January is quickly slipping through my fingers and I don't feel like I've gotten a good grasp of any of my resolutions yet.
Even chances to blog about my failings have been far and few between, and the chances I have had may have been spent rekindling my romance with the biscuit tin and TV. How does that troublesome twosome do it? I know they are bad and will bring me no good (with the exception of Glee).
At the very least it begs a pertinent question.
If a biscuit falls in my mouth, but the telly is too loud for me to hear it, does it make me fat?
Perhaps there has been some progress.
I spent a glorious Sunday in Brick Lane, rummaging through rails of second hand clothing. The ephemeral animal rights champion of my teenage years recoiled as I feigned oblivion and marched through the fur protesters blocking a shop doorway. I bought a few furless items, slipped the indiscreet large yellow carrier bag over the buggy handle and made for the exit. So there was shouts of "you support animal cruelty" and some heavy leaflet thrusting, but it has to be better than the post Christmas high street warfare that goes on. I kept my distance from any town centre clothes retailer for the first few weeks of January this year. I heard one particular big name store had protesters of its own. Little naked rabbits handing out leaflets covered in photos of middle aged women pushing each other into clothes rails and elbowing small children in the face, amidst jeers of 'you support shopping cruelty'.
Resolution number 4. Wear more interesting clothes.
I may be a kitten kicker, but I've got myself some. I'm am ready for the wearing of said clothes. Now I just need somewhere to wear them.
Number 5: Get fit and toned. My second dalliance with this pandemic resolution; I impress myself. A little after my sons first birthday, I returned an unwanted gift to the supermarket and traded it for a fitness DVD. If you are reading this, having bought my son a gift and wondering if it has suffered the same fate, probably yes but we have used the slow cooker 3 times now and are planning on getting the breadmaker out of its box sometime soon.
Enthused by my purchase, I cleared the living room of persons, toys piled to side of room, changed into an unforgiving pair of shorts, prepped myself with water and inhaler, tapped 999 into the mobile ready to go and put the DVD into the machine.
I didn't make it past the warm up. After 20 minutes flailing around the room swearing heavily, I resigned myself to a life of uncoordinated lethargy.
Every now and then I am reminded of the DVD when my son pulls it from the shelf and says 'let's put this one on mummy'. How cruel children can be.
But this week, after a long 2 year recovery period, I tried again. Living room cleared of persons, toys kicked out of way, squeezed into offensive, unforgiving shorts, water drip connected to arm and inhaler worn around my neck, air ambulance hovering above and DVD into the machine.
I flailed through the warm up and repeatedly crashed into the fireguard throughout 'aeroburn', cheered on by the heavily made up and suspiciously unsweaty instructor, to kick those legs up. The boyfriend came downstairs in time to rescue the DVD remote before I threw it at the TV to make it stop hurting me. That was 2 nights ago. I'm wondering how long before I am meant to go through all that again; I haven't been able to climb the stairs since.
Until next time.. keep kicking.