It's a new year! Hurrah! As such I am filled with a sense of ambition and optimism that will carry me through the next couple of weeks, oh damn, wait a sec.
There.
Sorry about that; I am trying to eat a banana, and the skin is so thick it's like trying to peel a tank. Having ripped chunks from the outer husk whilst braying like a speared gazelle, I have only succeeded in making it resemble something that is only for adults to talk about. I now no longer wish to eat this banana. Anyway.
As most people do, I have drawn up a list of new year's resolutions that I will stick to rigidly for around 6 weeks, and as such I have taken to casting off my otherwise terrible diet habits and gone for things much more natural and wholesome: Bananas and Celery for snacking, and for meals, well, I haven't really got that far in my planning yet, but something damn healthy, that's for sure. This fab new diet has not gone so well, as having brought home said items, smiling faintly the same way a farmer gazes upon a fair harvest, I was approached by my landlady, who hit me with a spot-quiz.
"Hey Phil, just wondering if you liked Camembert?" The keys are barely out of the lock at this point.
"Well, I uh, sure-"
"Great! I've had one in the fridge for Christmas, but now I'm on a diet and I really can't; it's terrible for you!"
At this point, 1200 calories of fat and salt- I mean cheese was pressed into my terrified hands and, like a ninja, she was gone.
I, being a person who is only one half-rung above rummaging around in trash for free food, decided to take the bull by the horns and set to work removing it from its new home in my fridge as quickly as possible, so I can get healthy as soon as possible. So, two days in, a diet change from roast dinners, tagines, chocolate and deep fried things to objects which would be perfectly at home thrusting out of 6 inches of soft peat have done, as they say, a number on me.
Not to put too fine a point on it, I am currently peering through a grotesque green miasma that is making my room resemble some kind of dank hell-forest. If the constant squealing of my guts (imagine the sound of a car door dragging along a central reservation very slowly) doesn't kill me off, the fact that the oxygen levels in my room resemble that of deep space surely will.
My other resolutions are boring and uninteresting, and to read them would make you throw whatever you had in your hands at the screen in frustration, wrenching your computer from the wall, and throwing it from the nearest window. You would follow it out onto the street and set about the wreckage with a golf club, screaming and screaming. Not words, but a visceral shrieking that has not been heard since we hunted giant cats in loincloths. After several minutes of this, your modern-age body could no longer cope, and blood would spray from your ears and tear-ducts, and people would have you sent to be killed. So in a way, I'm doing you a favour by not listing them, with a good luck me!!!!!!!!!!!!! after each one.
- Stop Drinking on Work Nights, afternoons and pouring Bayley's on my corn flakes.
- Do some damn writing! God damnit.
- Get fitter and go to- oh no what have I done.
A convenient zip, perhaps.
Another interruption, however this one is much more welcome: The youngest son of the family who's house I've invaded brought me the gift of a Toffee Crisp wrapped in gold wrapping paper. Now that is class. Managing to avoid chocolate for several days now, I gazed upon it like water in the desert. It was the perfect remedy to my two-day vegetables-dipped-in-luxury-cheese binge. God bless that apple-cheeked young scallywag.
*UPDATE* - The Toffee Crisp was marvelous. I highly recommend them. In gift form.
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