I crave a different kind of buzz

 

Before I had Ava, I didn't really go out that much. I would sometimes sit in the pub for longer than was necessary on a school night. And I was happy to don my stilettos and the most innappropriate dress I could find and hit the clubs every so often with the girls. But in terms of 'going out', I've always been just as happy 'staying in'.

When I was 18 I was never home. The weekend would generally start in the pub on a Thursday evening and usually end with a late night chippy on the Sunday. I was a girl with a serious taste for tequila and a penchant for after parties. But a serious relationship, studies, etc all meant that I calmed down a fair bit in my mid-twenties. At the age of 27 I suddenly found myself pregnant. I couldn't really go out and get drunk any more and truthfully I didn't want to. I didn't really miss the party lifestyle that much. Unless I was around it. And so I stayed in. Ava is two and half now and I don't resent her one bit for making a social life more difficult to manage. If anything I appreciate her all the more for what she has taught me about myself. 

I have always suffered from the 'grass is greener' thing. Even though I didn't always want to go out, I always felt like I should. Like I might miss something. I remember the boys from my old home town calling it the 'Swedish cheerleader syndrome'. We lived in a small town with only a couple of pubs and they argued that the one night they decided to stay in, a bus full of beautiful, Swedish cheerleaders would break down right in this little village of ours and said cheerleaders would pour into the pub. And if they didn't go out they would miss this amazing turn of events. 

But staying in becomes a necessity when you have a little one. And I love it all. The sound of the STV News that signifies the last hour before bedtime. The baths, the bubbles and the storybooks. The tucking in, the cooking dinner and that first sip of Rioja after a day full of crayons and swingparks. I will often, enroute to kitchen or bathroom, take a detour into Ava's bedroom. I will lean against the radiator and watch her tiny chest rise and fall and I will be reminded how happy I am to have a roof over my head, food in the fridge and this amazing little creature snoozing in the room next to me. 

The death of Peaches Geldof recently reminded me of something she said in an interview once. I never really followed her but her words stuck with me at the time and it still resonates with me today. She told the interviewer that her children had saved her from a 'life of wanton wanderlust'. And I remember knowing exactly what she meant. Truthfully, I have always thought of myself as a bit of a homebody anyway. And my two main dreams in life would probably verify that. I want to write. I want more babies. I picture myself pregnant in the kitchen of a nice house, barefoot and surrounded by children. And when I eventually retire I want to keep writing. I'll move to Loch Fyne or somewhere similar. Maybe run a B&B. Live somewhere I can only do my banking through a little van that comes to the village. Spend the rest of my years listening to the sound of the water lapping against the rocks.

Hardly the dreams of a wild child are they?

Oh and to date, I don't believe a bus full of Swedish cheerleaders has ever descended on the sleepy town of Biggar ;)

The Kailyard, Dunblane Hydro

When you say the words 'Dunblane' & 'Hydro' to me I get flashbacks to an absolutely terrible Christmas party I went to in one of their function suites one year. However we won't talk about that because that was 10 years ago and the Hydro is now a Hilton. After an extensive, multi-million pound refurbishment, the hotel has teamed up with celebrity chef Nick Nairn to create it's flagship restaurant, The Kailyard.

Last week a few of us were invited along to try the new menu and have a chat with Nick himself. You didn't have to ask me twice.

We were greeted with a drink and sat around a big table to wait on the chef and his food. And my was there a lot of food. Here's some photos to give you an idea.....

Confit pheasant terrine, celeriac remoulade, apricot puree, pickled walnut dressing

Smoked Loch Duart salmon "Nick Nairn", apple & watercress salad, pickled fennel

Glazed pork belly, crackling, apple sauce, crispy fritters, sage

Slow braised featherblade of Scottish beef, mustard mash,  truffled celeriac puree, Swiss chard & red wine gravy

Seared fillet of Loch Duart salmon, shellfish risotto, crispy seaweed

Nick's berry trifle, warm brioche bread & butter pudding, milk chocolate ice-cream

I'm not being sycophantic when I say that all the food was genuinely good. Very good. I preferred some stuff more than others. The pork belly was quite literally one of the nicest things I have tasted in a while. The salmon was good & the flavours immense but I felt I had tasted nicer smoked salmon. Although maybe I am a philistine as having recently discovered Tesco's Finest smoked salmon earlier this year, I cannot see past it. Although I doubt it is as sustainable and ethical (bad Dawnie). The shrimp cocktail (not pictured) was exactly what it was trying to be. Simple yet effective. A perfect example of a really good prawn cocktail and the use of brown shrimps added a lovely sort of nutty and sweeter flavour to the salad.

My favourite was by far the salmon & shellfish risotto. Risotto is my go to dinner most nights now that I am usually cooking for one and having sickened myself with it slightly, this definitely re-ignited my love for the dish. The featherblade of beef didn't really do it for me. It was good but I felt it lacked something and I don't know what. It just didn't wow me like I had hoped it would. However I lack the expertise or the properly trained pallet to tell you what.

In terms of the desserts, it turns out I like trifle and bread and butter pudding which are two of my previous ideas of food hell. Maybe I just hadn't tasted them "done right" as Nick explained during the tasting. Who knew?

All in all, I really enjoyed myself at The Kailyard. In fact, this was probably one of my favourite events. Given how much I like being in the kitchen, I would have preferred the discussion to centre a little more around the actual food, what was in it, how it was cooked, etc but the other topics of conversation that we touched on were just as interesting. Covering everything from Twitter, to the current obsession with people taking food pictures to blogging and bad reviews. 

Given that we blew £170 on a meal at Jamie's Italian the other night and it was completely rubbish (I'm still bitter about that) I am always a little bit wary of recommending a restaurant to people that might sometimes just sell itself on the celebrity they have got on board with rather than the quality of the experience. However I would genuinely recommend this restaurant to anyone looking for a fine dining experience that delivers excellent food, great service and isn't so stuffy you feel uncomfortable or intimidated.

In fact a night here with dinner at The Kailyard would be the ideal present for a couple you are looking to treat. You can check out the actual website here.

More photos from my experience at The Kailyard can be found on my Facebook page.

Munro's, Glasgow

 Last week, despite the freezing weather, my friend Kate and I ventured out to the launch night of Munro's in Glasgow's Westend. 

Newly opened Munro's markets itself as a 'craft beer and cask ale' pub which 'aims to bring an interesting range of quality craft and cask ales as well as as some of the best beers from around Scotland and the world'. 

That works for me. 

I like beer.

 However Kate is more of a prosecco girl and luckily there was loads of that on tap too.

The place was buzzing with a good atmosphere. The decor is pub-like whilst still maintaining a trendy vibe to it. The leather armchairs, rugs and purposefully tilted free standing lampshade all contributed to the homely feel of the place. 

That's the problem with homely though. 

You don't want to go home.

We were treated to a few samplers from their beer bites menu including stuffed jalepeno's, chilli and parmesan fries and some seriously good thin crust pizza. Much to our dismay, we missed out on the hotdogs that were doing the rounds but damn they looked fine.

Not forgetting the reason for being there, I got tucked into a few of the beers. I started with a sort of fruit based beer (I have no idea what it was called) which was alright but a bit dark for me. I swiftly moved onto an Arran pale ale before finishing with a pint of WEST St Mungo's. 

Oh the bloating. 

But it was worth it.

While Kate mainly stuck to wine, she had a thoroughly good  night as well and I reckon this will probably be the perfect place for our next meet up. 

Damn, I don't get to see that face enough.

You can check out Munro's website here but if I were you I would just cut out the middle man and get yourself down there for a pint.

How much is too much?

Recently I have been thinking about drinking. Being a massive fan of all things alcoholic, an article in one of the Sunday supplements got me to thinking about my own alcohol consumption and whether it was excessive or not.

As a result of this article, and the recent drive by the government to encourage people to have at least two alcohol free nights per week, I have literally been doing my boyfriend's head in by moaning that I drink too much. Despite this moaning however, I don't seem to be cutting down.

Before I go further I should probably clarify exactly what I do drink.

I rarely get drunk. I have had a few nights out since I had Ava, but most have ended with my head down the toilet. It appears my ability to hold my booze has severely declined since having a baby. Plus a hangover whilst looking after a child under 6 months is pure hell. I'm not kidding. I'd rather do a 12 hour shift on my feet than have to look after Ava with a hangover. It's just not worth it. But I do drink almost every night. I say 'almost' because recently I have been trying to have these 2 alcohol free nights per week. My weeks don't always work out like that. But I am trying.

The thing is, I don't get drunk. I have a bottle of beer, a glass of wine or a Gin & Tonic most evenings. But not really much more than that. I might top up my glass of Chenin Blanc once dinner is on the table. Or have an extra Gin & Tonic on the rare occasion that I actually stay up past 9pm. But I don't think I drink to excess. What worries me isn't that I tend to have a drink most nights, it's that if I don't have that drink, I feel like I am climbing the walls by 8pm.

Now this is something that has only started since I had a child. When I was young, free & single, I could pretty much be counted upon to be out getting lashed most weekends. But week nights and nights in, I could bypass the booze quite easily. Nowadays I find myself with an internal countdown clock, ticking off the minutes until bath time (Ava's) and a bottle of beer. It's not that she's a particularly hard baby to look after. She's a little demanding and not the type of baby who likes to entertain herself or play on her own. So most of my days are spent trying to entertain her whilst still trying to prepare dinner, get the laundry done and sort out my chipped nail polish. And I think it's that constant need for my attention that causes me to be reaching for the Gin as soon as I hear the opening credits to Emmerdale.

It's a routine I enjoy and have become quite accustomed to. We spend the day together. Some are good, some are not so good. Sometimes she's a joy, I get some baking done while she gurgles adorably in her chair in the kitchen and my bloke comes home to a clean house, dinner cooking and us playing happily on the floor in front of the 6 o'clock news. Other times Ava refuses to nap, is grumpy and upset and won't let me out of her sight for a minute. I can't go to the loo without her screaming blue murder. It takes me 3 hours just to load the dishwasher and the chances of me doing anything in the kitchen other than reaching for the wine are slim to none. On those days my boyfriend usually comes home to me still in my pyjamas and tearing my hair out. But he's usually aware of this from an early stage due to the abusive texts he receives throughout the day telling him on no uncertain terms that Ava will most definitely be an only child. It's a wonder the poor guy actually comes home at all.

The 'only child thing' changes about 10pm every Wednesday night with the closing credits of One Born Every Minute. Where, with tears rolling down my cheeks, I wail at him that I want another baby and to impregnate me instantly. Thankfully he knows I don't really mean it.

Anyway, I'm getting off track. But on those bad days, as with the better (but still demanding) good days, I NEED a drink come early evening. I don't know what it is. It relaxes me. It chills me out. I can physically feel the stresses of that particular day draining away with the first few sips. I'm in a better mood. With Ava and my boyfriend. And in a better mood with myself. But I do worry that as Ava gets older she'll start to question why I always have a drink in my hand come early evening.

Am I teaching her restraint? That drinking in moderation is the way to go? She'll rarely see me drunk. So will she be learning that booze is there to be enjoyed as long as it is done sensibly? Or will she view me as a bit of a lush? Maybe she will judge me when she's a older and she hears the familiar clink of ice cubes or the gentle pouring noise coming from the Cab Sauv.

I'd rather she remembered me as smelling of Chanel not Chablis.

I'll ask her in 30 years time.

We can discuss it over a glass of wine.


Detox update: even after cheating considerably last week, I still managed to lose 4lbs. This is despite having a small glass of wine or a beer most nights (see above), eating red meat (an amazing lamb tagine on Thursday night & a Wagamama beef salad with the lovely Smidge on Saturday) & having some dark chocolate on Saturday night. It's amazing though what avoiding bread and pasta can do!)

Tequila

It makes me happy. I love the stuff. It's my shot of choice and on any given night out you can pretty much guarantee that you'll find me at the bar ordering a round of slammers for myself and whoever else is in my party.

But apparently not everyone approves.

For my Christmas this year my boyfriend got me a bottle of my favourite drink: Tequila. A bottle of Patron in this instance. And when he mentioned it to someone in passing (someone who shall remain nameless), the person raised their eyebrows with a look that said 'I don't approve'. And the reason? Well I had me a baby a few months ago. And now I am a Mum I am no longer allowed to have fun.

Apparently.

When my boyfriend mentioned the look he had received I was incensed. And upset. Quite irratioanlly so. In fact I made a rather large deal out of something that really didn't matter. The thing is, since I had Ava, I haven't really made a big drama or got myself particularly upset over anything like that. I've realised that I don't care. And that I no longer have time to sweat the small stuff. But this upset me. To the point of tears. And when I questioned myself as to why I was getting so upset, I realised the answer:

I felt this person was questioning my parenting. That I somehow wasn't a good Mummy because I like tequila? And it upset me more than anything has for a long time. And it got me to thinking.....

Just because I have a little girl now, I'm still me. I'm still ridiculously clumsy. I'm still an obsessive foodie. And I still love Tequila.

You can be a good mummy and still go out on the lash now and again (in fact I would advise it for ones own sanity). I still like putting on my false eyelashes and my high heels and hitting the town. And I did a couple of times over the Christmas period. Yes, it was hard. Yes, I missed her like crazy. Yes, I felt incredibly guilty even though I knew she was safely at home in the loving care of her Dad. But surely I am still allowed a good time? This person obviously didn't think so. In an unspoken way I read from that look that they thought I should be at home baking a cake and reading House & Home Magazine. And that's just never going to happen.

I remember when I was pregnant I felt ill every single day. Every single day to the point where (at about 7 months gone) I couldn't actually remember what it felt like to wake up and feel normal. And an irrational fear overcame me that I would never return to my normal energetic self ever again. Of course that didn't happen. As soon as I gave birth the dizzy spells and sick feeling disappeared. Soon to be replaced by chronic exhaustion, but I won't bore you with that. My point is, I went back to being me. I got my body back. I could diet if I wanted to. Have that extra glass of wine if I fancied it and I no longer needed to avoid pate.

Just like the me who liked Tequila before I got pregnant. And who stills likes Tequila now. But the judgemental 'eye-brow raising' of this person has stuck with me for days. Popping into my head every time I spot the (still unopened) bottle of Tequila. A bottle that will be saved for a quick shot with the girls whilst we wait on our taxi into town. And that's on the (very rare) occasion that I get to actually go out. I mean, what did this person think? That I can be found sat at home on a Thursday afternoon, the baby playing with a packet of matches whilst I swig from a bottle of tequila? Don't be ridiculous. That's Saturdays.

But seriously. I love my baby and whilst I probably have the same frets and worries of most first time Mums, I think I am doing a good job. So I will tell you exactly where that pair of raised eyebrows can get to.

Sorry.

I just really needed to get that off my chest.

Why do I feel this party's over.....?

Once upon a time I could start drinking on a Thursday night and not stop till the early hours of the Monday morning. Once upon a time I could pull an all nighter then hit the pub at 11am the next day to watch the football and do it all over again. My only sustenance being a sneaky panini around 3pm to keep me going (no wonder I was so skinny). Once upon a time I could stay up all night on the Friday, go to my work as a waitress at 4pm on the Saturday, pop a couple of pro plus, and then hit the pub again with my mates when I finished at 11pm. Once upon a time a hangover meant a slightly fuzzy head and a couple of hours toying with the idea of a tactical spu to settle my unhappy stomach. A fat coke and a bacon roll were all I needed to sort myself out. Hangover??? What hangover? I laughed in the face of hangovers. I was hardcore.

Once upon a time I was 21. Well not anymore.

Nowadays a hangover means a whole lot more. A hangover is no longer just physical. Gone are the days of purely a dodgy tummy or a banging headache. I mean, I still get all these things, but they are accompanied by something much worse. Something that I only started suffering from at the grand old age of 25. What is this thing you ask?

The Fear.

It has only recently been brought to my attention that I am not the only one who suffers from The Fear. Hence my desire to write a blog post about it. When I suffer from the after-effects of a night on the booze these days I am usually plunged into a deep fit of depression not to be lightened until the next day (if I am lucky).

So what is The Fear? Different friends have different interpretations....

One friend I know usually only gets the fear when he suffers from memory loss. He describes it as that feeling you get when you wake up the next day and although you can't actually remember doing anything embarrassing, there is still a deep niggle that you did. Where you frantically check the sent items in your mobile phone and cautiously question your mates as to where you disappeared to for a whole hour last night when no-one could find you.

Another mate thinks of the fear as more of a mental state of mind that comes hand in hand with the physical consequences of too many tequilas. A low feeling of despair and depression. Of feeling helpless and upset and of not knowing why.

Me? Well for me it's definitely a bit of both. The absolute horror I experience upon waking up the next day and not remembering is second to none. This definitely gives me The Fear. But even when I can remember the entire night. Even when I know that it was a good one. That I didn't embarrass myself. That I wasn't bouncing off the walls. That I wasn't in any more of a drunken state than my friends. And that all in all it was actually a really good night, I still can't escape that sad and low feeling the next day. Of wanting to cry for no reason and of doing anything possible to avoid being alone with my own thoughts.

It's definitely an age thing. There's no doubt in my mind. Every single person I have spoken to has admitted that it only started happening when they hit their mid to late twenties, sometimes early thirties (for the lucky ones). Why it's started happening I don't know.

But for anyone interested I have found the only cure that works for me (and believe me I have tried everything). And that's company. The second I put myself in somebody else's company I am fine. I laugh and giggle while discussing the previous nights exploits and gossip over who embarrassed themselves.

Find someone to share some junk food and watch some trashy TV with and in the morning you WILL feel better. You always do.

But they do say that prevention is better than cure don't they. Maybe I need to calm down? Maybe I should try this moderation thing after all. Maybe I should just stick to the one glass of wine with dinner and then just the ONE quick cheeky cocktail before jumping in a taxi at 11pm to come home to an early night and a feeling of fresh smugness in the morning.

Maybe. Just maybe. It's finally time to grow up?

And on the 6th day........there was Vodka.

5 days.

I lasted 5 days on my 10 day detox.

But what eventually broke me, you might be wondering? What one thing could I not abstain from for a measly 10 days? Was it the smell of bacon? The lure of chocolate to deal with the cold turkey sugar cravings? Or maybe the fact that lightheadedness was starting to make me think that there might be something in these carbs after all?

Nope. It was none of the above. And yep. You guessed it. It was alcohol.

See I have a problem. You getting deja vu here? Stick with me. Having mentioned my penchant for a glass of wine in the past, I should also mention that, to me, a weekend is just not a weekend without a few tipples. Just like a salad is just not a salad without a side of chips. So when I do have a nice clean-living weekend, and this is rare I assure you, my smug and hangover-free attitude kind of wanes when it gets to the Sunday afternoon and I realise that because I have been so well-behaved all weekend, I am actually desperate to go out and get pissed......

And that my friends, is the problem with starting a detox on a Thursday. To begin with my resolve was strong. My will like iron. I resisted invitations to drink wine and consume large quantities of salty snacks after work on Friday night. I smugly tucked into my steamed fish & veg on Saturday while my (thoughtful and considerate) housemate tucked into a Pizza Hut. I even enjoyed my Sunday shift in the bar (anyone who drinks where I work will know that I am ALWAYS hungover on a Sunday). And then what happened? The inevitable. I got to the Monday and I was desperate for a drink and a giggle. And drink and giggle I did. As a friend pointed out that evening, "Mondays are the best night to drink. You can go out and be as loud, annoying and offensive as you like, and theres nobody really out to get insulted." Well, I thought, the guy has a point. It would be rude not to........

My (short-lived) detox wasn't a totally wasted venture. In the 5 days I did manage to lose a few pounds and definitely felt a bit more svelt. So it just goes to show what you can achieve with a few days off the booze, carbs and sugar!

I've been pretty quiet on the blog front. Its not because I have been too embarrassed to admit my defeat. Its not because I have been hiding away trying to work out how to admit to you all that I only lasted 5 days. Its because I have spent the past 7 days drinking Sauvignon Blanc and eating pasta.

Sorry.

I'll take you back to my post dated Thursday 15th July and I quote:

"I'm weak. I'm pathetic. I have no willpower.........."

But you wouldn't have me any other way.

Why Facebook & alcohol should never be mixed....

So I am going to tell you an embarrassing story.....

When I moved to Glasgow I joined a gym. Quite a posh gym in fact. Frequented by many a Scottish soap star & football player. I loved it. The personal trainers were fit and the sauna was lovely. One of the personal trainers was really fit in fact. And I started to get the impression he was giving me the eye. He would pull me aside to tell me I was doing my obliques wrong or occassionally glance in my direction when I was walking past. Such flirtatious behaviour continued for a couple of months. Sometimes I thought 'He bloody well fancies me' and other times, (when I caught sight of the latest skinny gorgeous WAG he was mid-sesh with), I thought 'Mmmm maybe not....'.

Anyway it never came to anything more than a couple of shy smiles. And then the worst thing happened.

I got drunk.

I got drunk and I went on Facebook. I found his page (come on girls we all know Cyber-stalking is easy these days) and I friended him.

I went to bed amused at my cunning yet endearing attempt at a first move.

I woke up mortified. Frantically I went on Facebook to see if it had been accepted. It hadn't. And worst of all my friend request seemed to have disappeared. With a sinking feeling in my stomach I tried to deduce why this was. Either one of two things had happened:

1) I hadn't actually friended him. I was pretty drunk and technology and me get blurry after too many wines.

OR

2) The mortifying bit. He had seen it and declined me.

I appeased my worries by convincing myself that there was no way he could have declined such a lovely offer in the space of only a few hours? During the night? Surely not. 'It's fine', I thought. Until my friend kindly pointed out the next day, "He probably gets his friend requests emailed to him. Everyone has an I-phone or Blackberry these days Dawn". Great, I thought. He declined me. The bastard declined me. And me, just trying to be friendly.....

So I did what any other mature, sensible, laid-back girl would do. I quit my gym. A MASSIVE over-reaction you are probably thinking. But I couldn't face the thought of seeing him. Of him looking over thinking "There's that idiot that tried to pull me on Facebook". The shame, the embarrassment, the utter mortification!!!!

And so I haven't been back in that gym since. Am I idiot? Does such dramatic actions make me vain and conceited? Or severely self-conscious? You decide.

I know one thing for sure. From now on, when the vodka comes out. The Facebook goes off.


P.S. For those who care theres a detox update coming your way very soon.......

Detox Schmeetox

Anyone who knows me, or follows me on Twitter, will be aware that I start a detox every 3 weeks. They last about 3 days before I give up & succumb to the lure of a chilled glass of Pinot or an excessively large bag of popcorn. I'm weak. I'm pathetic. I have no willpower. I admit it.

But I have got to get rid of this junk in the trunk. This newly acquired junk. I bet you I'm the only person you know who goes to L.A. and PUTS ON weight. Oh yes, thats right, I like to go against convention. Having spent some time there last September, I actually managed to lose a few pounds on that trip. Probably a combination of strong sun, being too drunk to eat and being in the flushes of a holiday romance.

Flash forward to the beginning of 2010. I have returned to California for 6 weeks. One of the reasons being to see such holiday romance. 3 weeks in we called it a day. It wasn't meant to be. My reaction? To eat and drink my way through the rest of my time in L.A. And I had a bloody good time doing it. The way I saw it, I was sick to the back teeth of blokes, so finding a boyfriend or even a one night stand was the last thing on my mind. In fact I was so disillusioned with blokes that I was struggling just to have a pleasant conversation with one without wanting to throw him against a wall and demand he tell me why the male gender were all such selfish tossers. So for the last 3 weeks of my time there I ate burgers, drank cocktails & consumed vast quantities of American candy. And I loved every minute of it. Don't get me wrong. I was under no illusions. I knew I was putting on weight but I was quite comfortable with it. No one had to see me naked. And anyway I would work my ass off at getting it all back off when I got home. At least that was the plan.......

So I got home and I had put on a stone. Still being an avid man-hater at this point, my motivation to lose it was slightly lacking. However, I have recently been thawing out a little. I even went on a date last week. Slowly I am coming round to the idea that you blokes are not all bastards. And more importantly, someone I care about deeply has come back into my life. Albeit he is very much a background shadow. So having allowed myself to consider (consider only) the idea of falling in love again, I have decided that the fun's over. Its time to get this last half a stone off. Not just because I haven't had sex in a while (as my flatmate kindly pointed out to me whilst food shopping in Iceland the other day).

I know some of you are thinking 'get over yourself' or 'you are hardly obese'. But you don't understand......I have some reeeeally nice clothes. I mean REALLY nice clothes. And they are just hanging up there begging to be worn. I am not chucking out a predominantly size 10 wardrobe and buying all new size 12's. Screw that. That is admitting defeat. And I CAN DO THIS. Yes I can. I can. I CAN.....(sorry for shouting).

And anyway to quote Cheryl Cole (told you this blog wasn't high-brow): 'I remember getting on the scales and crying because I was nine and a half stone. Nine and a half stone when I'm only 5ft 3in'. Well if Cheryl thinks I'm fat.......

I quit the gym a few weeks ago which is one of the reasons I managed to lose what I have so far (more about that later....) So I need to kickstart losing the rest with a bit of a detox. Starting today. Day 1. D-Day. I'm thinking if I blog it then maybe I might actually do it. This is a nice theory obviously.

My problem is booze. I simply cannot resist the stuff & rarely make it to Wednesday without a glass of wine or a cheeky vodka & tonic. Even if its just in front of the TV. Its not like I get drunk every night. But my mid-week tipple relaxes me. It makes me feel self-indulgent and happy. However, it is doing nothing for my waistline. And when I do go out and get drunk (& this happens pretty regularly too I'm afraid), I eat like there is no tomorrow the next day. Anything fattening, sugary or carbilicious I devour like a crazed animal. I simply can't NOT binge with a hangover. It just can't be done. I have tried & failed. Many a time. So in order to do this 10 day detox, I will not be able to drink. The good thing is that I haven't had a drink or a cigarette since last Saturday night. So I am starting out on good footing. We'll disregard the vast quantities of chocolate and crisps I have inhaled over the last 3 evenings.

THE GOAL: my sisters birthday night out. July 25th. I WILL be looking slinky (well slinkier). So for the next 10 days??? No carbs, no sugar and NO alcohol.



This is only day one......I've had a yogurt, & I have a tuna salad for lunch. Dinner will be soup. This is the kind of eating pattern I want to follow for the next 9 days. My only treat will be a lowfat options hot chocolate or Horlicks when I have trouble sleeping. This is a must. If I don't get my sleep I am a grumpy bitch. And when I am tired I eat. Kind of what I'm like when I am hungover (see above).

I will keep you all posted............