Big ‘n’ Chunky Sweet 16

Cuddly

This, ladies and gentleman, is what can happen to your carcass if you work in a chocolate factory.

Or, if you suddenly give up a childhood full of sport, to enjoy a Bacchanalian youth on the English Riviera (a.k.a. Southend-on-sea).

Worryingly, this is what could happen to me (again), now that all my children are in full-time education, if I don’t start pounding the streets more often.

I won’t blame my children if I get fat of course, but for the first time in 9 years, five whole hours during the day actually belongs to ME; and this means learning how to eat properly again during daylight hours.

Lunchtime, for almost a decade has been relegated to eating small quantities of something simple, scoffed on the hoof, while being constantly interrupted and summoned by midget drill sergeants with stereo calls for more drinks, or a shouted demand to wipe a bum.

Yucky

I mean seriously, is there any better way to ensure you don’t gorge yourself on peanut butter sandwiches, than peering at a child’s deposits in the bottom of a toilet bowl?

It’s as though my children instinctively knew that they could help me to stay slim.

With Halloween around the corner and the knowledge that in just over 3 weeks, the house will be filled with candy again for at least another 6 months, I’ve taken a pre-emptive stance and increased my exercise regime.

This means going to the gym and running four times a week, and thanks to a hill-running workout with the Peninsula Runners on Tuesday night – which was surely designed for mountain goats (?) – my butt cheeks have been singing to me for two days now.

But with Saturday looming, and the need to slip into my favourite leopard print trousers for a party, I’m determined to spend all of tomorrow resisting the box of Tim Horton donuts that Rob brought home from work today…

Other than that it’s been a lovely week. Beautiful weather, some gorgeous views of the surrounding mountains, and pretty industrious now that I actually have time to work during the day.

Blundering abroad

And this week heralds the publication of Forced to Fly, a collection of stories by expat women about their foreign humiliations, one of which is written by yours truly!

An anthology that’s previously found its way into corporate goodie bags for relocating employees, Forced to Fly is a humorous introduction to the inevitable cultural gaffes and embarrassing incidents that most of us face when living abroad.