Fatty McSlob


It’s hard to imagine those tiny arms we all used to have, that upper section without the swing…and the memory of having long legs in my youth. I think the rest of my body fell, or slid, down and stole almost a foot from my thighs!

I find myself ogling ornaments in shop windows – I always wanted to be a fairy. Sharp elbows and knees were once a part of me and would’ve looked fabulous in any enchanted wood, but even little folk must grow.

What happens to fairies when they’re 40? Do they balloon and swell too? Can their wings still carry them or do they have to join Weight-watchers? I mean, they’d have to do something wouldn’t they? A life with redundant wings, however pretty, and the worry of tatters through neglect must be traumatic. If it was me I’d consider amputation – desperate measures but I’d rather be grounded and happy than spend an eternity in the air, flitting between diets. It’s too late for me but you can save yourselves:

‘…increase Serotonin levels in the brain by taking 5-HTP supplements; include more water-rich, low-calorie foods like fruit, vegetables and soup; fidget, a lot to burn calories; exercise an hour after eating, it releases hormones that can suppress appetite; take 30 minutes exercise five times a week; a 20 minute break between 2 x 30 min exercise bouts burns more fat; short bursts of vigorous exercise and short breaks burns off more calories; run at a moderate pace for 5 minutes then speed for 2 min before slowing down again; do a physical activity in a normal routine, like stand on one leg to brush your teeth; the herb Hoodia, dampens appetite…’

I’m passing the baton. You all must have handy hints in the closets of your minds – get them off the shelves and take a good look. Otherwise that dark corner will leak out, come creeping after you with tentacles of Type2 Diabetes, clogged arteries and stroke you to death. Maybe it’s not too late. We could be softer versions without wings, graceful and secretive, flitting about new routines, exercising our minds and imaginations instead of putting everything off till that tomorrow that might never come. Even I could drag myself into 5 minutes exercise. I haven’t yet but I might.

I’ve never been a fairy, but was once a bumble bee on a pub crawl for charity.


I think I’m melting and will soon end up shaped like one of those little dolls with a rounded base – wibble-wobble. Everything is slipping down into my legs. Pretty soon I won’t be able to get up and walk around.

I think this means I need to get up and walk around now – right now. MOVE IT FATTY. Sometimes the fantasy of me setting off every day for a one-mile walk/stroll/drudge flashes into my head and I nod to myself. Yes, I’ll do it. It won’t be so bad, but then I have to go out for something, to the local shops, and slip onto the bus instead of walking the quarter-mile into town.

I think I should be imprisoned in a health farm. I need some kind of control device – does Ebay sell torture devices? It’s really just my bed and sofa that need electrifying. Hypnotism from my mountain might help. A nice red ray beamed into my flat every day at the same time would get me up and about.

I think I’m dying. One day I’ll explode and then I’ll be sorry I didn’t exercise and explore the area more – I mean there’s a lovely bench up near the loch. I could easily walk the quarter-mile there and sit all day, then walk back, averting my eyes from MacDonald’s (I don’t really like them anyway – it’s not my thing).

I think I’ll make tomorrow a red-letter day and hop on the scales. It’s a cheap set – what if I break them? Is there a weight limit? There’s a limit on my little kitchen steps and I’m over it, but I defy death and use them anyway.

I think I’m running out of options so am eating all the carbs in the house because I’m a canny Scot who doesn’t want to see anything go to waste. There’s still some mashed potatoes and white flour left (though that’s actually out of date – but who takes any notice of dates?).

I think I’m resigned to my fate. Oh dear.


Okay, I’m taking back the word fatty and wrapping myself in it, wholesale, ’til I don’t resemble it anymore. Someone asked me recently what shape I was – bell, pear, apple, stick, cylinder, triangle or square. I have to admit to apple, or perhaps orange is a much more concise description, in texture. We’re dealing in honesty here people, so let’s be having it. I’m a 5’2” albino (Glaswegian) orange, and the legs get sturdier by the minute.

I’ve been flat on my arse for the past three years, blogging, writing, and watching CSI. I sit for 8 hours at work in a comfortable black leather chair, sometimes just swinging round and round, contemplating the patterns on the Artexed ceiling, talking on the phone – it’s a wonderful life for a fat person with a lazy frame of mind and definitely on the right road to type2 diabetes, heart attack or straight-out death.

Watching movies like The Lord of the Rings, where the characters have to walk hundreds of miles, makes me happy to be alive in the 21st century. I wouldn’t want to be doing all that trudging around to get where I wanted to go. Thank the stars for the diesel engine. It pains me to think of all those miles I might otherwise have to walk… and my son and grandchildren live up the most enormous hill!

No, the diet has not arrived on my doorstep yet. Tonight there have been Magnum ice-lollies, and the shop had packs of sausage rolls for 10p so I had to buy them, didn’t I? I mean there are about ten in each pack. But, it’s coming soon – I know it. I pressed a finger into my shin yesterday and almost lost it. I’ve got grannies’ legs.

So, I should be back here next week to report that I’ve begun, or that I’ve fallen through the floorboards or someone’s stairs or just died in my sleep (in that case I’ll get my son to make the report). Don’t hold your breath, will you?


‘Lose weight and look great in 28 days!’ says my new video. I found it while prowling in the pound shop – three for a pound. So it was a must buy and will star amongst the several that have fallen into my lap recently, through no fault of my own. I haven’t played any of them yet. I tell myself that I’m waiting for space in my new flat. Can you really see me pounding the ceiling over my new neighbours? But, there doesn’t seem to be any bouncing involved here. This latest is called, Yogalates and the last one I bought is also Yoga. I think I might be able to manage that kind of stuff if I get into a nice kindof musical routine. I never listen to music these days and I do love it, but I’m not going to take any notice of the 28 day thing – I’ll just try and do my thing and see what happens, if anything.


Today there was broccoli, real green stuff, with chicken and instant mash. And later there was home-made soup, again with the vegetables BUT there was also cake and custard, and the day began with sausages followed by marshmallows. But there was still broccoli!


I am done in, triple
packs are a fact
of Farmfoods.

Chocolate fingers
ripple in waves

They’re in my bag!
Vibrating, shaking
their crispy wrapping.

There’s no escape
the kettle’s on.

I can’t count
the speed, my fingers
reach for another

and suddenly
It’s the tea.

If it wasn’t for tea
I’d be thin –
tea needs feeding.


Same old – same old. There has been no change in this patient – get the surgeon and chop off her stupid head.

Last night was awful because I woke up after only 90 mins sleep, with an attack of the dreaded acid reflux. It took another 90 mins and a pint of water for it to go, and then I gingerly attempted sleep in a sitting-up position. Of course 90 mins later I woke up to go to the toilet because of all the water I’d drunk! I still feel the residue of the acid. I pray that this is the final lesson and that I will get my will under my own control. This was because I had chocolate after work at 1.30 am. So SLAP-MY-FACE and keep the memory of last night in the immediate forefront of my mind.



I was sick this morning. No, not because I’m about to bring a child into the world but because I ate too much chocolate too late last night and Acid Reflux got me.

This is the last day of September, the end of any kind of warmth of the season. Maybe I should look upon this as an omen, a time of change. I’ve never allowed the condition to make me sick before and have always struggled to get control of the burning, waiting it out and drinking water. My chocolate addiction is killing me, but the question is, is it enough to make me stop and begin a healthier lifestyle?

I only got a couple of hour’s sleep, if that, last night and had to pile on the pillows twice to sleep sitting up and drive away the acid. It didn’t work this time and I got up at 8am. Well I stayed in bed and watched some drama on the laptop, drinking water and trying to calm down my digestive system. Half an hour later I raced to the bathroom to spew then spent the next hour trying to settle my stomach. When it gets to this stage the acid is in my lungs and I end up coughing it out for the next couple of days. Is this my gutter?

I’m going to read this book I bought in a charity shop last week and see if I can’t write my own story as a crutch or inspiration. Neris and India’s Idiot-proof Diet was written by India Knight and Neris Thomas. It’s their search for success in the fat life stakes.

Oh God. Is this where I strip down to a swimming costume and take side view pictures of myself? No, I’m definitely not doing the photos – no-one needs to witness that, not even me!

This is to prove that at one time I could fit on a mantlepiece! That’s when my body began to grow out of the size 12 and it was a short hop on to 14 and a range of diets, like: The Banana, Peanut-butter, Cabbage and every food fad imaginable. In the 80s, appearance was everything – there was even shoulder pads in jumpers!


No change this end of the scale, a year or two down the road. Now I am trying to shave off a little something in order to fit on a plane to Cyprus next month, but as it’s just a girly week with my oldest friend and her daughter it doesn’t seem to matter too much. I wish it did. Maybe when I return I might catch some inspiration and determination – but they’re slippery little buggers.


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