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Two weeks ago I had a car accident.  Nothing major — not for me, anyway (although maybe the motorcyclist who went tumbling from his bike might disagree) — but it did mean that last week I had to make do without my car while the motorbike-shaped dint in the passenger door was mended.  I won’t describe the incident although I’ll let you know who the insurance companies decide was at fault if/when I get my £250 excess back.

Why is this important?  Well, it isn’t, really.  Not on the grand scheme of things.  It did however mean that last week I had to walk a bit more than usual every day.  My fifteen-minute drive to walk was substituted with — on a good day — an hour’s walk/bus ride/walk/train journey/walk.  On one particularly bad day it was an hour and three quarter’s walk/bus/walk/sit waiting on cold train station the one day I didn’t wear a jacket/train/walk.  The plus-side of all this was that I got a bit more exercise than usual, and I managed to read the whole of Kevin Sampson’s book ‘Freshers’ (which, to be fair, was OK.  Nothing special — just OK).

I did however miss my Friday weigh-in as I spent my lunchtime collecting my car.  Today when I finally managed to weigh myself I found that the weekend’s excesses had undone all the good of my additional walking.  It may also have been something to do with the 1.5kg tin of chocolate biscuits a work colleague brought in last week (I conservatively estimate I ate about a third of the tin).

And even after an excessive day/night out on Saturday, I still thought I might have lost a bit of weight.  OK, so I drank somewhere in the region of fifteen pints, but on the flipside I only ate two slices of cheese on toast, a bag of nuts and a packet of quavers.  Unsurprisingly — given those combining factors — I vomited pretty much all of it up all over the bathroom floor at about ten o’clock.  So all things considered I thought I’d done OK.  And I’m not admitting to being bulimic either (or advocating bulimia as a weight loss tactic), I’d quite clearly had far too much to drink and not nearly enough to eat.  Yet again I found my Saturday night coming to a premature and embarrassing end; this time however I can’t blame weight loss.  I’ve stayed at 18st 8lbs for three weeks now, and I really need to do something about it.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m going to have to start exercising.  Last week I played 5-a-side football on Wednesday night — something I’m planning to do every week throughout the winter.  That should help.  I might also have to go for a jog.  And I really really fucking hate jogging.  I need to be far healthier than I have been so far.  I just need to do better, basically.

My next weigh-in will be Friday, by which time I guarantee I’ll have lost some weight.

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