Got to get in to get out

When I started this blog I decided not to just talk about the weight-loss attempt. After all, it would be a pretty dull affair for you, dear reader, if that was all it covered. And to be honest, I'd find it a bit of a bore too, from a writing perspective. So I will from time to time talk about other things of note here.

There will be some rules, though. I won't blog for the sake of it, so no posts about 'amusing things my cat did today'. And there are some subjects I'll avoid, like direct references to my work. Not because I'm ashamed of it; quite the contrary, but I'm damned if I'm going to spend my leisure time thinking about it.

So, this weekend Katie and I went to London with some friends to see Genesis playing at Twickenham on Sunday. We had a very pleasant time, and I tried my best to be sensible about what I ate. Can't say the same about the drinking, but there you go.

I'll not make any apologies about my taste in music here. It's said that the music you started listening to at key times in your life - typically 16 to 20 - often stays with you afterwards. I actually like a lot of more 'modern' stuff, but Genesis still occupy an important place in my record collection. And despite the years (I first saw them 20 years ago, and they were thought to be in the autumn of their careers then) they can still deliver live.

What do you mean, "dinosaurs playing irrelevant music". Yes, and your point was what, exactly?

It was a perfect night - there was light rainfall early during the show but it didn't detract from the atmosphere. Without a new album to promote they played a varied setlist that went down with the pop fans and prog-heads alike (like me). There was emotion, there was bombast. It was wilfully unfashionable. I loved every second and sang along like a thing possessed. They did play Ripples, which was wonderful, but I managed to keep myself sensible, you'll be pleased to know.

I didn't take any pictures, so I am indebted to several other concert-goers for the following examples. They don't really do it justice, but might give you some idea:

During their final encore ('Carpet Crawlers', another song of almost hypnotic beauty), it occurred to me that this might be the last time I would see them live. After all, it has to be said they're not getting any younger, and unfortunately the UK and its music press don't really support aging progressive rock bands. It was a bittersweet moment for me as I've followed them for most of my adult life. This might be the end.

Katie quietly remarked that perhaps the rain had returned, as there appeared to be a dampness around my eyes at that point. She can be very perceptive.

One week in

There's no getting away from it, I suppose. It's time to update this blog with the latest weigh-in. I'll do the other stuff in another post.

I did this on Saturday morning, but as I was jumping in the car to go down to London a few minutes later I didn't have time to upload it.

So here it is, for better or worse:

17 stone 9 pounds - a loss of 4 pounds since I started this. Given I haven't yet begun any proper exercise, this is solely down to a change in diet so I think this is a reasonable start. In the months to come, I think I'll be glad to lose this amount in a week.

And before anyone asks, yes I do have more than one pair of sports socks that are the same. And, yes, I'm aware of the irony implicit in me owning any 'sports socks', thank you.

I can't dance, don't ask me

Not going to be posting until next week now as we're off to London tomorrow morning.

I will get weighed beforehand, of course, and update this blog on Monday if I can. Bit nervous about it, but what are you going to do? If you live by the scales, you die by the sc... no, that doesn't work, but you get the gist.

I'm going to see one of the finest bands ever to come from these shores, at Twickenham Stadium on Sunday. I'm five rows from the front. And if they play "Ripples" (one of the most beautiful pieces of music, from their 1976 album "Trick of the Tail"), I won't be held responsible for my actions, I can tell you.

Sorry. Anorak off now. Have a good weekend, all.

Shock and awe

Blimey. A meal without meat. And it's very nice too.

Red lentil and aubergine curry, in fact. This is a big thing for me. In the past, I've always said this about a vegetarian diet:

• Salad is not food. It is food for food.



• I didn't fight my way to the top of the food chain to start regressing now.



• If we weren't supposed to eat animals, why make them out of meat?

(Hmm. Some of these may find their way to the Guru Sooty on the desk opposite me. Locals will understand).

Anyway, whilst I haven't exactly seen the Linda McCartney light yet, perhaps this eating healthy lark needn't be absolute perjury.

Making my way

I was going to use the word 'movement' in the title of this post, but then I found the image to head it up with and had second thoughts.

So, progress seems to be good at the moment, and the interest my plan has generated seems to still be high. Everyone I talk to (well, in the building, at least) wants to know how I'm getting on.

There's questions about how I'm eating (pretty well, actually - I can't actually eat everything set out for me), am I exercising (erm, not yet - the lunchtime walks couldn't happen without a wetsuit and snorkel at the moment), even whether I've lost any weight yet. I'm not answering that last one until the next weekly weigh-in this weekend.

Listen up, kids - weighing yourself every day is a Very Bad Thing, for the following reasons:

1. Apparently your weight fluctuates naturally anyway, so it's not an accurate measure;
2. Your weight could be lower than you expected. "Great," you think, "it's pie time." Bad move;
3. Your weight could be higher than you expected and you either give up or go too hardcore on the whole dieting thing; and
4. I have a life, and (whisper this bit) my weight is only a part of it. An unsightly, flabby part, perhaps, but a part nevertheless.

So the weigh-in is a weekly thing only, folks. I'll do a poster, or something.

Plus two people told me they were following this blog. Blimey. Hello - you know who you are. I'll try to be good, ladies. And that's not the first time I've said that, either.

The official weigh-in!

Oh. My. God.

That's me told, then. I knew I was more than a little lardy. That this whole losing weight malarkey was long overdue.

But then I dusted off the scales and stood on them.

Take a look:





Your eyes aren't deceiving you - that's 17 stone and 13 pounds. Just shy of 18 stone! That's a whole lot of pies, then.

Katie (who was annoyingly lively this morning) was there to witness this momentous event - she'll be my official referee in all of this.

Keep tuned for updates, folks...

Last blow-out

It will become clear as this post proceeds why I'm writing it 'the afternoon afterwards'.

With three months of relative sensibility and abstinence on the cards and about to hit us, 30th June was never going to be a normal Saturday in the Sawyer household. Having said that, I didn't want to pump my weight up artificially, either, so a degree of moderation was in order.

Katie was out in the afternoon and evening; our friends Mike and Emma get married later this month and the hen afternoon/night was happening in Birmingham. I made myself useful, running a few errands and such, then lounged around the house. I ate a little, mainly things I'm not going to be allowed to eat from tomorrow onwards.

I got a couple of texts from Katie as the day progressed. This is normal Katie behaviour when beer is involved. The first few were reasonably sensible, in as much as they were written in English.

Then I got this one:



I'll freely admit, I'd had a beer myself by this point. But even I was struggling to make this out. So I texted her back something along the lines of "Pardon?". This was the reply I got:



A good point, almost Wildean in its brevity, I thought. It was then followed by:



Shortly after that a minicab delivered a pile of wreckage, vaguely resembling the sweet, innocent girl I married, to my door. Although she had eaten throughout the afternoon in a valiant attempt to soak up the alcohol, clearly more stodge was necessary so we raided the 'crap box', which is where we keep the crisps, Pringles, etc.

It's infallible logic like this that keeps 99% of kebab shops in business. I mean, would you really go for one if your hunger wasn't hop-fuelled?

I must admit that I was in no way completely blameless in all this, having gotten myself on the outside of some very nice Bavarian wheat beer and a good quantity of red wine by this point (followed up by some single malt, too, I think).

The next thing I remember and it's 6.00 in the morning. I'd fallen asleep around about midnight, but the problem is I'm still on the sofa, having a serious attack of something or other. My darling bride has left me to it several hours earlier, so I go upstairs to find her in the grip of Morpheus.

It's fair to say that the 'cutting down on the booze' aspect of the weight loss plan is not going to be too taxing right at this moment in time. Well, at least not considering the way we're both feeling at the moment. Another problem is that my traditional fatboy breakfast cure isn't a option any more.

I will shortly be doing the official weigh-in, once I can stand upright on the scales for long enough.