Last Friday. Three conversations with my wife.
8:30 “I got on the scales this morning. Must lose weight before Christmas.”
11:30 “I’m just having one of these new chocolate biscuits with my coffee.”
3:30 “It must be five o’clock by now. Shall I open a bottle of wine?”
I’m currently half way through my second novel. The euphoria of the opening chapters has worn off. I’m a long way from the end. I’m in what writers refer to as ‘the soggy middle.’
I said as much to my beloved.
She gazed lovingly at me – in my sagging track suit bottoms.
Yes, her reply featured ‘soggy middle’ – or words to that effect.
So – how many times have I written this in my life? – something has to be done.
I am not fit. The words ‘me’ and ‘fitness’ are not so much in different postcodes as at opposite ends of the country.
Last year I walked round County Kerry with my youngest son. I was 3kg heavier than I wanted to be when I sent off. And now I’m 4kg heavier than that.
What has caused this sad state of affairs? Simple folk would say, ‘your pathetic lack of will power.’
No, no. The answer is much more complicated.
There are two culprits.
Writing – and my wife.
Ladies first. She bought some ‘luxury chocolate biscuits’ – which she then left in the kitchen. Well what’s a chap to do when he has a coffee? How did I know they were for Christmas?
Seriously, the box has ‘luxury chocolate biscuits’ written on it. She buys it in the middle of November. And expects me to look at it for six weeks?
And writing. According to the research thinking uses a lot of calories – 320 a day just for the basics like remembering to put your socks on. So it follows that planning a murder – is the answer in Gina’s past? – must use about 1,000.
Sadly my waist hasn’t realised. Possibly because I find thinking a lot easier with a luxury chocolate biscuit for company.
Here’s an interesting question. I’m a stickler for imperial measures. I’ll have no truck with that kilometres malarkey. I know how many chains there are in a furlong and I know how many furlongs make a mile. I like talking about rods, poles and perches – and if something is less than a quid I’ll cheerfully convert it back to pounds, shillings and pence.
Long division of pounds, shillings and pence… There’s a phrase to make the teaching unions tremble…
So why do I express my weight in kilogrammes? Easy. If I express it in old money I’m a fat pig. Or ‘pat fig’ as I said after my extra glass of wine.
Kilogrammes? Bah, it’s just a number. A big number, but not one that conjures an image of the stones and pounds monster.
What I need is some retail therapy. I don’t mean I need to buy something. No thanks. My black track suit bottoms are fine. And when they’re in the wash I’ve got a navy blue pair.
No, I need to go and try something on in Next. See myself in those surround mirrors the changing rooms have. When my football team scores a goal I like watching it from ‘every angle.’ Seeing myself from ‘every angle’ is truly terrifying. But last time I tried something on in Next it shocked me into losing half a stone.
Anyway, time for some more creative thinking. Don’t tell her – helped by the new packet of LCBs that’s arrived in the kitchen.
Look at this. She’s written me a romantic love message on the packet.
Oh! A two word romantic love message…
So is the answer in Gina’s past? ‘The River Runs Deep’ – the follow-up to ‘Salt in the Wounds’ – is now available to pre-order on Amazon. It will be published in mid-January.
“Salt in the Wounds is a brilliant book. Couldn’t put it down. Would highly recommend. Can’t wait for book 2 to come out from this great author…”