Goodbye Christmas 2018

"Right, let's get Christmas back in the attic" ... says she eventually ... covered head to toe in chuffin 'snow' ... that clings to everything, including my glasses and my spiffing cordless sweepy thing ... had to clean the filter in that *again* because of the damn snow.

And off we jolly well go up to the bathroom ... to where I'd already woman-handled 13 cartons and bags of utter crap ... to then go on up to the attic with the aid of my faithful old retainer ... aka Oddjob.

He gets the trapdoor open and pulls down the ladder with his gadget and tootles off up with a limp ... whilst I await the long lead and plug for the lovely fluorescent lighting to arrive. I plug it in, and lo ... there is light.

"Yer know, it dunt seem five minutes since ahr were up here" ... I looked up at him in puzzled confusion ... "Well, it's not too long ago" ... I tell him.

"It were weeks ago when ahr fetched um dahn" ... "It was yesterday, you twat!" ... sounds of cogs going around ... "Ooh ahhh. Ahr forgot abaht that, I were thinking abaht when I fetched um dahn before Christmas".

And that's the story of how Christmas - but not his train sets - yes, SETS - got put away. They are currently acquiring new lighting and/or batteries for old lighting ... whilst he sits eating the chocolate barrels he filled the wagons with.

Everyone deserves an Oddjob 😉

Not Quite British

Last night Mr Grumpy regaled me with tales of his adventures whilst he was in Skegness yesterday. We got to the last bit and he told me about RUNNING - he's nearly 76 - to the bus stop and waving frantically to the bus driver.

Apparently this behaviour was because no one was waiting at the bus stop ... the driver did stop and he was clearly amused.

I was appalled, doesn't he realise how totally un-British this behaviour is? I mean, yes ... if there's only one bus a fortnight and you've got your snow shoes under one arm, an unamused cat under the other, a mosquito net shoved down your vest and a canoe strapped to your back ... plus enough supplies in a dozen shopping bags to get you through those next two weeks. Then by all means ... an apologetic little wave to the bus driver might, just might, be in order.

But we're talking about Skeggy here, with at least one bus every 5 minutes ... and he was carrying nothing more taxing than a pack of new biros for writing his bets.

Which makes me wonder ... 'What nationality is he? because it's definitely not British'.

Several times last year we tootled off to Mablethorpe, I know I've possibly mentioned it to friends what I'm up to ... but I'd hate anyone to miss out on how riveting my life is. But he mentions it THERE what we're doing ... like when we were in a charity shop, I'm browsing the book shelf - for him, I use a kindle - and I can hear him announcing that we're in Mablethorpe because the Skegness Lidl is 'but a pile of rubble' as they're about to rebuild it bigger. It's about this time that I can feel the tops of my ears going red.

Next stop, the pet shop for our badger and bird supplies and the conversation goes ... "We usually go to your shop in Skegness but they're rebuilding Lidl, is it your daughter who works in the pet shop there?" ... by now I'm several aisles away pretending I don't know him ... I do this a lot.

Lidl itself ... I'm shopping, he's chatting. Two aisles away I can hear him ... "Will you be going back to the Skeggy Lidl when it re-opens?". He's obviously cornered a member of staff he recognises as they were sent to different stores. I turn the corner and see him, he's found new victims to tell them 'What we're doing here'.

He sees me coming and announces ... "Here's my wife, I was just telling..." too late they've made their escape.

In the early days I used to think that everyone he was chatting to was someone he actually knew. I'd turn up from whatever shop I'd been in and they'd make a hasty retreat. I took this to mean they liked him and thought I was horrible, so I started to practice smiling ... this was not easy for me, I'm not a smily person ... remember, I am British.

It took me several months of wearing a rictus grin whenever I went out, to realise people just thought I was as big a barmpot as he his. Bless him...

It Doesn't Matter

A week ago we had a major crisis. Mr Grumpy came back from the local bookies and he'd lost a winning bet he'd had at another branch in Mablethorpe the day before.

He went through all his slips on the table, checked his pockets ... "but it doesn't matter" ... he then started going through the kitchen bin, teabags flarted one way, packaging from my parcel received that morning another, and a mountain of dust hoiked on the floor - I'd literally only just emptied the Dyson two minutes before he came in ... "but it doesn't matter".

I went through the bets he'd chucked for the cat to play with ...  "ne'er mind  ... it's a mystery to me ... but it doesn't matter" ... and I'm about to get my rubber gloves on for this state of emergency to go deeper in the bin.

I think for a minute ... "how much is this bet worth?"  ... I ask him

"£1.10 ... but it doesn't matter, if I've lost it, I can write it out again as they've got the original"

ONE chuffin POUND 10 bluddy P ... and he's got the caravan upside down ... and I've had to clean the kitchen again.

A little later - after a nice sunbathing session - he told me he'd had another bin bag out and been through the rubbish one piece at a time. And we we're "still baffled".

In those five minutes - it was coffee time so I was a captive audience - I relived every step he'd taken to Don Noble's bookies, where it should have been safely inside one of that days bets, and it wasn't ... but it doesn't matter ...

Next time I'll ask first and have my purse handy to reimburse him... bless him ... but it doesn't matter...

 .....

A week later and we're at Mablethorpe, off he went to the bookies and went through all the rigmarole of telling the poor buggers who work there the sad story of the missing bet. They checked the time he'd placed it, found it and printed another copy for him to sign to say he'd received his winnings, and it was finally worth £1.05. He'd barely slept a whole week for £1.05! ... but it doesn't matter ...

Fishy Tale

Last Wednesday a small -  Interpet Insight 40 - fish tank was purchased for the tin hut. This was so I could bring my White Cloud Mountain minnows and two adopted - mucky - fantail goldfish here for the summer, then I'd no longer worry about them needing cleaning whilst I'm away ... so far so good.

Oddjob had already aided and abetted me in the installation of said fish tank by moving a shelf a couple of inches to accommodate it - bless him - so I got on with setting it all up that afternoon.

After observing the water and plants doing whatever it is they do that evening by shifting from seat to seat, I decided the aquarium needed moving by about 10 inches. Then I was certain it would be better enjoyed by all occupants of the tin hut ... the shelf would also need unscrewing so I could move the cable to the other side.

"No problem", says he.

This rearrangement was done early that very afternoon, whilst Mr Grumpy - knowing I was on a fasting day - munched his way through half the contents of the fridge, whilst describing in great detail what he was having.

First I had to empty some water, then ever-so-gently slide the fish tank along, then I refilled it again.

"Right" says I, "can you just move this shelf so I can sort the cable?"

"No"

"Why not?"

"Yer fish tank's in the way"

"But you watched me empty it, move it and refill it!!"

"Oh, I could see yer faffing about with it, but I was eating me dinner" ...

My Spiffing New Torture Machine

Whilst I was doing the bedroom flit in my last post I'd ordered a fabby new elliptical cross trainer thingy in an attempt to get my wobbly jiggly bits less wobbly and jiggly.

 

It is now unboxed and assembled and looking very imposing ... this performance was ahem, a bit tense with lots of "are you sure that's on the right way?" and oodles of "so that's a wavy washer, why do I want wavy washers?", "oh I say, a curved washer" and even more "just hold this will you".

Anyhoo, here's the story of my spiffing new torture machine:

I'm not stupid - methinks - whilst choosing one, I'll buy one that plugs in, no use in overdoing it ... well, I go to foot of my sock! Do you know you still have to move your legs by yourself???? I thought I could just stand there and go for a ride, nope, not a bit of it, mutter, mutter :(

I gingerly climbed aboard and twiddled the knob and pressed the button, dunno what they do yet, I don't do instructions until I'm really REALLY desperate ... which was a bit sooner than I expected.

Twenty hard seconds - and 3 calories - later when my pulse was pushing the top end of the 60s BPM, I thought I'd better have a rest ... and while I'm at it, ahem, have a proper look at the computer doodah.

The damn thing got all personal asking questions like ~ age, height, WEIGHT, SEX ... I spent five minutes looking for the 'not this month' button before having a closer look ... and there was a teeny weeny pic of a stick girl in a skirt alternating with a teeny weeny pic of a stick girl not in a skirt. This may or may not be a boy. I chose the one in a skirt so I would get plenty of fresh air around me wotsits when I'm being taken for a ride - oops I mean, when I'm stepping/pedalling/whatever.

Tomorrow I will raid my under-bed drawer which is crammed full of - hardly worn - keep fittery outfits in lots of white and lovely bright colours. I bought them at the beginning of 2013 when I had a three month flirtation with Zumba. Ooooooh, they might be too big. Way-hey I feel a shopping spree coming on.

I wonder how long this relationship will last...

Bedroom Swap

I wrote this last week on Facebook during the marathon 'bedroom swap' and decided to share it here too - as I used to in the olden days before social media got in the way:

Not everything in this pic is still there, I was mid-rearranging.

As it's quite clear that Chavsda and the feral yoofs and yoofesses are still waking me through the night and aren't about to give in - despite the council visiting Asda - I think it's time to give in and switch bedrooms.

So ... let operation *BEDROOM SWAP* commence.

This isn't as easy as you may think because the other - smaller, *underwater* - bedroom currently houses 'BigJobs', my lovely underused - at the mo - computer and all the paraphernalia that goes with it ... big desk, scanner/printer, blah blah blah.

My craft desk and half ton of crap that I've amassed to make cards that I'm no longer making ... but one day.

New view from my bed

Sun bed that no one wants. MY iron and MY ironing board. I love ironing and get all my best ideas standing with iron in hand - even though I've got a steamy thing (oh yeah, and that) - whilst gazing through the window.

More stuff to go to the charity shop ... my chauffeur is taking that out of my way.

Stuffed toys. I need to give most of these away as they're totally unnecessary ... I keep putting them in plastic bags then fetch 'em back out 'coz they can't breathe.

And last but not least, stuff from the tin hut that I can't cram in anywhere else.

It's Wednesday now and I will be missing at least until the weekend. Probably without food, I may have to eat my left leg ... or not, it's another set of triple fast days ahead of me. Got to shift this lard that I've had since I was 13. It's hanging on and on and on. Time for it to give in and let go.

Stuck

I can't believe my husband has just been up to ask me about whether some old trainers need chucking out. I'm here with this! Half in half out the room. And he just went again, never offered me a chuffin hand or owt.

Oh duck! I'm stuck! I'm going to have to phone him.

Escaped! Getting serious now. All jewellery off and I'm down to my smalls in an attempt to keep cool.

Knackered! Rearranged front bedroom until I've got no strength left and I'm still not happy. Off I go back to have another go. If it's not working for me this time then the single bed will have to go ... as Mr Grumpy keeps telling me.

Mostly crafting essentials - completely rearranged 8 times in 3 days.

Why is my effin brain switched off? Common sense tells you that when something heavy - under-bed drawer full of crafting crap - is balanced precariously coz summat else (ironing board) is holding up proceedings - you don't nudge said ironing board with your knee when your bloody feet are under the drawer. I daren't look at my bruises. I'd already amassed a fair few without doing this. Oh well, back I go to put the other drawer in.

Hmmm, it's like this. I didn't stop lifting, moving, dropping, rearranging crap - apart from my very brief whingy updates - until after 6.30pm. I'm ever so slightly peckish having eaten nowt and I'm currently in the bath admiring my bruises ... how do I get out of the bath? In fact how do I reach the shampoo, soap then towel?

To my right, the woody bits are part of the sunken galleon oddjob made

Himself and Miss Tia Pussykins are trying out the new bedroom. I bet one of them would come to my assistance if I shouted.

Hmmm, may as well stop here, I can keep topping up with hot water using my left foot.

Oh, I'm saved, Mr Grumpy is here passing me soap. I daren't tell him I want the shampoo first ...

Christmas Present Wrapping

One's husband made himself busy wrapping one's Christmas pressies today - bless him.

While this marathon task was happening I wandered into the bedroom carrying fresh out of the dryer - are we ironing these? not on your Nelly, it's Christmas - clothes, and I was told not to look ... so I didn't.

Then he came downstairs with one wrapped item, again I was told "don't look". In fact, he went as far as to turn my head the other way. He nearly got my duster stuffed up his nose. Then when said item had been placed in the living room I was told that I HAD to go and look NOW! Even though I know exactly what it is, so had no idea why I had to go and 'admire' this, ahem, mystery present.

For the next hour I could hear paper being torn and the sellotape machine whizzing away and he was making his usual - I'm working so hard "phew" noises - and then he shouted down to me ... "it's never ending this lot".

Well, it serves him right. I bought everything myself and stuck it in a box for him to wrap well over two weeks ago.

Uho, we've now had an "oh dear, I'll be glad when I've done this, I'm sweating" ... moan.

At least he won't be doing anything dopy like wrapping the envelopes I'd bought last year for the Christmas cards I was making - which never got finished as mum died last year on 9th Dec, the day before her 75th birthday. And then we had to take dad into the hospice for Christmas straight after her funeral on the 20th, so life then was a bit of a blur - and I'd accidentally left the envelopes in with my bag of pressies so he wrapped 'em. I still can't believe he did that ...

Last Trip Home

I hate today. I've got to put everything away and wigwam the furniture - this includes the bed I'm still in, and not wanting to get out of.

All this has to be done around a frantically yowling cat - who is also still in bed yet - I'd put her outside in her carrier but it's too cold and damp for her old bones.

Then we've got to splodge through wet muddy grass to the car - which is parked miles away near the gas tank, with bags and bags and bags of important stuff that I can't live without.

Fingers crossed the car is ok this time. The last few years it's thrown a wobbly for our last trip home. First it wasn't firing on all cylinders and we were really struggling to get going after every junction ... 0-60 in 10 mins.

Then two years ago we'd packed the car, went for a last look at the sea and his window wouldn't go back up.

It was getting dark, pouring with rain, and the AA man - who couldn't fix it - drained the battery and we had to stay another day - I had to unload the car - again splodging through wet muddy grass while the window had a plastic bag taped over it.

Thankfully the on-site boys got us going next morning with jump leads from the tractor and the window was - temporarily - fixed at a local garage.

Mr Grumpy was NOT his usual happy self and I was in meltdown because we'd got a wedding to go to and my dress still didn't fit ...

How Now Black Cow

Anyone who knows my grumpy old man, knows that he likes to keep me happy. This includes agreeing with me at every opportunity ... I think this is due to his previous good training as it's not actually one of my requirements. And because of how I word things - being somewhat evil and enjoying watching him cogitate - he often gets it wrong.

I can practically hear the cogs trundling around until he hits on what he thinks is the correct answer ... "Yes!" he'll say - eventually - "No" I'll reply because I'd worded it back to front ... "I meant no, it just came out as yes". And then we'd giggle like the recycled teenagers we are.

However, his worst faux pas are always when he doesn't give himself time to think, his brain must see green lights pinging on and out he comes with his answer ... just like this morning.

We'd been to Gibraltar Point yesterday with my 'bells and whistles' camera to take photos of bods (birds), seals, black sheep, trees, fungi and owt else I spot, whilst also teaching himself to use my old camera ... I mostly find photos of my ar*e when we get back, I really must make him walk in front of me.

Anyway, I woke up itching this morning and discovered two mosquito (whatever) bites on my legs, even though I'd been wearing black leggings.

"Hmmmm - scratch, scratch - the little ba***rds must have thought I was a black cow" ... and quick as a flash he replied ... "yes they must".

So there we have it, I now know that my husband thinks I look like a cow in leggings ...

Come and Hold This ...

Next time Mr Grumpy says ... "come and hold this", remind me to tell him to go and boil his head.

I went and held this ... which was in fact a ladder; so he could put up another bird feeder ... I was holding on to said ladder and standing on the bottom rung as ballast - as per my instructions - whilst watching the blue tits and listening to the babies in the box nearby ... then he stepped down onto my finger ... and it was my fault.

My finger is huge and blue and is most fortunate NOT to be adorned with rings or I'd have needed them cutting off.
 
He wasn't satisfied with this though ... oh no, not by a long chalk:

I had actually rushed out of bed and thrown some clothes on to go and help him with the ladder, because instead of sitting still like a good husband first thing in MY morning, he was pacing up and down with seed, nuts and water for the feeders and just generally hovering at the bedroom door saying things like ... "whenever, you're ready ... no rush". Yeah, right.

So, after assaulting my finger and blaming me for HOLDING the effin ladder, I went back in to have my shower - whilst nursing my oh so poorly finger ... "Oops" he declared from the other side of the shower curtain ... "I've flushed the loo" - an absolute no no in the tin hut when someone - well, me to be exact - is showering. So there I stood, bracing myself with finger held aloft, as my extremities sizzled under the rather hot water ... and I called him a tw*t.

Then shortly after this we went for a walk at Gibraltar Point, he took me down a footpath so he could feed the birds there ... "Ooh, it's a bit overgrown" he declared while I'm battling - still holding my poorly finger up - with the effin nettles. "OUCH! my knees" ...  "Oh dear, I'll find you a dock leaf" he told me, while bustling past me and pushing me against yet more nettles.

I have to wonder how I'd have fared if he wasn't so thoughtful ... 

Proper Grumpiness Has Resumed

Righto, I'm back!

I think we've all had enough of my diet/lifestyle to last us a lifetime, I only kept it up because I did get - and still have - a lot of world wide interest in the whole idea of intermittent fasting blah blah blah, but I'm done with that - not doing it, just writing about it - we've both got to our target weights and are maintaining with a variety of methods, the latest of which is 18:6 ... which just means we fast for 18 hours, skip breakfast every day, eat during the next 6 hours and then don't snack in the evening ... except once a week or I'd be chucking my toys out the pram and spitting my dummy out.

Anyhooo, I want to get back to my occasional DIARY, which is sometimes grumpy and sometimes funny. This will keep me out of too much mischief and lets me get things out of my system ... and if I can entertain anyone with what me and Mr Grumpy get up to  over the week then that's a bonus :)

.....

Saturday 3rd May - and I'm trying to decide on how to gain more storage at the tin hut.

Doing vitally important work in the spare bedroom and someone has nicked my tape measure. How am I supposed to work out how much HE needs to saw off?

Still undecided on what to do. But I think I've got 3 more inches than I strictly need. Being cunning I can still have lots of beds but not necessarily in the same rooms.

Getting fed up now and am in danger of going to hide in my bed ... except it's buried under mattresses and stuff.

Oddjob is no help whatsoever, he just says "whatever you want" ... Ooooh that's dangerous, cos I wants a noo caravan. He may regret that throwaway statement.

I eventually found where HE'D left my tape measure when I moved some bedding in the dining room and it fell on the floor.

Anyhoo, I ended up lying on the mattresses on the floor - as you do - told himself about the 3 inches I want removing from the bed bases ... hmmmm, I'd better actually mark them because my 3" will end up being at least 5" the way he measures.

 Sunday 4th May Sunbathing.

Sat outside under the lovely sunshine. Note to self ... mow the legs before I get them out again.

I was wandering why I was struggling to walk against the breeze, then realised my hairy legs are NOT exactly aerodynamic.

Later -  Ahem, another note to self ... WEAR GLASSES WHEN MOWING LEGS!

I've no longer got two forests but I am sporting a couple of copses on my left leg where I missed. Gawd knows what my pits look like.

That same night


Hmmm, just found himself fighting to open a bottle of bleach. I had to show him how to do it.

I - being me - pointed out that he can't possibly use bleach very often if the 'child proof' top has him baffled.

"No, I don't", sez he, "but I thought I'd clean YOUR sink FOR YOU, now I've washed YOUR pots" ... bless him.

Wednesday 7th May.

You know you're confused - possibly by hunger - when you put your oven gloves on to get something out of the fridge ... just as well I remembered them a few minutes later when I started faffing about in the oven.

Later - That moment when you know you married a barmpot - ok, let's be honest here, there's been lots of these moments so far ...

Watching a recorded episode of Mrs Brown's Boys - last episode I think - they're singing 'Grease Lightning', my grumpy old man is singing 'Street Lighting' ...

Mr Grumpy Has Lost It!

14th April.

Hubby has lost 19lbs of the 20lbs he gained during my first year of 4:3. Yes, I overfed him - oops - but he wasn't forced to eat the sneaky doughnuts now was he??

Anyhooo, now he's done that so quickly - git!! - we're switching to 5:2 in the form of a back to back 500/600 cals on Saturday and Sunday.

This is because I work at home - when I like - and where we are through the summer - in a caravan aka 'the tin hut' near Skegness - it's busy at the weekends so we don't go very far.

This will leave us to go out any day in the week without having to think 'up or down, have I got to swap?' ... and my GOM is the best picnic maker ever - and he prepares it while I'm still in bed :)

Of course if either of us start porking up again - by more than 3lbs - we'll add another down day midweek.

We both intend doing at least two down days or DD (fasting days) a week forever as we both feel so fit and well - not at all bad for our ages 54 and 74 ;)

Update 27th April.

Yeah, yeah. So full of good (brave) intentions. We didn't even make it one week. I'd caved in by Tuesday afternoon and told Mr Grumpy that I was slipping a DD Wednesday in, he said he would too. This wasn't as strict as our usual DDs, he had around 800 cals and I had 650.
Our weight remained the same so we'll try this for the next couple of weeks ...

Update 8th May.

Well he's lost 2 more pounds without trying so we've switched to 16:8 - which is a 16 hour fast and an 8 hour eating window ...

.....

1. Me and Alternate Day Fasting
2. Me and Alternate Day Fasting ... Three Weeks On
3. Five Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
4. Eight Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
5. Ten Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
6. Alternate Day Fasting Three Months On
7. Alternate Day Fasting in Winter
8. Alternate Day Fasting Over Christmas
9. Me and Zumba
10. Saying Goodbye To My Curves 
11. Eight Months Of Alternate Day Fasting And Me
12. Growing Up 
13. A Year Of Alternate Day Fasting 
14. 60 Pounds Of Blubber - Vanished
15. The Perils of Alternate Day Fasting 
16. Mr Grumpy Is Losing It
17. Mr Grumpy Has Lost It
18. Fasting For Maintenance
19. Tweaking Maintenance
20. Weight Gain 
21. Still Maintaining
22. Four Years Of Intermittent Fasting

  .....

• ADF Facebook Group ... come and join us :)

Spring Clean 2014

Can someone explain to me the point of housework because as far as I'm concerned I've just wasted three and a half hours of my life ... okay I admit it, it was probably nearer two and a half hours if you take out the frequent 'vitally important' checks I had to make on Facebook and eBay. Anyway, it's still three and a half hours that no matter what I do, I'll never get them back.

I must be some sort of cuckoo in the nest because both my sisters adore cleaning and live with minimal clutter.

I've vacuumed, everywhere,  polished wood, disinfected surfaces ... including the bedroom windowsills where the cat wipes her ar*e! I don't know why she can't just clench when she sits there straight after using her potty.

Not one of these achievements  has bought me pleasure, in fact it was all done whilst wearing my sucking on a lemon expression.

I can honestly say I'd sooner work a whole day WITHOUT PAY than do it again any time soon. The tragic thing is, it'll all want doing again THIS YEAR ;)

I'm going to get me a cleaning lady ...

Mr Grumpy Is Losing It!

Well, the end of November isn't the best time of year - in the northern hemisphere - to start a 'diet'. First of all there's the run up to Christmas which requires testing noshing - because your wife is on a diet/down/500 cals day and she's baked. Then there's Christmas week itself which requires dedicated noshing - and boozing - simply because it's Christmas.

And we all know about making our new years resolutions and starting a 'diet' the first Monday of the New Year ... unless the 1st January falls on a Monday itself, because this day is also a munch day - it's the law - in which case the beginning of the diet gets deferred to the 8th, by which time you've changed your mind about the whole thing because who in their right mind wants to diet in winter anyway.

Anyway, our December didn't go according to plan. It was fairly normal until the 8th, when my mum took ill (she'd been sick all week actually) and was rushed to hospital from her care home. We'd just upped our care for my dad who was dying of throat cancer - and lung cancer plus COPD.

Do you know, it was at this point I lost all the above while using the blogger app on my phone, I forgot to save it before I tootled off to check something. It's a good job I've got a near photographic memory or this phone would have been through the window. As it is, I did a lot of "I'm so annoyed" mutterings, and moaned about it on Facebook - as you do, then re-typed it all.

Now where was I? Oh yes - parents dropping like flies. Christmas didn't really happen and 4:3 went out the window. I ate when I could, which was usually around 6.00pm and Mr Grumpy looked after his lonely little self - and the cat - at home.

So there wasn't as much weight loss in December, nor for much of January as there could have been. In fact things didn't get back to normal until 5th February after dad's funeral. When I say 'normal', you do know that I'm only referring to our 'diet lifestyle'.

So, back to the job in hand. My GOM, who joined me on my weight loss lifestyle - straight after dad's 75th birthday party in November - managed to lose 4lbs by January 1st - still not bad to say how we were living - another 5lbs by February 1st, and another 5lbs by March 1st. A total of 14lbs aka one stone.

Now three weeks later his weight loss has slowed right down - only one more pound lost (15lbs total) and his up day, down day gains and losses almost match the ones on my chart - but this is simply because he's only got around 7lbs more to lose.

This is far easier said than done when nearing goal weight - trust me I know - and when he's done that he'll be on maintenance with me ... although to be honest I'd still like to lose another 7lbs too.

Now it's worth mentioning that he's never once cheated on a down day, he's simply asked me in a morning ... "up or down?" Then he knows whether or not he can have a biscuit with his morning coffee. I still have to hide fruit because it's natural for him to dip into the fruit bowl a couple times a day.

He's enjoying his meals every day because I'm experimenting more now I'm cooking the same for both of us. Before he joined me on 4:3 I was often doing him a ready meal with extra veg and skinny soup or a stir fry for me. And he hasn't really noticed he's on a diet because I can do amazing things with veg that is both filling and tasty ...

.....

1. Me and Alternate Day Fasting
2. Me and Alternate Day Fasting ... Three Weeks On
3. Five Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
4. Eight Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
5. Ten Weeks of Alternate Day Fasting
6. Alternate Day Fasting Three Months On
7. Alternate Day Fasting in Winter
8. Alternate Day Fasting Over Christmas
9. Me and Zumba
10. Saying Goodbye To My Curves 
11. Eight Months Of Alternate Day Fasting And Me
12. Growing Up 
13. A Year Of Alternate Day Fasting 
14. 60 Pounds Of Blubber - Vanished
15. The Perils of Alternate Day Fasting 
16. Mr Grumpy Is Losing It
17. Mr Grumpy Has Lost It
18. Fasting For Maintenance
19. Tweaking Maintenance
20. Weight Gain 
21. Still Maintaining
22. Four Years Of Intermittent Fasting

  .....

• ADF Facebook Group ... come and join us :)

Spring Cleaning The Glory Hole

Hmmm, where can I start?

Well I decided that it was a good idea to tidy under the stairs. It's been a long time going to happen. There was stuff in there that hadn't seen the light of day in thirteen years or more.

This task was undertaken during a week's holiday, it had to be as it wasn't something anyone should do on a mere whim, it required forward planning ... and should have included a skip!

I started at the front - as you do - and worked my way to the back. I put all my crap straight into bin bags ... ooooh, I remember that coat ... ahhh, there's that missing glove, damn I threw it's partner away a month ago. HECK! And five, I repeat FIVE tool boxes and drills not to mention all the loose tools. Who needs five tool boxes under MY stairs when he's already got an outbuilding FULL of similar crap?

Where did all this junk come from? Bird books ... candles ... unwanted photos ... pens ... awful ornaments ... knitting patterns ... cookery books ... old proper light bulbs ... coats ... scarves ... umbrellas ... pills and potions ... car vac ... kids car seat ... three footballs ... box of toys for a two year old who is now nine ... dog toys and leads for a dog who is no more ... six empty Liquorice Allsorts tins ... many more full ones ... someone's Mayfair diaries from the 1990's ... instructions on all electrical items ever bought going back to the war! ... all his handy electrician instructions (17 volumes, hand written by himself - mostly the same instructions but lost and re-written) ... along with the handiest gadgets you'd ever want but never use.

And ... a 'Fabulous Fred' game that I had to go out and buy new batteries for ... just in case it was indeed fabulous - it wasn't, it was horribly noisy with no visible volume control without the use of a hammer. It has now been hidden.

I placed everything of grumpy's in the front room for him to go through when he got back from the bookies. It filled the room. I put all the car oriented stuff in the dining room - again for him to go through - in the hope that some of these items may actually reach the car ... Two months later and they've not got there yet.

To go back to the cookery books, one was his mum's, so really quite old, grumpy in full Flog It mode was quite excited. He thumbed carefully through it, then went back to the inside front cover and read out to me 'Reprinted 27 times ... I wonder which edition this is, do you think it's a first edition?' ... You have to wonder don't you ...

Bad Manners Maketh The Post Office

A visit was made to our local post office the other morning, you know the one I mean - next door but two to Asda. The place was absolutely thronged with ... one customer, aka my grumpy old man.

He'd gone to renew his road tax. He shoved his envelope containing all the necessaries through to the nasty b***rd that works there, and he shoved it back saying 'you're not disabled are you?' ... This didn't bother grumpy in the least - he just took out the contents and passed them through individually. Because unlike the rest of us - with slightly thinner skins who'd rather go 2 miles out of our way for the services a post office has to offer - grumpy just ignores him, declaring that he's the same with everyone.

He went on stoically to exchange pleasantries while he was being served - as this is the kind of person he is - but clearly this type of behaviour is frowned upon in this particular establishment, Grumpy remarked that it was cold in there (zero heating for customers) and you couldn't hang around. Mr post office replied 'well we don't want you to hang around.'

Definitely time for this grumpy post office person to bog off into retirement so the place can get some custom back. Other post offices in the area are aware of this, ahem, gentleman's deplorable customer service methods, and are quite pleased that we all go further afield.

Langley mill post office was for sale last year, with the price being dropped at least twice. All seems to have gone quiet on that front which is a damn shame, because we could really do with someone who wants to do the job - maybe even with a smile ...

Update 9th February 2012:
The post office is still for sale ... now at a much reduced price of £175,000 ... will someone please buy it!

Our Latest Parish Magazine

Just lately I've received several visits from fellow grumpies - this is despite the fact that I hide behind a photo of a badger and no-one knows it's really me - these visits were regarding our local parish council.

Questions were raised about how our money was being spent or in some cases - as mentioned in previous posts - not spent. A bit of other interesting information was shared about a garden party paid for by council funds. But no-one knows any of the - seventy - 'worthies' invited. I can't even check on the veracity of this information as the parish council website is being reconstructed, so please, do feel free to ignore this bit.

During December [after my second grumpy visitor called for the first time] I 'Twittered' - as you do - asking myself 'Who are our local councillors and how to contact them if I wanted to?' ... This led one grumpy to think I'd blogged about it - before it disappeared - but it was just my twitter feed [on the informative side bit of my page] updating. I also asked myself 'Do I need to get involved here? Am I just a whinging moaner? Or do I indeed care enough to write about it?

Hmmm, actually I am just a whinging moaner and really couldn't be bothered with the whole idea of someone else giving me bullets to fire. But today my mind was changed - slightly - and I decided to have a go, because the 'Parish Magazine' - from our alleged quality council - has just plopped through our letterbox. This was not a conducive moment for it to arrive as I couldn't resist having a quick gleg at it, even though I was meant to be working.

Oh heck! It got me so annoyed in places that when I continued to finish today's work, there were tiny pink missiles flirting around the room, followed by much magnet and scissor action [collecting and adjusting]. I'd have been better off abandoning work for the day and getting to my keyboard.

Ahem, our naff Christmas lights were mentioned on page 4, under the title 'News From The Parish Council Office'. It went on to tell us who sponsored them ... have they received a refund yet? ... I can only deduce that our parish councillors do not live in our parish, because they're clearly not seeing what the rest of us are seeing.

Anyway, I need wonder no more about who our councillors are as they're listed on the back cover of this glossy magazine - the majority of which are no doubt destined for recycling bags [magazines not councillors, hmmm]. Ooooh, they've got vacancies for two more councillors. I've been informed that it is not advisable to join this exclusive club because if you don't fit in and conform then life is made uncomfortable until you resign. 

Please note councillors when you read this, that I'm only relaying information given to me by other grumpies, and is therefore not necessarily my own opinion.

I've also been told - by yet even more grumpies - that a fellow grumpess has written to our local newspaper (Ripley and Heanor News) complaining about our Christmas lights, the letter was published but there has been no reply. There have been other letters written to our parish council asking pertinent questions, these have remained unanswered. So where can you get in touch with them?

Oh look, as well as ONE phone number, there's also ONE email address for our local parish council ... a shabby throw away yahoo.co.uk address ... very grown up and official I'm sure.

Oh I say, Gasp, splutter ... and just look who is responsible for our floral displays ... what floral displays???? They really are taking the wee wee - and yes, this is my own opinion ...

One Reason I'll Never Be Rich

Our plumber rang last Tuesday ... 'I'm just calling for the part needed for your boiler and I'll be around in about ten minutes', he told the grumpy old man. We'd been serviced a few weeks before and a slight dribble was noticed - the boiler, not grumpy - hmmm - now we're being fixed.

'I'll just go and fetch some cash from the machine at Asda' sez my old dribbler ... 'Oh, how much do you want?' ... I'd still got my birthday and Christmas money from the parents, not that I haven't bought something, but I used my debit card on t'interweb. I'm still hoping to get my computer fitted with a cash slot.

For a geriatric, my GOM can move at a fair lick. He raced across the dining room, scooped up my posh Radley winter bag and dug out my equally posh Radley winter purse in less time than it took for me to finish the above sentence.

He proffered me the said purse and I handed him the cash required - just like that, this is because I'm lovely and generous.

Wednesday morning we were going out with some more crumblies. Before we set off I ascertained that he'd now been and got some more cash if we needed it, because I wasn't getting any out of the machine at Peak Village as they charge for the privilege ... 'Yeah, I'm ok thanks.' He never offered me a penny ... tightwad!

Saturday night saw himself checking the Irish Lottery results. He's totted it up and talked in this weird foreign language about fours and fives and pennies, doubles, trebles, blah, blah, blah. It transpired that grumpy had won just over £100, 'very nice' I thought, rubbing my hands together.

He came back from the bookies yesterday ... again talking this strange language that we've all [my family] repeatedly asked him not to bother with, we only ever want to know the outcome.

He stood in the doorway watching me work ... 'I've got me winnings' he said, patting his pocket, 'If you want to borrow any money,' he winked, 'I've got some'.

'Borrow? ... Borrow?' The rest of my reply was mostly unrepeatable - all I can tell you is that the word I used most began with a W and ended with an anker ...

Windy Blow And A Damsel In Distress

Well what a week that was!

I don't know about everyone else, but Wednesday night's bit of a draft and dribble of rain kept me awake most of the night. The top house lost a few ridge tiles, half of which were already missing after we had our last big blow ... some people don't bother with house repairs until it's going to be enough for an insurance claim, they only go as far as asking to borrow your ladder.

My neighbour's aerial escaped its moorings and we lost a slate. Grumpy is out on the front as I write - supposedly to assess the damage. This may take some time as he's chatting to all passers by ... whether they want to or not.

The 5th of January [yesterday] is the day I set aside for de-Christmasing the house. This is because:

1. I'm never quite sure when 12th night falls.
2. If I miss the odd items - yes I did, four decorative candles - they can be found and stashed away before 12th night is definitely, definitely up.

We don't want any bad luck this year. It's not like I'm superstitious or anything, but I don't do any washing on New Year's Day either.

Anyway, my near sleepless night went like this:
[twitter follower(s), please skip this bit, as you already know].

1.30am ... One soon to be ex-cat tearing around the house, demanding to be fed and her potty emptied, this would be more acceptable had I not done all this an hour earlier.

Roughly 3.00am ... The noise of several recycling boxes - thanks Amber Valley Borough Council for the crappy light weight, hold very little, flyaway plastic boxes - skittering down the street, stopping only briefly at obstacles - cars - got us both up. Grumpy went out and fetched our recycling back from the middle of the road. I opened the blind to watch the weather and we had a cuppa.

ZZZZzzzzzz.........zzz...............zz...............z ... we sort of dozed.

4.17am ... And I'm now wearing my very grumpy head ... An Asda lorry at their gate, waiting to be let in. The engine was running constantly. That stupid metal retaining wall they put in to hold back Pottery Lane reflects all the noise back to us.

4.59am ... They let the tw***ing lorry in, it took 23 minutes to unload then the next one arrived, at least it saved them opening the gates, closing the gates, opening the gates, closing the gates ... I should be grateful, but clearly I'm not.

7.35am ... Noisy arrival of the recycling lorry, they're up, everyone should be awake ... CRASH, clatter.

ZZZZzzzz.................zz.................z

8.30am ... Phone call - damsel in distress ... 'I didn't wake you, did I?' ... 'No' was my truthful answer. The damsel in question is grumpy's number 1 daughter, she'd got no lights and wanted grumpy to talk her through checking the problem. I left them to it and went downstairs in search of coffee ... hmm, that's where we keep it now is it? I put the kettle on - oooooh, it changes colour [blue to red] - and made something vaguely coffee coloured.

Back in the boudoir/electrical repair shop we drank our, ahem, coffee which had all the qualities of sludge ... a choccie bikkie helped it down and grumpy lied to me about how nice it was; and then informed me that the electrical problem was not solved, he'd go after breakfast.

This meant that poor little old me was left to struggle downstairs with ten emptyish boxes, de-Christmas the front room - kitchen already done, that only took 5 minutes - and haul the now full [ok, I only did two] boxes back up to await their final destination to the loft ... on my own.

This IS normal grumpy father practice - I mean, on the one hand ... it's the middle of the morning and a damsel in distress has no lights, and on the other hand ... a woman with no real sense and little spatial awareness is balancing precariously on a chair taking down Christmas decorations. Which would you choose?

Yes, you're correct, a grumpy father would choose his daughter every time. This is as it's meant to be and I'd be appalled if he'd made any other choice ... even though I am the one teetering with a duster - might as well give things a bit of a waft while I'm up here - and one foot prodding fresh air in search of something solid to stand on.

I must say at this point, if number 2 daughter had phoned her dad for assistance, he'd have been out of bed and up there like a shot ... this is not because she's favourite, but that she'd already have taken the fuses out [and probably the fuse box off the wall] and would be on the verge of poking something with a screwdriver. She is very much a 'do-it-herself' type [like me, funnily enough], the sort of person who'd buy something that was never meant to fit what she wanted it for ... but it was a bargain. She'd then make it fit with ... saw, hammer, screwdriver, cable, paint, you name it, she'd utilize it, and the end result is always a masterpiece. So therefore, if she asked for help, it would be - by now - urgent.

I'm reliably informed that this isn't only fathers and daughters, it's also fathers and sons. I have one friend who - happy to help out anyway - told me that if their son phoned for anything, the answer would almost always be 'yes'. The conversation could go something like this:

Son ... 'Dad, do you think you'd be able to ...?'
Mr Grumpy ... 'Yes.'
Son ... 'Thanks.'
Mrs Grumpy ... 'But that's when we're supposed to be ...'
Mr Grumpy ... 'It doesn't matter, we'll go on that once in a lifetime holiday next year, my son needs me ...'

Anyway, back to this morning in bed - drinking properly made coffee - my grumpy informed me that we - WE - had got a day off. I told him I'd got a BIG pile of ironing to do [more than eight items is a big pile in my book].

'Oh ... have you?' ... 'You're meant to offer to do it' ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 'I'll do it if you want me to' ... 'Go on then, but you'd better start now if you want to get finished before dark.' [I've witnessed him iron one shirt] ... 'Oh, hang on. I've got the roof to repair'.

Hence one grumpy old man on the street with his binoculars ...

The Straw That Broke This Camels Back

Fact

1. There is much activity in the unit next but one to Asda [next door to the post office].

 And rumours:

1. Netto in Langley Mill only leased their store, Asda has since bought the lease to stop competitors buying it.
2. There is going to be a bookies in the old Co-op/Potters building.

.....

Sunday 20th November:

Fairly normal day, then decided to watch a bit of rubbish on the telly - you know the sort I mean - it doesn't tax your brain but neither is anyone trying to impress me with their singing, dancing, skating, quick wit or imposing cleavage [got one]. Ergo Jackie Chan and The Medallion or some-such nonsense.

As films go it was mediocre but as I said I wasn't watching it to work out who-dunnit, because as ever in these films, it's always the English man what dunnit and they show him to us at the start, looking ever so evil and speaking with your oh so average cut-glass accent.

Anyway to make a long story even longer - well you don't have to read this - the film was ruined by the hum coming from - as I thought - an Asda chiller lorry waiting to be let in through the effin squeaky gates. It was louder than the telly - but this went on and on [a bit like this blog post really] for over two hours.

I eventually decided to go and have a wallow in the bath with my latest soggy book, as I couldn't in all seriousness sit in the living room any longer. My grumpy old man, bless him, decided that he'd go over to see what was happening.

It was not an Asda chiller lorry ... He saw a 'Kev' the night manager, he was - like all Asda staff we've spoken to - nice and polite and very, very apologetic. They must go on a 'cringing, I'm not worthy' course before being set on there ... note to self - Do not apply for a job at Asda, you're far too bolshy and argumentative.

Righto, this here thing making all the noise was a freezer container - delivered warmish - and was busy cooling down for all the frozen stuff to go in out of the main freezer. It should be much improved later when it was at the right temperature - this turned out to be utter garbage as the 'improvement' was worse. He was going to phone the manager and tell her that we'd complained and he was very, very, sorry.

Monday 04.20:
Yawn ... mutter, grumble, whinge, bleep, bleep wan**rs! ... After a greatly disturbed night with the noise and vibration, I gave up and decided to be awake and extremely grumpy. This mood went on for a considerable amount of time. I knew I'd got to be calm and as pleasant as it was possible for me to be when I went across to see Ms Asda, so I stomped around and kicked a few things to get it out of my system.

Showered, breakfasted and dressed ... 'ommmmm, ommmmmm' - getting there. The phone rang, I answered ... 'tinkly music', pause ... 'Hello' not a British accent ...
'Very nice bit of music' I replied, dripping with sarcasm and venom ...
'My name's Daniel Smith and I want -' ...
'Is it bol***s!  ... If your name is Daniel Smith, I'm Ali Mahatma Singe'.

And that was it, I was in a much better mood, I went to see Ms Asda. I passed grumpy on my way out and said 'I'm off' ... even though he saw and heard me, he didn't know where I'd gone, he searched the house before he cottoned on and followed ten minutes later.

I went in and asked for Ms Asda and gave my name. She was quite quick arriving, very pleasant and asked how I was ...
'Tired, I've been awake since 4.20 this morning and I don't need to be' ...

It seemed to come as a complete surprise that anything Asda-ish could possibly be at fault. They've never had noise complaints before [gasp, choke].
'Ah, well the problem is our main freezer looks like a grotto and so we needed the freezer container for the contents.' ...
There was more in a similar vein to what the 'Kev' told gumpy and it would be gone by Wednesday.

'Hmm I can live with that, as long as it's not going to be month after month or I will phone the council.' ...
'Oh no, there's no need for that, definitely Wednesday ... this week ... sometime.' ...
 
'And while I'm here and for at least the fifth time of asking, can you do something about the delivery yard gates?' ... Now this is where it pays to speak to the ACTUAL manager, rather than under-managers, night managers, men in finance, Scottish 'know it nots' or security men. It was seen to almost straight away, in fact a maintenance man was requested while I was still there.

I got out my list of other complaints - it was long and ranty and for my eyes only - 'Oh, and can you tell your night staff not to throw pallets about in readiness for a delivery ... midnight is usually the noisiest.' I did not admit that I'm usually still up for this delivery as I know it does wake other people up ... see, I can be thoughtful.

I also asked if it were at all possible to do something about the security light shining straight into our bedroom windows at the top end of the street ... this appeared to be unachievable, even though I have photographic evidence that the others must have been adjusted. I'm now wondering what reach a pocket sized catapult has got, maybe my grumpy will make me a folding, industrial sized one that I can attach to our front wall ... hmm, ammunition?

Anyway, all this complaining from moi has been a 'learning curve' - I do so like to be helpful - my telephone number was taken as a 'point of contact' ... yeah, I think it was chucked in the bin too, I will of course apologise on my blog if it hasn't. I will be phoned when the freezer container is going ... and, ahem, when we're likely to be disturbed again.

To be honest, the Asda manager couldn't really have been more helpful if she'd tried, but - as I write this - I'm very tired, stressed and in full grumpy whinging mode - as can also be seen from my 'tweets', where I'm once or twice, ahem, quite horrible ...

Monday was horrendous, ditto Tuesday, likewise Wednesday.

I 'twittered' all night Monday, just to myself as I have few followers. Tuesday I couldn't sit still, I was bouncing off the walls all day, but that night I eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. Wednesday I was up most of the night again 'twittering'.

Very early Thursday morning the container was moved by an Asda lorry front to the loading area to be emptied back into the main freezer. Then later another one moved it back so the driver could make his delivery. It's over ...

But it's not. I'm writing this bit the following Monday and I'm still vibrating where I touch the floor or seat - the computer is causing it now. I can't have a bath because I feel sea-sick when ours or next door's heating is on. I experienced the same thing last year just before HH was demolished, lovely. I remember it lasted quite a while. I have since done a little light research and it looks like I'm one of those prats who are affected by low frequency noise and vibration, just what I need.

And I'm still waiting for my phone call from Ms Asda, yeah you're right, she probably has got more important things to think about. So, until next time ...