So then, have just trogged up the road to the local Virgin Active gym-nasty thingummymajig, and it's looking like I am going to have to get off my ever-expanding ass and actually – eeeeek – join it.
Amazingly, they actually do a rolling membership thingy, so you can cough for a month at a time, and I'm just waiting to hear from Nick, my potential new 'personal trainer geezer', innit. Which means I could join for say 3 months, and give it a Forty-Something Fat-Busters whirl.
So, just got to garner enough oomph and enthusiam and roll myself there from when we get back from hols. I did try and put it off till after birthday but H was having none of it, sigh… I reckon a Gym bunny blitz is about my last option as I have NO willpower to stick to a diet, and I just LOVE three large square, round or heaped meals a day, washed down with barrels of not-exactly-low-cal cocktails. And now I look like Obelix on a bloater-day.
Am turning into a reet pudden fat knacker lardass who can only buy socks when out shopping as nothing else fits and I've just come back with 10 pairs from Gap, so I think I'm pretty much full-up on the fancy footwear front.
Right then, call to action (as I polish off some stale Pringles on the sofa, god I am a disaster, don't even like bleddy Pringles) – WHEN NICK RINGS I HAVE TO SAY YES!
(Note to self, change phone number fast…)
The Chubster x