No More Wotsits

So, was out tonight for Catherines birthday and a lovely evening was had by all, however, I spent most of the night begging my boobs to stop trying to escape from my bra and my arse to stop yaffling my pants. Yes, it's true, I am finally seeing the results of all the wine and haribo I have consumed over the last couple of months. If I'm not careful I'll have to start buying my clothes in Millets.  

It's not nice when your waistbands start leaving fleshwounds and you can count the change you had in your pocket from the imprint it's left on your arse. My bras are giving me sores and my trousers seams and buttons are hanging by a thread. I have so many chins, I look like I'm staring at you over a pile of pancakes.

It's time for action. I need to get in shape.  Yes, granted, a circle IS a shape but not the one I'm aiming to cultivate. I'd rather not look like I'm smuggling a SMART car down my top!

Gym membership has been procured at the local council establishment where old mingers sweat over the machines and the teenage mums let all their kids piss in the pool but hey, it's cheap and I'm desperate...

Here's what's booked for next week:

• Mon: Body Attack
• Tues: Body Balance
• Wed: RPM (think this might actually kill me)
• Thurs: Tums, Bums & Thighs
• Fri: Body Pump
• Sun: Yoga

I think it's fair to say that come Sunday night, it is likely that I may have lost the will to live and will be sitting cross legged, rocking backwards and forwards outside the local Greggs.

If I make it through the week, I plan to book more classes.  

If I make it through the week, I hope my jeans will fit me without cutting off my circulation

If I make it through the week without killing a small child or maiming a chav, I'll be amazed. 

If I make it through the week having cut out Wotsits, Monster Munch, Haribo, Flumps, Flying Saucers, Irn Bru, Coke, Wine, Beer and Cake, I'll dance a jig.

So there you have it. Not the most entertaining or humorous blog post but a truthful one.