red brick universities', I got to thinking, where is the national pride in our future artists, designers, architects, animators to name but a few who will get nowhere without Art as an option?  Where is the proof of the statement 'we are committed to all our students'?  In the 70s, after Maths, English, PE and RS, I was allowed 5 choices.  I took no languages or sciences because I was so terrible at them and chose a combination of humanities and arts subjects, which were my strengths and what I was interested in.  I passed them all.  If I had been forced to study languages and sciences, I would have completely lost interest and failed at everything.  I am struggling with the logic behind it all.

'One of the biggest lies told in schools is that bullying will not be tolerated.'

I would like to know just how many more children committing suicide over bullying will it take for schools to take things a hell of a lot more seriously than they currently are?  Where is all the pastoral care we are promised?  Why is it so damned difficult to teach children to be kind?  What the fuck is going on at home to make them think it is ok to be so horrible and cruel to others?  Why can we not figure out how to get on top of it, how to stop it?  With so much focus on the academic side of things, is it impossible to be aware of what is going on in terms of behaviour?  I am so sick and tired of hearing that 'kids will be kids' and it's normal behaviour.  If it was so normal, would not all children be capable of it?  Is there so much bullying in the workforce because it was never really sorted in school?  I am tired of schools issuing statements after yet another tragedy saying '........was a very well liked and popular pupil'.  If you could notice this, how could you fail to notice that the same child was being bullied?

'I accept myself for who I am and what I believe.....it is not my responsibility for you to accept me....that is your problem.'  If ever there was a mantra that should have my name written all over it.

Just read that Mr Rupert 'I love him' Penry-Jones prefers to watch football, rugby and rock concerts on TV at home.  I hear ya Mr Jones.  Recently, I've had days when I've wanted to wave everyone off, plonk myself on the sofa, ease myself into double Frasier, straight into the Wright Stuff, onto Aussie soaps and ending with double Birds of a Feather before schools out.  With some food breaks in between, obviously.  Not done it yet.  Any takers?

I have a very distinct memory of my mum once going completely bonkers and smashing an entire crockery set and breaking a few of the kitchen ceramic floor tiles in the process.  I never questioned too much what got into her at the time but in hindsight, she was probably fucking frustrated that she couldn't get the house to look the way she wanted.  Ma, I hear ya!

'We may never flower to our full bloom.  But sometimes, something happens in our lives to give us a glimpse of what we could become were we to allow that light to find those dark and secret surfaces of our soul.  Then, we realize we have wings and always have done.....' 

I want to try and remember this.

I absolutely love it when people refer to someone as being 'a shitty article'!

Just came across the following on a forum about gardens.  'I can scarcely 'keep control' of a house, adding a much woollier, entirely entropic room just threatens me with a nervous breakdown.'  Is this my attitude about gardens or what?!

'I can't take credit for my children when they are being wonderful, so I shouldn't blame myself when they are being difficult.  I always thought they had to be perfect  or else it meant that I wasn't perfect.  Well I'm not and they're not.  We're all just human.'

Questions for today.  Why do you not realise that things you say are insulting, hurtful, painful and callous?  Why do you think all this is ok because you are being 'truthful'? Why is it ok to hurt people because you are 'just saying'?  Why are you completely incapable of paying someone a compliment or indeed, even saying something nice?  Is making someone feel good about themselves seen as a weakness?  Is being kind really such an awful thing?

Just started reading a book that I haven't read for about 26 years.  Typical of the kind of books I used to read all the time back then.  I never realised why I gradually stopped reading them till today.  The way the womens physical appearances where focused on and written about.  In fact, I swear the Daily Mail writers could have written these books, the writing style is so similar, maybe they did.  If I could be bothered to trawl through them, I'm sure I would find a woman being described as fragrant!

How is it that in the health and safety obsessed times that we are currently living in, our children are still able to participate in certain sports in school?  Yep, I'm talking about rugby in particular.  Is it a case of if we label something a 'sport', then violent and rough behaviour becomes acceptable?

Is life more difficult for the gobshite who lives with the internaliser or the internaliser who lives with the gobshite?

I recently commented on Martin Kemps' decision to embrace his grey locks.  I believe what I actually said was 'with dyed hair, I always thought he was meh, but as a silver fox, gorge!'  I have had roughly 4 months of disaster with dyes, trying to cover up my greys, ranging from damaged hair from a bleach bath to a scalp so itchy from the chemicals, I feel I'm ready to rip it off.  I won't allow myself to work out roughly how much money I have spent trying to rectify the colour, let alone how much hair I have had to cut off in order to get rid of the damage.  Thing is, I don't think I was even ever that bothered about the grey, everyone else was banging on about how ageing it was.  Don't we ever wonder why our faces lose pigment at the same time as our hair does, might it be that it happens so that they don't fight each other?  That's why dyed hair can make us look a little strange.  Anyway.  Back to Martin.  I stand by what I said, though it makes me sad that it will be a very long time and maybe not in my lifetime, when someone will look at a photo of a woman with grey hair, and say 'fuck, she looks so much sexier, so glad she ditched the dye'.

Just seen photos of David Bailey at his latest exhibition.  He looks like the male equivalent of a bag lady but it won't get mentioned because he is such a major talent but most women on the other hand, no matter how talented, will always have their appearance scrutinised, judged and commented on.

On hearing that the Sanctuary Spa in Covent Garden will be closing its doors for the last time this May, it got me thinking about a few things.  I've been going to this spa since I was 21, roughly about once a year.  When I first started going, everybody always used the pools, jacuzzis, sauna and steam rooms completely naked.  We all seemed completely at ease with this, in fact, I don't remember anyone batting an eyelid.  About 10 years ago, I noticed that more women were wearing swimsuits until I realised a few years back that I was now the only naked one.  Not wishing to commit a faux pas, I asked the staff if this was still ok and they replied 'perfectly', in fact, it says in their brochure that people are welcome to continue this tradition.  Oh shit, I should mention at this point that this is a female only spa!  Anyway, the question it raised in my mind is, what the fuck is going on here?  Why is it, that whilst we live in a time where nudity is all around, celebrities flashing legs, cleavage, side boob, back boob, upside down boob, shaved crotch and whatnot, we have become coy about being naked amongst other women in a place where no one is really looking?  Could it in part be that we have become so self-conscious of not looking perfect, because hey, we won't stop being reminded by a media who is just waiting to scrutinize every single part of us.  Girls, I can guarantee you that if you have body issues, a naked spa is exactly the place you should be hanging out, to see up close, that no one in real life has an airbrushed body.  In reality, those kinds of bodies are extremely rare and usually only exist on paper with staples down the middle.

I am always slightly taken aback about the things you can miss about the  people you have loved who are no longer with you and even more so, by the things that can trigger the yearning.   Whilst watching the tango scene from Scent of a Woman, I was looking at Al Pacino and all I could see was my father dancing with me.  It is one of the sadder aspects of being human that we can never truly realise how precious some things are, until we can no longer have them.  One last dance Dad.  Please?

I know that everyone's always banging on about the good old days, always harking on about the nanny state and moaning about health and safety everything and political correctness having gone way too far. I've been known on occasion to do it myself but here's the thing.  I can remember a few things which weren't so fab.  When I was about 14, around 1976, a couple of occasions at school.  A pal of mine gave a bit of a smart alecky answer, the older teached walked straight up to him, grabbed his hair at the back of the head and proceeded to bang it about 5 times on the desk.  Shocked but not much of an eyelid battered.  Should have.  Another, round about the same time and similar circumstances, different teacher, different pupil.  A rather quiet and unassuming teacher grabbed the pupil by the shoulders, yanked him out of his chair and completely beat the living shit out of him.  We were petrified.  He actually broke a couple of his ribs.  I remember his dad coming into the school but nothing was done.  Things carried on as normal.  Good old days eh?

In defence of naturally thin people, people with small appetites and peoples eating habits generally, stop with the damaging comments.  Why is it that, whilst nowadays, only someone with the tact of a rhino would say to a large person 'fuck me, you sure can put food away' or 'you are seriously fucking fat', is it ok to attack a thin person with comments like 'you must be anorexic' and 'shit, do you even eat?'?  Where is the acceptance of all the different body types that we were promised, ever going to truly be amongst us?

I had a dream last night.  I can't remember the content and it isn't even relevant, what is, is the ending.  The husband was standing in front of me, uttering my favourite line of all time, 'what have we got and what can I eat?'.  Oh my fucking god.  Am I to have no respite?  Even in my slumber, am I forever to be responsible for peoples food consumption?

I joined Weight Watchers today.  For about the tenth time.  For about ten minutes.  I made all these promises to myself before I walked in.  The same promises that I make whenever I start a new diet.  I am not going to let it rule my life.  I am just going to use it as a guideline.  I am not going to get obsessive about it.  I filled out the form.  I met the leader.  I peeled off my layers, though stopped short of stripping down to my undies and going to the loo as others were doing and am sure I too have done in the past.  I stepped on the scales.  I politely answered 'roughly' when asked if the number was what I expected when what I really wanted to scream was 'No, I am completely flummoxed, I've been walking around thinking I am the size of Kate Moss and that is what brought me here'.  I looked over the 'aids' on offer, roughly translated as 'highly processed snacks which taste like shit' which sustain you for a nanosecond.  I paid my fee, stood my ground about only wanting to pay for today as opposed to 5 years in advance.  Then I sat down.  And read the 'plan'.  Let's not kid ourselves here, a diet is what it is.  Why can't we just call things what they actually are any more?  I tried to drown out the too familiar drone around me.  People talking about weight tips, using 'diet coconut yogurt to make curry and you'd never know', how 'this is the fifteenth time I've joined but it really works', the leader's voice talking to the new recruits about the new plan which is 'so much easier and successful than all the previous ones'.  Then inside me.  One word.  Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!  Before I knew what I was doing, I stood up and walked straight out.  Palpitating.  Fully expecting a pair of hands to grab me by the shoulders and shout  'and just where do you think you're going missy?'.  I can't do it anymore.  I just can't.  I know for many people, these sorts of clubs are fantastic, but for me, they just hit that rebellious button in my head with the 'I won't be told' sign with a sledgehammer.  This is not the way forward for me.  I don't know what is but know for sure that this isn't it.  As I was sitting on that chair, I could think of only two things.  At roughly this time last year, at Slimming World, a friend that had just rejoined, said there was an awful sense of familiarity and she said it with an awful sense of forboding.  And secondly.  That fucking brilliant line from Little Britain.  'Oh man, she fat cos she looooooove de cake'! 

So I've finally done it.  Since Christmas morning, I've continually walked past it, picked it up, inhaled its gorgeous scent and thought one thing.  Soon.  Today was the day.  I finally lit my extortionately priced Diptyque Feu de Bois candle.  The one that is meant to smell of a burning log fire.  The brand that anyone worth their achingly middle class salt has dotted around their abode because they are the only candles that actually still smell when they burn.  I waited for the aroma to fill the house.  I waited to figure out if the hype was true.  It did smell.  Of...............well, candle.  The husband walked in and said it definately smelt smoky but think he was trying to justify the £30 price tag he paid.  You'd never think I once worked in advertising.  I am so their wet dream.

Somebody that I once knew, passed away recently.  Bob Foster.  He was a friend of my brother's and he was around 54 years old.  He was part of a friendship group that I was fortunate to be a part of in my late teens.   I last saw him about 15 years ago and never really thought about him that much, other than in passing and with fondness, but his death has filled me with sadness.  I have lost several people over the years, the worst bereavements being both my parents but this was one of the first of my peers and certainly the first of that group.  It doesn't compare but it is different.  Our lives are constantly filled with people coming in and out, some stay and some we never see again but while they are still around, there is always the possibility and acceptance that we may one day bump into them.  I will never see Bob again and if I feel this, then his close friends are feeling it tenfold.  This is surely the most difficult part of the grieving process.  The Bob that I knew was a funny and sweet guy but he exists now, only in my memory. I will never see him again and I will never get a chance to say 'hey, haven't seen you in a while'.