All posts filed under: Health & Happiness

Dear Red Wine

I have loved you for as long as I can remember. Actually, this is not strictly true. My first memory is of my sister being born when I was 2½ years old and orange squash was the only juice in my cup. However, had I experienced such a traumatic event 20-years later, I am sure you would have provided invaluable support. As an adult – following a brief fling with vodka, lime & soda and a few awkward experiences with white wine – it is you I have turned to at celebrations, commiserations and Saturday nights in front of the telly with a curry on my lap. I have taken you to dinner parties, asked for you in pubs and restaurants, and showed extreme bias towards you in supermarket wine aisles. I have also enjoyed getting to know all the variations of you. From fruity Merlots and robust Cab Savs to lighter-bodied Pinot Noirs and Beaujolais, but it was Rioja that finally stole my heart. We did not have to see each other very often, but …

Enough with the eating madness

As I sit here typing, I am idly picking at the last of the festive macaroons so that they are all ‘gone’ by the new year, which I plan to sing in with a belly full of curry and sparkling wine. Over the past month, I have also quietly polished off endless mince pies, chocolates, cheese boards, pate on homemade breads, pigs in blankets, crisps, nuts, olives and crackers. Biscuits, turkey, roast potatoes, cake, edible christmas tree ornaments and leftover sandwiches. Cheese pies, creamy pastas and toast soaked in real butter. Even my ‘big’ jeans have had enough and are refusing to zip up until the eating madness stops. I have been avoiding the scales since September, after an over indulgent summer that drifted into Autumn and now Winter. I have been ignoring the tightness of the denim kneading my thighs, and pretending the double chin I see in photos is the result of a bad angle. The truth is, there are no good angles at the moment. You can no longer see my cheek bones because I have stuffed my …

The Weight Game

I landed back on the Slimming World scales with a giant thud and some 13-lbs heavier than when I stepped on them before the summer. I wish I could say it was worth it, but I am struggling to remember a cake, ice-cream or glass of wine that I enjoyed enough to make the gain seem like just an unfortunate consequence. THIRTEEN POUNDS. I feel so embarrassed. I was swanning around Crete in a swimming costume designed for someone a stone lighter. I was knocking back the rosé, eating all the crisps and ignoring my bulging waistline. I’d also been avoiding the scales, whereas you couldn’t get me off them when they were moving in a more favourable direction. So, deep down I knew what was going on but a big glaring confirmation would have put an abrupt end to my summer of excess and I wanted to carry on living in denial while the sun was still shining. When September arrived, it was time. Seeing such a huge number appear on the screen was a shock. I think I was hoping to see about half that …

Enter the Race for Life and Get Fit With Kiqplan

Written in partnership with the Kiqplan. My timeline has recently been inundated with friends running the Race for Life – a series of women-only events raising money for Cancer Research UK. I have been following their training with interest, as having attempted to learn to run a few years ago, I am in total awe of anyone who manages it, sticks with it and looks like they are actually enjoying it! I am still waiting for the legendary exercise endorphins to kick in, although as my feet have not felt the inside of a pair of trainers for well over a year, it is no surprise they are still giving me the silent treatment. At one point, I did reach a level where I could run for about 25-minutes without stopping. Then as soon as I hit that milestone, I seemed to lose enthusiasm for reaching the next one. Perhaps if I’d had the motivation of running a 5k or 10k to raise money for research into all 200 types of cancer, I might still …

In Your Face

I looked at myself in the mirror yesterday, not just to guide a face wipe over day-old mascara or while absent-mindedly brushing my hair, but I really looked at myself. I examined my face from grey-roots to neck.  I pulled at my cheeks, lifted the skin around my eyes and turned my mouth up and down. Who was this woman staring back at me, the one with the silver stripe along her crown and a forehead that wrinkled when she strained to take a closer look? Her skin looks redder than I remember and when I stretch it this way and that, it takes a few seconds to fall back into place.  Both her eyebrows are flecked with grey and she appears to be growing a third… on her chin.  Her eyes look a bit bleary, probably because she had two glasses of wine the night before; and the dark circles beneath them are there because she never sleeps well after wine. It is me, but not the me I remember. The last time I looked, really looked, my skin seemed brighter, …