Where did it all go wrong? This week I should be laid oot on a sunbed perfecting my tan by an aquamarine pool, sippin’ a cocktail and thinkin’ o’ you peer folkies back in Aiberdeen as the autumn weather kicks in.
Tonight, after a delish meal in oor posho hotel (we’re spikkin 4-stars), ootski for a dander roon picturesque Puerto Polensa in Majorca.
Me particularly stunning in a new, floaty dress from Next, bought thanks to my two-stone drop in weight. With my also newly-svelte pal, we sashay into a trendy beach-side bar.
Who suddenly appear at oor table to proffer champagne? Two Paul Newman and Robert Redford lookielikey widowed millionaires. Back o’ the net!
If only… Instead, courtesy of Covid, I’m still here, my Majorcan dream dashed.
But now come true confessions – dinna tell a soul – I’m actually hugely relieved it all went pear-shaped. You see, I’M still pear-shaped.
As a dieter, like Boris Johnson’s rules to beat the pandemic, I’m one step forward and two steps back.
When I set aboot slimmin’-doon (that’s a Woke-wye to say: lose four stone) towards the end of May, it all seemed so simple.
The doc advised taking it slow and steady, maybe just a pound a week; less chance of yo-yo-ing back up. So I sank my beloved Anchor butter, ta-ta’ed tatties, cursed custard slices, cheerio’ed cheddar.
Wowser. Seven pounds down in two weeks. This was going to be pimps.
I could almost hear the words: “Mo, yer awa’ tae a shadow.”
Except… I suspect most of that seven pounds was water I was, mystifyingly, retaining.
Since then, yes, I’ve lost a stone. But spik aboot slow-goin’.
I know I shouldn’t weigh masellie every morning, but I canna resist. Especially having ensured every liquid and solid is expunged first… if you get my drift.
But oh the agony of the ups and the doons. Me with nae a clue why.
In an effort to fathom the mystery, I went on to a Facebook site where worldwide fatties reveal their secrets.
Mind-blowing statistics like: “Eleven stone since January.” This year!
Another: “Forty-nine weeks, 10 stone. And no exercise!” They’re havin’ a laugh. More to the point, are they still alive?
Then they photograph, in delectable detail, their meals for the week.
My hungry eyes boggle. While I sup a suppie porridge and nibble a lettuce leaf, they display mooth-waterin’ breakfast feasts of bacon, eggs and hash browns.
Lunches and suppers of platters overflowing with mash, meat and gravy. Choccie puds.
Always their tag-line: “My meals yesterday – and still lost three pounds.”
Here’s my comment: “I gained the same just lookin’ at them!”
Dangers of strangers
I suspect Nicola Sturgeon has made a rod for her ain back. Her new Covid protection rule – stopping all of us from having visitors in our homes or visiting others – is outrageous to the point of being downright dangerous.
I can’t have my daughter pop in for a cuppie, or me to her. But we can meet up in a cafe or pub, surrounded by strangers, who are might even be Covid-carriers. My son and daughter-in-law can no longer come to my hoosie with a takeaway, but we can all trundle to a restaurant to take oor chunces among the other, unknown diners.
Don’t tell me Ms Sturgeon’s beloved mum doesn’t feel safer and more protected from the virus behind her own front door, than oot and aboot with dozens of eaters and drinkers. Just like all of us of a certain age, who are still nervous about mingling with strangers. Yet now, to be with our loved ones and friends, she’s forcing us out. The complete opposite of the original lockdown. Why? Because experts reckon public eating and drinking places are more hygienic than our homes. What guff!
I’m sure the majority of older folk will be as appalled as me at the cock-eyed logic of it all. And we haven’t forgotten the shocking admission by the SNP’s Angus Robertson last week, when he linked the deaths of the elderly to a “gain” for independence. Well, Gussie loon, hopefully we’ll all live long enough to teach you a life-changing lesson.
Brian could still win that Emmy for role
Sorry to see Dundee’s Brian Cox pipped at the post for best actor at this week’s Emmys by his co-star in Succession, Jeremy Strong.
Both were brilliant in a cracker of a show, which also won best drama series. It’s about a Scots-born newspaper tycoon and his family (surely not the Murdoch mannie!)
Dundee played a starring role in one of the episodes.
With a third season about to be made, ticky-bets oor Brian could win that Emmy yet.
This article originally appeared on the Evening Express website. For more information, read about our new combined website.