Runs I've been on since last post: 0
Weight according to Slimming World: 11st 10.5lb
Cups of tea: 3
Goals scored: 1
New friends made: 4
Boiled eggs eaten: 2
Jobs applied for: 5ish
Dates with POF man #4: 4
Today I made that leap and went to Slimming World for the first time. My reason for this is that my bottom seems to have swelled to the size of two watermelons, my old clothes are tight and I don't like naked me. I doubt even Bridget Jones' knickers would suck everything in. I thought that by joining, I'd get the extra motivation needed to fit back into my old jeans.
Upon arriving, I realised I was the second youngest there by a good couple of decades, maybe more. A couple of members had lost well over five stone since they'd been members. This was encouraging. I can't say I really enjoyed the session; it was more like a social coffee morning for the retired or bored mothers. But I came away with my purse £9.98 lighter, clutching my booklet full of what I can and cannot eat lest I should tot up a heinous number of 'syns', and the rather shocking fact of my weight according to the Slimming World Scales. I'll go next week just to see I've lost anything by playing hockey and changing my diet, and also so I'll get that little clap the members receive when they've lost a pound or two. Gosh, now the pressure's on to not put on a single ounce...
And so here's what I've consumed today, in case anyone's interested, which you're probably not:
3 cups of tea (no sugar)
2 boiled eggs (no soldiers)
1 fat-free Activia yoghurt, with some fresh blueberries and a sprinkling of oatbran
1 tin Waitrose Love Life chicken & chunky veg soup
1 cereal bar. (My only syn of the day, lest I should faint during hockey and look like a moron)
On another note, club hockey formally began again today. This is excellent news, made even more so by the fact that I've made 4 new friends, who managed to see past my sweaty pink hockey face. It's my own fault as I haven't been on a follow-up run to last week's achievement, but now I have even more incentive to pound those fields around Priory Park, which are usually pounded by local hormonal teenagers in a completely different sense.
Things have been going slowly but nicely with POF man #4. I think we'll stop calling him that and use Gorgeous Carpenter instead, since that is, quite literally, what he is.
Date no.2 was a spontaneous walk up Old Winchester Hill, followed by a drink in a pub. He picked me up in his Audi, thinking that I'd be a bit shocked if he'd turned up in the Land Rover with the dogs. I said I wouldn't have minded one bit. He drove me home, cue awkward car-hug goodbye.
Date no. 3 was an excuse for us to revert to our childhoods by seeing Monsters University, my treat. I booked the tickets online, he drove; all was fine and dandy. Until we got to Eastleigh Vue Cinema, and my pre-booked ticket refused to come out of the machine. I'd only gone and booked tickets at the Portsmouth cinema instead. What an incredibly blonde thing to do. Surely he'd go right off me. Shame-faced, I explained my predicament to the manager, who VERY kindly let us in for free (it's so not on how expensive cinema tickets are when it's not Orange Wednesday), so our date was saved. But then of course was the endless wondering of whether to go COMPLETELY teenager-dateish and hold hands etc. Just so you know, we didn't. He took me home, cue an even more awkward car-hug goodbye. I was, by now, beginning to feel a little frustrated. But at least I know, from his texts, that he likes me.
Date no.4 was a walk from my house in semi-darkness, followed by crucial viewing of the Great British Bake-Off. He'd declined dinner, but not a cup of tea, which, in his trade, must be made well. Thank heavens I passed the tea-making test. Granny Ann would be proud (we won't tell her I didn't use a teapot).
Date no.5 was planned for Sunday evening after my hellish lunchtime shift. Sadly, he'd had a rubbish day and didn't feel he should 'inflict his bad mood on anyone, least of all me,' and he promised to make it up to me, maybe dinner out. I can't deny I was a tiny-weeny bit sceptical, (Mum was more so) but played it cool saying he had nothing to make up for. Nevertheless, he insisted, saying he'd like to. I'll be looking forward to Friday night, as will the rest of the staff at work, as they follow this snail's pace dating saga with much interest. Deep down, I rather like the snail's pace. It certainly makes a nice change.
Living at home is getting increasingly difficult. I'll leave it there so as not to open a huge can of worms.
Tuesday, 3 September 2013
Wednesday, 21 August 2013
Goodbye vino, hello cake!
Distance (mostly) run: 4.89 km
Calories burned: 373
Blisters gained: 2
Bramble scratches: 1
Time taken to return to stop looking like a tomato: about an hour
Weight: 74 kg
Today I did what I've been saying I'd do for months: I went for a run. Those 40 odd minutes weren't quite as bad as I'd expected, which I can only put down to the pre-season hockey fitness sessions I've been to in the last couple of weeks. I took my ipod loaded with 'running songs' bought from good old Amazon for pennies, and put the 'Map My Run' app to use on my phone, which is strangely feel-good. Sure, I did a bit of power-walking on the last stretches of the route, but I came back alive. I was rather horrified to see the tomato-red shade my face had turned, a stark comparison to my Caspar-esque pale legs (which, on reflection, were well overdue a shave). No wonder I'd gotten strange looks from dog walkers when I ran along the old railway.
Following on from my run and fitness campaign, I've just finished my last glass of wine for a while. Wish me luck; I'm going to need it.
Sunday heralded my date with Plenty of Fish Man #3. I'd had hopes for this one, and we planned to have a country walk with the black Labrador I looked after at the weekend, followed by a pub lunch. But alas, I realised within the first few seconds of meeting that I just wasn't attracted to him. Whether this was to do with his tinny South-African accent, or his physical features, I'll never be quite sure, but I did my best to chat while we fed bread to the rainbow trout in the river. As we walked back to the pub for lunch, he described how in his spare time he was currently programming Microsoft Excel to play the board game Mastermind against his mother. Admittedly very, very clever. But a notch too high on the geek scale for me. Anyway, he was kind to the dog, keen to chat (to me as well as the dog), and was overall a nice chap, but that's as far as it went.
HOWEVER. Along came Tuesday evening, and with it, a spontaneous casual drink with Plenty of Fish Man #4. He lives just in the next village, which is a miracle in itself, and so we have a few mutual friends. We met at one of our favourite country pubs, and I didn't need to have sunk half a 7.2% cider to see how smiley and good looking he was, with good conversation too. Anyway, for once I had a really nice evening and we've plans for the weekend: blackberry picking. Random, but why not?!
And finally, hooray! The Great Bake-Off is back! What a good first week, with Mr Hollywood's eyes as blue and glinting as ever and some epic bakes straight-off. Mum's hooked for the first time ever. My odds are on the satellite-inventor guy, who's clearly realised how much of a science baking is. I haven't, however, really warmed to any of the contestants yet this year, in the same way that I did to dear old student John or even stuck-in-a-time-warp Brendan. And as for the Essex girl with the curls, if she's going to cry in the first week, she's toast.
Calories burned: 373
Blisters gained: 2
Bramble scratches: 1
Time taken to return to stop looking like a tomato: about an hour
Weight: 74 kg
Today I did what I've been saying I'd do for months: I went for a run. Those 40 odd minutes weren't quite as bad as I'd expected, which I can only put down to the pre-season hockey fitness sessions I've been to in the last couple of weeks. I took my ipod loaded with 'running songs' bought from good old Amazon for pennies, and put the 'Map My Run' app to use on my phone, which is strangely feel-good. Sure, I did a bit of power-walking on the last stretches of the route, but I came back alive. I was rather horrified to see the tomato-red shade my face had turned, a stark comparison to my Caspar-esque pale legs (which, on reflection, were well overdue a shave). No wonder I'd gotten strange looks from dog walkers when I ran along the old railway.
Following on from my run and fitness campaign, I've just finished my last glass of wine for a while. Wish me luck; I'm going to need it.
Sunday heralded my date with Plenty of Fish Man #3. I'd had hopes for this one, and we planned to have a country walk with the black Labrador I looked after at the weekend, followed by a pub lunch. But alas, I realised within the first few seconds of meeting that I just wasn't attracted to him. Whether this was to do with his tinny South-African accent, or his physical features, I'll never be quite sure, but I did my best to chat while we fed bread to the rainbow trout in the river. As we walked back to the pub for lunch, he described how in his spare time he was currently programming Microsoft Excel to play the board game Mastermind against his mother. Admittedly very, very clever. But a notch too high on the geek scale for me. Anyway, he was kind to the dog, keen to chat (to me as well as the dog), and was overall a nice chap, but that's as far as it went.
HOWEVER. Along came Tuesday evening, and with it, a spontaneous casual drink with Plenty of Fish Man #4. He lives just in the next village, which is a miracle in itself, and so we have a few mutual friends. We met at one of our favourite country pubs, and I didn't need to have sunk half a 7.2% cider to see how smiley and good looking he was, with good conversation too. Anyway, for once I had a really nice evening and we've plans for the weekend: blackberry picking. Random, but why not?!
And finally, hooray! The Great Bake-Off is back! What a good first week, with Mr Hollywood's eyes as blue and glinting as ever and some epic bakes straight-off. Mum's hooked for the first time ever. My odds are on the satellite-inventor guy, who's clearly realised how much of a science baking is. I haven't, however, really warmed to any of the contestants yet this year, in the same way that I did to dear old student John or even stuck-in-a-time-warp Brendan. And as for the Essex girl with the curls, if she's going to cry in the first week, she's toast.
Saturday, 17 August 2013
(Speed) Dating
Wine: at least 3/4 bottle of Shiraz
Steak: 1. Explains the Shiraz
Temporary labrador in residence: 1. Quite smelly too.
Dates since last post: 2
Potential points on driving licence: 3
That dreaded letter finally came in the post: 4 years and 11 months after passing my driving test, I was caught doing 36mph in a 30 zone, down a little country road on the way back from Sainsbugs. 'Oh, there was a speeding van there,' my mother pointed out oh-so-helpfully after I'd driven past it. 'I think it was pointing the other way,' I replied, keeping my knickers, fingers and toes crossed. To no avail. OH THE SHAME. I've elected to go the to the driving awareness course at the cost of £90 and 4 hours of my time, instead of a £60 fine and 3 points on my licence. Let's hope they allow me to.
Last week I had my first date with Plenty of Fish Man #1. I was looking forward to it. On paper he was perfect; 28 years old ('an older man, very good', said Mum) went to a good school in Guildford, then won a choral scholarship to Oxford (hooray, he'll understand my love of choral music!) youngest of 4 siblings (very good, I like a big family) works at Southampton Uni and owns his own house. Hurrah!
In reality...
SO DISAPPOINTING.
He wasn't as good looking as his pictures, and he talked out of the side of his mouth, giving the impression he'd had a mini-stroke. We met at a pub by the river, and I sat for 2 hours trying not to be bored out of my socks. It didn't help that ever now and then he'd pepper his sentence with, "When I was your age...." Not cool. Eventually my tiredness and boredom got the better of me and a tiny, weeny little yawn slipped out. I'm judging by the fact that I haven't heard from him since (a blessing in disguise..) that he had taken offence. So that was the end of that.
Last night I had another date. Plenty of Fish Man #2 appeared a bit too cool and a bit too good-looking for my taste, so it took me a while to agree to a date with him. This time, we met for dinner at a pub full of pigs in the New Forest. Overall, it was better than date #1. Maybe there wasn't an age gap getting in the way. But I wasn't too impressed when he went to order food and came back with a drink for him and had forgotten all about my empty glass of water. Whether this was down to stinginess or absent-mindedness I'll never know, but he allowed me to buy my own glass of wine, and was happy enough to show me his BMW Series 1 (whatever that means) sitting sleekly in the pub car park.
I wasn't expecting to hear back from this guy, since a little yawn slipped out again at 10.20pm- this time due to tiredness rather than absolute boredom, but 24 hours later I've received a text. Maybe our date was better than I'd perceived.
Tomorrow is date with Plenty of Fish Man #3. We've rearranged it for Sunday lunch rather than Monday evening, mostly because then there will hopefully be no little yawns slipping out to cause offense, and also we can take the black labrador we're looking after this weekend for a walk too. Oh- and cos I read somewhere the other day that the best time to take a photo of someone is at lunchtime, so that they're over the morning puffiness, and the fatigue hasn't yet set in. I guess the same goes for how you look on a date. Well, fingers crossed, because I like Man # 3. Let's hope I'm not left disappointed.
On another note, I came back from my date with Man #2 last night and my mother said, 'your legs look chunky, Chunky Monkey, like tree trunks.' Bloody charming. If she doesn't like my legs, how can I expect any man to? Fingers crossed long skirts come back into fashion soon.
Steak: 1. Explains the Shiraz
Temporary labrador in residence: 1. Quite smelly too.
Dates since last post: 2
Potential points on driving licence: 3
That dreaded letter finally came in the post: 4 years and 11 months after passing my driving test, I was caught doing 36mph in a 30 zone, down a little country road on the way back from Sainsbugs. 'Oh, there was a speeding van there,' my mother pointed out oh-so-helpfully after I'd driven past it. 'I think it was pointing the other way,' I replied, keeping my knickers, fingers and toes crossed. To no avail. OH THE SHAME. I've elected to go the to the driving awareness course at the cost of £90 and 4 hours of my time, instead of a £60 fine and 3 points on my licence. Let's hope they allow me to.
Last week I had my first date with Plenty of Fish Man #1. I was looking forward to it. On paper he was perfect; 28 years old ('an older man, very good', said Mum) went to a good school in Guildford, then won a choral scholarship to Oxford (hooray, he'll understand my love of choral music!) youngest of 4 siblings (very good, I like a big family) works at Southampton Uni and owns his own house. Hurrah!
In reality...
SO DISAPPOINTING.
He wasn't as good looking as his pictures, and he talked out of the side of his mouth, giving the impression he'd had a mini-stroke. We met at a pub by the river, and I sat for 2 hours trying not to be bored out of my socks. It didn't help that ever now and then he'd pepper his sentence with, "When I was your age...." Not cool. Eventually my tiredness and boredom got the better of me and a tiny, weeny little yawn slipped out. I'm judging by the fact that I haven't heard from him since (a blessing in disguise..) that he had taken offence. So that was the end of that.
Last night I had another date. Plenty of Fish Man #2 appeared a bit too cool and a bit too good-looking for my taste, so it took me a while to agree to a date with him. This time, we met for dinner at a pub full of pigs in the New Forest. Overall, it was better than date #1. Maybe there wasn't an age gap getting in the way. But I wasn't too impressed when he went to order food and came back with a drink for him and had forgotten all about my empty glass of water. Whether this was down to stinginess or absent-mindedness I'll never know, but he allowed me to buy my own glass of wine, and was happy enough to show me his BMW Series 1 (whatever that means) sitting sleekly in the pub car park.
I wasn't expecting to hear back from this guy, since a little yawn slipped out again at 10.20pm- this time due to tiredness rather than absolute boredom, but 24 hours later I've received a text. Maybe our date was better than I'd perceived.
Tomorrow is date with Plenty of Fish Man #3. We've rearranged it for Sunday lunch rather than Monday evening, mostly because then there will hopefully be no little yawns slipping out to cause offense, and also we can take the black labrador we're looking after this weekend for a walk too. Oh- and cos I read somewhere the other day that the best time to take a photo of someone is at lunchtime, so that they're over the morning puffiness, and the fatigue hasn't yet set in. I guess the same goes for how you look on a date. Well, fingers crossed, because I like Man # 3. Let's hope I'm not left disappointed.
On another note, I came back from my date with Man #2 last night and my mother said, 'your legs look chunky, Chunky Monkey, like tree trunks.' Bloody charming. If she doesn't like my legs, how can I expect any man to? Fingers crossed long skirts come back into fashion soon.
Sunday, 28 July 2013
Post- Graduation Blues & Online Dating
Weight: 74kg
Units of alcohol: 2
Banana, choc chip & apricot cakes made: 1
Random crying outburts: 2
It's official: I'm a graduate. 2:1, BA Creative & Media Writing. It's an ok degree, but winning my course award made it so much more worthwhile. Opening that letter from the university was one of the best moments of my life, as sad as that possibly sounds.My graduation day was lovely; a hot July day, photos with my course mates and a family celebratory dinner.
Now all the celebrations are over, and for the past few days I've been waking up still exhausted, and very much on the wrong side of the bed. I've no energy to do anything, and I feel close to tears a lot of the time. Baking made it a bit better, using three rather dead-looking bananas. Whoever came up with the idea of putting bananas in a cake is a genius.
Deep down, I know the biggest reason for my melancholia: my break up nearly two months ago. I should be over this by now, I tell myself, and the more I think about it the more I find faults with him and know it was for the best. But I hate him. I hate him for giving me flowers which nobody ever had before, and for telling me I'm beautiful and amazing and for being the first man to make me feel special and cherished. Most of all, I hate him for giving me hope. Where did I meet such a man? Online.
There is so much stigma attached to online dating for people my age, with the general view that it should be for people of my mother's generation. But with our busy, hectic lives in this modern age, more and more people are signing up. And I suppose, for those four or five months, it was successful.
Post-break up, I swore I'd never go back on that site or any others. But the truth is, I'm not someone who likes being alone. Now I've left university, I don't go out since all my friends are scattered around the country, and there is little opportunity to meet new people. I'm a romantic at heart, I know that most people meet at a bus stop or in a supermarket queue or some other lovely story. The internet can seem forced, like a cattle market where everyone know each other's purpose. There's nothing remotely romantic about it. But today, out of loneliness or boredom, I'm signing up again. I suppose I ought to ask for luck, but after being so hurt the first time I don't trust it quite as much. I guess I can only try.
In other news: I've been stuck on the same level of Candy Crush Saga for three months now. And, I treated my uncle's bee stick with Aspall's White Wine Vinegar. Spur of the moment, you know.
Wednesday, 10 July 2013
AND SHE'S BACK
Chapters of PA Dip done: 0
Cups of tea: 2
Episodes of Grey's Anatomy watched: 1 (well-controlled, since yesterday I watched 4)
Winces due to sunburn: around 10
Comments from Mum that I look better 'brown' (aka SUNBURNT) than my usual pasty white: 2
Units of alcohol: 0- an absolute miracle.
Dear Readers,
It's been a while (2 years) but I'm back. As I am no longer 20 years old, but in fact, 23, I've lost enough brain cells during my time at university to somehow bar myself entry from my old blog. So I've had to start afresh. But in case you fancy a goosey gander, here it is:
http://ayoungbridgetjones.blogspot.co.uk/
Looking back, it's actually quite funny...amusing enough, it seems, that family and friends of mine who used to read it have been pestering me to get back on that horse and type. I've finally given in. So here goes.
I let the blog have a little doze for two reasons: Firstly, I ended up writing too much personal stuff because I have a tendency to just let it all out. But I don't have anyone to upset or offend anymore so that's no longer a issue. Secondly: Although I've wanted to come back to it before, I've been scared. Scared because I've entered a new stage of my life and I'm worried I won't be as funny anymore, and people won't want to read on. But that's something I'll just have to get over. Besides, I'm still a Young Bridget Jones: last week Mum and I went shopping and she said, 'I think it's time we bought you a pair of nip and tuck knickers.' That's when I knew things were definitely going downhill and I had to do something about it.
So what's happened in the two years since I last blogged?
A LOT.
Most notably however:
Finishing my degree
Moving home
Blooming men. As usual.
These will all receive their own blogs of dedication in due course, but now's not the time. It feels, however, that I'm having my own little mid-life crisis. Perhaps I should call it a post-uni crisis. But then a large percentage of almost-graduates are feeling the same way, right?
Having moved home, I've embarked on an Executive PA Diploma, forced upon me by my grandmother. Although it is extremely generous of her, it's as dull as the washing machine water once Andy Murray's watched his match socks. Who am I kidding, he probably wears new socks every match. Anywho, it's BORING. A man speaks to me from my computer in a monotonic voice as I learn how to save a PowerPoint document, then turn to the next page in my accompanying workbook to learn how to rename that same document. I'm learning computer programs from scratch. But by the end, however many months it'll take me, I'll have 17 certificates and have the skills to be a darn good PA. Then I'll spread my wings, finally leave the nest, and find a job. Big Wide World, here I come.
So that's my current situation. Alongside this, I try to keep chirpy by playing hockey and netball, seeing friends (when I'm not chained to my laptop) and watching Grey' Anatomy (If I do the ironing at the same time, Mum doesn't notice and I get away with it...) I have no men in my life, so there's no fear they'll be reading this, and most importantly, I can go back to wearing REALLY BIG KNICKERS. They're so comfy. Every cloud....
This post is dedicated to Alex Stobbs, Frances Bowden and ReAnna Laney. Thanks for making me blog again. x
Cups of tea: 2
Episodes of Grey's Anatomy watched: 1 (well-controlled, since yesterday I watched 4)
Winces due to sunburn: around 10
Comments from Mum that I look better 'brown' (aka SUNBURNT) than my usual pasty white: 2
Units of alcohol: 0- an absolute miracle.
Dear Readers,
It's been a while (2 years) but I'm back. As I am no longer 20 years old, but in fact, 23, I've lost enough brain cells during my time at university to somehow bar myself entry from my old blog. So I've had to start afresh. But in case you fancy a goosey gander, here it is:
http://ayoungbridgetjones.blogspot.co.uk/
Looking back, it's actually quite funny...amusing enough, it seems, that family and friends of mine who used to read it have been pestering me to get back on that horse and type. I've finally given in. So here goes.
I let the blog have a little doze for two reasons: Firstly, I ended up writing too much personal stuff because I have a tendency to just let it all out. But I don't have anyone to upset or offend anymore so that's no longer a issue. Secondly: Although I've wanted to come back to it before, I've been scared. Scared because I've entered a new stage of my life and I'm worried I won't be as funny anymore, and people won't want to read on. But that's something I'll just have to get over. Besides, I'm still a Young Bridget Jones: last week Mum and I went shopping and she said, 'I think it's time we bought you a pair of nip and tuck knickers.' That's when I knew things were definitely going downhill and I had to do something about it.
So what's happened in the two years since I last blogged?
A LOT.
Most notably however:
Finishing my degree
Moving home
Blooming men. As usual.
These will all receive their own blogs of dedication in due course, but now's not the time. It feels, however, that I'm having my own little mid-life crisis. Perhaps I should call it a post-uni crisis. But then a large percentage of almost-graduates are feeling the same way, right?
Having moved home, I've embarked on an Executive PA Diploma, forced upon me by my grandmother. Although it is extremely generous of her, it's as dull as the washing machine water once Andy Murray's watched his match socks. Who am I kidding, he probably wears new socks every match. Anywho, it's BORING. A man speaks to me from my computer in a monotonic voice as I learn how to save a PowerPoint document, then turn to the next page in my accompanying workbook to learn how to rename that same document. I'm learning computer programs from scratch. But by the end, however many months it'll take me, I'll have 17 certificates and have the skills to be a darn good PA. Then I'll spread my wings, finally leave the nest, and find a job. Big Wide World, here I come.
So that's my current situation. Alongside this, I try to keep chirpy by playing hockey and netball, seeing friends (when I'm not chained to my laptop) and watching Grey' Anatomy (If I do the ironing at the same time, Mum doesn't notice and I get away with it...) I have no men in my life, so there's no fear they'll be reading this, and most importantly, I can go back to wearing REALLY BIG KNICKERS. They're so comfy. Every cloud....
This post is dedicated to Alex Stobbs, Frances Bowden and ReAnna Laney. Thanks for making me blog again. x
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)