Another Wasted Day

Another day, another attempt at healthy eating falls flat.

Having lost half a stone through the non eating of last week, I am attempting to continue this by healthy diet.  Nothing so far bar Lentil soup and a tin of mackerel in spicy sauce.  Some despise these but I kind of like them.  Tonight it is fish and chips just because, not quite the same, but enjoyable.

I ate so little that at one point I could not think!  This, some may say, makes no difference.  The problem was I was avoiding things like bread, as I need no more fat, but the mind requires some carbs, and I was eating the wrong way again.  

A quick trip early in the morning to Sainsburys the other day fixed that, and I am attempting to eat better, lose weight, and still keep a near clear head.  Doing the family history on Ancestry I need to be clear headed as it is not the best system to use.  This has changed since the last  time I made use of it and not for the better I say.  I may have to live on cheese on toast this week...

Tactful Sunak has done it again.  An off-the-cuff response to Keir went down badly as he asked him whether he knew what a woman was.  Keir of course is unsure as he may lose votes if he answers. However, the mother of a 'Trans' kicked to death' recently, the young killers given long sentences, was sitting in the gallery above having met several of the parties leaders.  What Rishi said is acceptable, the timing has led to another witch-hunt, once again all his own fault.  This man is Prime Minister yet he has no comprehension of the world outside, or the tact required to respond by saying nothing.  Another year of this.

Meanwhile Liz Truss is attempting to create a 'True Conservative Party,'  with Rees-Mogg and the like.  Seek out a  lettuce and note if it lasts longer than her again.

Wednesday Wittering

 

 

Hmmm... I think I have found the result of following all the diet advice I have received.  My diet has changed today, at least up till now, and I am hungry I can tell you.  The bag of oven chips, not much loved recently, pleads to be opened as I scribble.  

To divert attention I worked.

Yes, that shocked me also.  I thought my stiff back might ease if I did something to make it move so I sorted out the mess in the bedroom, hung up things lying around for yonks, and then grabbed a wet cloth and removed eons of dust from the shelves, doors, window...  It all looks much improved, though I wonder if I will find anything when I look for it.  

I noted while inside the cupboard that I was going to Spring clean it two years ago and that I failed to achieve my aim.  I looked at the masses of stuff in there and did what any man in my situation would do, I closed the door.

That reminded me of other things not sprung clean in recent days, such as the files beside me.  Last time I sorted the 'important papers' file I had items going back four years, maybe tomorrow for that one.

Hmmm... I could not waken this morning and have been half asleep all day, I just cannot wait for tomorrow to come and see how wide awake I am then...

 

......................

 

You realise just how age catches up with us all when even the Rolling Stones begin to pass away.  Charlie Watts, the unsmiling, suave drummer, he actually preferred Jazz I heard, leaves us at 81 years.  Mick and Keith must be looking in the mirror now, though with all the drugs consumed I reckon Keith has a dozen more years to go yet.

 

Tuesday Twittering

It's the little things that hinder most.

I had orders to ttend the surgery for an 'Old Man's Test' at 11:35 today.  This meant I had to wash properly and ensure my clothes were not as scruffy as usual.  Having prepared I put on clean sox, there are plenty of them, most without holes, and here it was I struggled.  My feet appear to be much further away from me than they used to be.  Once upon a time I just got down and shoved sox on and moved.  Today I struggled.  My now expanded stomach does not help, even allowing for the recent exercise that has toned the fat, it still remains an obstacle for such jobs.  I may ask the nurse today if she can pop round in the mornings...

Update, no chance!

 

I slept well enough last night even though I lurched through some rubbish football. This featured an easy win for West Ham United, supported by so many around here.  The London overspill goes back many years.  West Ham itself was indeed part of Essex until the spread of houses took over so much of Essex it all became part of Greater London.  Few consider themselves in Essex in that region today.

By the end of the second world war I think the lines had been set.  Many out this way moved to just get out of the city, especially those with children, some for work, others just wanted a better life.  Today house developers cater to those with money who wish to move, the lower orders are not wanted in Tory lands, houses suitable are never developed.  Many West Ham footballers will however live in Essex, they can afford the prices for the mock Tudor buildings.  Funnily enough, there are many such buildings, mostly towards London, but when at the museum we had almost nothing on Tudor life in these parts, in spite of part of the Boleyn family being based down the road.  The English appear fascinated with Henry VIII, I fail to see why, many other bullying imperialist English kings make for better reading.

Early, I wandered round to greet the Stasi.  She was on the phone and ignoring me and also the beginning of a queue behind.  Eventually she placed her bets and began to deal with us poor mortals awaiting.  I pleaded my case, she fingered the cross and skullbone badge and gave orders. 

Obediently I entered the building, once she had unlocked the door, I than sprinkled my hands with the stuff in the container, once I found it, and took my seat. The nurse came on time, called me by name and ushered me into her cell.  

Here she probed, stuck a pin in, took blood, lots of it, placed it in one or two computerised measuring gadgets, weighed me, doubted my honest weight, gave instructions, informed me I was doing OK except for still being a fat slob.  Losing one stone, or whatever that is in metric, was not enough.  Leafleted, ordered, instructed, amongst which were no more drinking, no more fat breakfasts, no cheese, no more sausage rolls, etc, I was then thrust out into the street again.  

I promised to obey, to make every effort, to once more adjust the diet, especially as she has informed the doctor, who I may have to face, about my fat.  Hmmm... I may have to brush up on my communication skills, or flattery as it has been called if I meet her.

 

 

I forgot to inform the young lady, and all nurses look young to me these days, that I had finished a bottle of sweet red Greek wine yesterday.  She may have put that on the computer, so I forgot.  Then, having forgotten, I wandered up the road, bought six more bottles of this wine before the lorry driver shortage caused by Brexit leaves us short.  I had hoped this would get me 10% off but this did not occur.  However, I slunked off home, ensuring the nurse did not see what I was carrying, and returned to base.

Tomorrow the diet starts anew!

 

Gormless Shopper...

This miserable repast is what counts for lunch today.  There have been many mistakes made in recent days, the major one being daft enough to stand on the weighing machine early in the morning, screaming "It's broken, I need a new one!" and discovering it was not broken after all.  The lack of exercise is taking it's toll.

Therefore, action was instigated, less fattening stuff eaten, fruit much used, and no difference recorded.  There are other problems however, as this eating regime does not supply sufficient nutrition to the brain and therefore results in strange effects.  

Here is an example of this.  Today, as the sun was waning at lunchtime, I crossed the park seeking exercise and whisky.  Our curate has at last found a church (five actually, all under him!) to accept him as Vicar, and we are all pleased about this.  Crossing the park, avoiding others, I made my way to Tesco and acquired a special whisky and a bottle of sherry.  I thought if he is a Vicar soon he will need to have a bottle on the table so he can offer this to those who do not drink, charity and thrift you see, all in one.  The queue was long at each checkout, so I headed to the self-service machines, which we love!  Now whisky in boxes (even if on offer as here) means you collect an empty box, thus detering thieves and making you wait while someone gets a box with a real bottle inside for you.  I got to the machine, it spat at me, I think I must have used this one before, and began the long operation of filling a bag.  First I gave the young chap the box to fill, then put the sherry through the machine and into the bag along with all the other stuff.  When he returned I thanked him, added the whisky and pressed 'Pay.'  Naturally it all went wrong.  Eventually, with a young lassies help, I paid, left and headed out.  As I left the shop the magic alarm bells rang for theft as I wandered through the door!  I carried on, all things being well and nobody responded.  Glad my fight with the self-service machine over I headed home for what you see was a substantial lunch.  

It was later that I realised a problem.  Around the sherry bottle was a large tag!  It appears that being concerned with the whisky, being malnourished, and being gormless, all at the same time, I had not noticed the electronic tag on the bottle, one which a checkout girl would have removed.  That explained the alarm bells when I left!  

What an idiot!

Back home I tried to undo the tag, this is not possible, and after several poor attempts I decided to leave it, drink the blasted stuff myself and get the man a bottle via the checkout later.  

Anyone for nutritious sherry....?        

Hard at Work

Here I am hard at work, I am there, I merely collapsed with exhaustion and can be found lying under the table muttering rude words about the Battle of Cambrai!  Six men required, only one finished and August around the corner but I am not panicking!!!!  Add to this I wandered down to the cemetery (it was dead quiet again) to take a few better photographs of a gravestone belonging to a chap who died of disease in 1916.  Information regarding him is arriving and he will be added to our pile so I decided we needed a better photo.  I knew where he lay and went straight there and he had gone!  No sign anywhere of the large cross that stood above him, nothing remained!  This is taking grave robbing too far I thought.  I wandered about for ages but could not find where he had been moved to, cursing my stupidity in not checking the shabby picture I took last year.  Ghouls I decided, had been in during a dark night and nicked him to sell to a medical school somewhere.  Instead I retook pics of other gravestones in the faint hope of improving what I already possessed.  Back home, still before eight o'clock and with the sun shining, I checked the old grubby picture of my man.  Funnily enough he has been moved to a place right behind where I was standing photographing a gravestone.  Bah!

So once again I discover the weighing machine is broken.  It claims I am two pounds short of 16 stone for goodness sake!  Clearly a malfunction.  However as I puffed and struggled up Cemetery Hill this morning as slowly clambered back upstairs it seemed a good idea to lose some of the flab.  So once again I am on a diet.  Once again I am eating healthily, once again it will fail.  But maybe this time I had better make an effort as this fat is killing me!