Inertia and Resolution

Today was my first day back at work and I have discovered that nine hour days are horrible. Ugh. Yesterday I was tucked up in bed until 2pm – today, I got up at 7. This work lark is not on, not on I tell you. Mind you, countdown has started on my leaving day and I won't have so far to commute, which = longer in bed (I haven’t told you I’m leaving? Gosh, sorry, how dreadfully rude – I have a shiny new job).

But all this talk of work is not why I am here. I am instead here to report on a horrific phenomenon. That phenomenon is the state of my body in swimwear. I foolishly gave the Granada costume another outing (see here to understand embarrassment of wearing Granada costume - last paragraph).

This time, however I added a few well placed knots to the ensemble, making it slightly more secure than before however rather less sightly (if that is possible) – it meant that the clasp at the back, which is supposed to be sitting where your bra strap would – i.e. on a par with your boobs – was hovering somewhere around my shoulder blades – helped in its attractiveness by the knots at the top of my shoulders being completely uneven and leaving the straps all twisted. Knotting shoulder straps, it would seem, is an exacting process, for which I have no talent.

Anyway, yes, I did foolishly wear said costume in public - in fact - I went so far as to wear GC (Granada Costume - keep up) on a public beach. But a very quiet public beach.

I would like to take this opportunity to point out that I do learn from some of my mistakes - I refrained from doing any sort of diving or such like in GC - so I'm not completely foolish (yes, I'm clutching at straws - but it's winter - where is a girl of abnormal proportions supposed to find a decent swimming outfit in winter - answer me that before you go rolling your eyes and saying you can see what's coming).
HOWEVER... disaster was soon to strike dispite my careful avoidance of diving activities. And that disaster was to be in the form of my mother...with her camera.
Oh god, the horror, the completely unsightly mess my mother produced by downloading the photos from her camera to the computer.

It is fact. I am god's palest being. I mean, the sand was white - and I still outshone it. I tell you, it is not what a bikini-clad person should look like. Or rather it is not the sort of look that should be cladding itself in a bikini.
One would be forgiven for mistaking me for a new as yet undiscovered species of two-trunked (very pale) tree. Oh god, the state of my legs. The state of everything. Horrific.

I have saved one of the pictures as a reminder of just how little one can achieve by gorging oneself on christmas dinner, all you can eat sausages and pancakes (goodness me they were delicious though) and a year of inert telly watching.

It is to be the basis for an as yet undecided New Year's resolution involving either limited food intake or unlimited exercise. I am currently fighting with myself over which is more achievable/enjoyable. So far neither are winning. (Do you think Hoodia really works)?