Monday, 2 January 2017

The race...

Various hungover children started making their way home yesterday after their New Year's Eve celebrations, so naturally it was a very quiet day at number 35 yesterday.  The husband and I, having been 'out out' for three nights on the bounce, had been reluctant to go out again on New Year's Eve, but after much persuasion (forty five seconds and one question to be brutally honest), we agreed to go out with daughter number two and the LSB to a very posh Thai restaurant in Henley.  The decision to go out was made exactly seven minutes after I said to the husband that I couldn't eat another thing till at least Wednesday.  It would appear that my will power is about as limp as the uneaten celery sticks in my fridge, so we piled into the car and headed out. 

We were home by 8.17pm.  Now even on my pitiful standards, this is very bad for New Year's Eve.  We tried to stay up and watch some television, but the rubbish on wasn't good enough to stop us dozing off. Is it just me, or does everyone else think that the Christmas television has been bad?  I can't even tell you what we were trying to watch (it might have involved Graham Norton or Mrs Brown), but it doesn't matter, as we both fell asleep to whatever it was, finally heading up to bed around 10.30.  Absolutely pathetic.

So we were quite sparky yesterday after our ridiculously early night, whereas the kids' hangovers ranged from a slight headache (daughter number one) to The Walking Dead (son number two - who called my at 2.53am to wish me a Happy New Year, such is his thoughtfulness).  Sitting in the lounge watching yet more garbage on the television, we all talked about how much weight we planned to lose in the coming months (I would imagine that the same conversation was going on in homes across the UK).  The husband stated that he needed to lose a stone, something I agreed I would be up for to. 

'Shall we make it a race to lose a stone?' asked the husband.

'Why not', I said.  'I'll have my hair cut and whip my jumper off to give myself a head start'.

'That's not fair', said the husband. 'I haven't got any hair to cut off, so you have an unfair advantage'.  Well I was going to play my Joker card (arthritic ankles, dodgy hips, asthma) but decided to save those for when I really need them.  So the challenge is on, and we decided that New Year's Day was the perfect day to start.

This lasted about ten minutes when I remembered that I hadn't had a piece of my homemade Christmas cake as yet this year, so the husband and I tucked into two large door-stop sized wedges of brandy suffocated sultanas and cherries.

Lying on the sofas, peering over our stomachs to watch more television, we agreed that that was a perfectly acceptable blip, but that the diet contest was truly on now.

Fast forward two hours, and where are we?  In Prezzo with 75% of our children and the LSB, piling our way through king-size sheet sized pizzas and beer. 

Was this because we were hungry?  No it wasn't.  I had some vouchers courtesy of my year's shopping with Tesco, and they were burning a hole in my proverbial pocket.

And we all know that a free meal doesn't count if you're on a diet...


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