It’s come about quick but the end of this documentary is creeping up on us. As I write this blog it’s only eight days until I fly out to Dubrovnik in Croatia.
It says a lot that a lot of the things at the start of this programme which felt quite new and strange such as eating healthily and exercise have become the norm so I don’t really have that much interesting to tell you.
And that ladies and gentleman is what they call in the journalism word ‘hooking the reader in with the first couple of paragraphs’!
Actually come to think of it, I do have some stuff to talk about. Namely in the shape of clothing. Am I going to give you my top tips to look good this summer? Am I balls.
But I was trying some holiday clothes on which I bought for a trip to Mexico last October and was shocked and kind of pleased to find that most of them are too big for me.
I say pleased. I mean it shows how my body has changed since I plumped it up in Cancun, but it also means I had to go out and buy a load of new stuff for Croatia.
To demonstrate how I looked then, here’s a photo by Chichen Itza. One of the wonders of the world. I mean it’s good but there’s only so much excitement you can get from looking at a massive temple while sweating your nuts off.
The shorts I wore last year were a 36” waist and the other day I tried some on that were 32” and they fit me alright. I ended up buying the 34s though mainly because the 32s showed off too much errrr definition below my waist.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bragging about my junk but they were just tight bloody shorts. I realise that this is some of the most boring stuff I’ve written about in this blog, but it’s been a slow news week.
All in all, it’s good that I’m having to buy different clothes and I certainly feel more confident. I might even throw in a couple of cheeky vests. I’ve never been a vest man, but I’m packing more in there than a load of chest hair and moobs this year so why not.
In case you were worrying, they will be strictly for holiday purposes. I refuse to become one of those vest bellends you see at the gym or at worse, on a night out. I live in Leeds, not Marbella.
While we’re on the subject of shorts and what not I might aswell share a story from this week with you.
I was sat at home the other day playing computer games in my gym shorts, having not long got back from a training session when the door went.
You know as soon as the door goes in the day, you think it’s either two things charities or Jehovah’s Witnesses and tend to hide (as a disclaimer to this, I do charity work so I’m not panning them).
I answered the door to see a sweet old lady. Immediately she said: “I’ve got the wrong house”. I felt like replying: “Too bloody right you have because if you’re gonna tell me not to celebrate Christmas, you can do one. This gaff will be a bloody grotto come December.”
But no she wasn’t there to preach, she was looking for her friend and had the wrong house. All was well, then as she left she looked down at my prosthetic and said: “Oh and you’ve got a bad leg and I made you get up.”
Rather than educate this lovely lady on my ability to walk and indeed my new-found nimbleness thanks to my training, I joked:
“Yeah. It’s gonna take me half hour to get back to the sofa now.”
She didn’t laugh but I did ironically for about half hour after. Well least you got a decent anecdote from this blog if nothing else.
I’m on the final straight to Croatia now so I’m gonna cane it at the gym next week and lets hope my final weigh in and body fat measurements go well. Otherwise the joke will be firmly on me.