The astute among you may notice two lines in the above chart.  The black line represents my weight.  The white line represents a straight line that — on the full graph, only a snippet of which I’ve included above — runs from my starting weight of 120.2kg to my target weight of 108kg on April 9th.  You may also note that the black line is higher than the white line.  This means I’m behind my target.  And I’ve no-one to blame but myself.  Well, I could arguably blame the girl next to me at work who, whilst cold on Wednesday, made the (bizarre, when you think about it) announcement that the only thing keeping her warm was eating biscuits.  I said, “I’ll go and buy some more biscuits at lunch then,” and returned later with four packets of biscuits.  Jam and Custard Jammy Dodgers (disappointing), Pink Wafers (retro), Chocolate and Hazelnut Cookies (indulgent), and the aforementioned Chocolate Hob Nobs (classic).  I then proceeded over the course of the remainder of this working week to eat about half of them.

What's the point putting a copyright watermark in a picture of some fucking pink wafers?

In my last blog I think I might have foolishly said I was going to come up with sort of routine.  I haven’t, unsurprisingly.  But I might do.  I probably won’t though.  Although I should, really.  I have some weights gathering dust on the bedroom floor (although technically they stop my guitar falling over; they’re not just gathering dust), so I should probably put them to use.  I’m going to try a short, gentle jog in the next week or so, and see how the knee holds up, so watch this space for another predictable blog about me shitting up my knee.  Every day this week I’ve been for a short(ish) walk at lunchtime, so fingers crossed the knee is getting a bit stronger.

So, not a lot of progress on the dieting front, but I’ll be good this week, I swear.  By next Friday I’ll make sure the black line is below the white line.  It make shock you to learn that I’ve done a bit more writing on the novel, and I think I’ve closed an annoying and problematic plot-hole.  I just need to get into a routine of writing an hour or so a day, I think.  325 days to go until my thirtieth birthday deadline.

I’ll sign off, for no real reason, with a picture of Gemma Atkinson.  

I could take her or leave her, me.

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NYR#1v2 (going from an obese 120kg to a just ‘overweight’ 108kg)

At my weekly weigh-in today I found I’d lost another 0.8kg.  (You may have noticed I’m referring to my weight in kilos.  This is because it feels less shameful writing 118.5kg than it does 18st 9lb, even though, on the flip side, losing 0.8kg — or 800g — sounds quite pathetic.  Essentially I am a man of twenty-nine years and 6 feet 4 inches who feels embarrassed to be on a diet and be celebrating losing the equivalent weight of a large poo.)

I have an all-singing all-dancing spreadsheet, which actually neither dances nor sings but instead allows me to graph my weight loss against a linear ‘target’ line starting at 120.2kg on 04/01/10 and sloping down to 108kg on 09/04/10.  I am currently a gnat’s cock below (i.e. better than) my target.  When the graph starts to look slightly more impressive (e.g. some space opens up between the two lines, or the weight loss line starts to trend tragically and enivitably northwards) I might even let you have a gander.  Something to look forward to there, eh? 

I’ve decided this week that I need to introduce some kind of routine against which I can measure myself, inspired by but not wanting to imitate this page from FHM.com (well done to any men who manage to scroll past the image of Lucy Pinder to the actual text).  But anyway, I’m going to come up with a routine and try and stick to it.  If I can be arsed.  Then, I’ll, you know, blog about it when I fuck up.

Lucy Pinder: You could play with them all night long and never touch the same bit twice

NYR#2 (finishing my novel)

Nothing to report.  Well, I had an idea today, but I’ve not written anything and I’m not sure if it was a good idea or not.

Spangly new blog bits

A couple (well, OK, just the one) of people (person) have asked if they can subscribe to the blog so they get an e-mail informing them (him) that spacemonkeygaz.com has been updated with a blog and their day is about to get fractionally better (worse).  You may or may not at all want to click on the “subscribe by e-mail here” link in the top right hand corner of the blog, under the “Search the archives” box and above the “the world is your lobster” (a Peter Kay gag from Phoenix Nights, if you were wondering) box, and enter your e-mail address if you want.  Or don’t.  Whatever.

Peter Kay as Max the bouncer in Phoenix Nights

Now, I’m not very good at the technical aspects of blogging.  (You could of course argue that I’m not much good at the actual writing bit of it either.)  I have tried to add a little doobry that allows you to tick a box when making a comment at the bottom of a post, which notifies you if/when someone else comments after you.  This may or may not be of interest, but if anyone fancies leaving a comment then please let me know if it gives you an option to be notified.  I hope that all made sense because I really can’t be arsed to read it again.

Be good.

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            WHITE NOISE

            I go to see Ray because he calls and asks me to meet him.  He says he’s had a meeting with the record company and they want to call the album White Noise, which I tell him I like.  Ray shows me potential covers for the album, and the one we both agree on is of a white-coloured white noise sound-wave on a black background, with WHITE NOISE written in lower case red lettering on the cover.  JACK SMITH is written in very, very dark grey at the bottom of the cover, which I like because it’s understated.  Ray says he knew I’d say that.

            We then move on the subject of the CD single artwork, and after some heated debate I just tell him to do what he wants.  He says that’s convenient because the finished design has already been sent out.  As I’m leaving he simply winks and says “Sex sells”.  When I get home I just pace around the house for no reason at all other than I can’t relax.  I check my e-mails and notice straight away I’ve got one from Samantha saying she loves the album.  I hear her soft voice in my head as I read every word of her e-mail, as she reviews every single track.  She says her favourite three songs are—in no order—Happy Ending, Everyone Knows You’ve Been Screwing Around (Except Me) and White Noise (probably my top three as well, in that order).  She says she loves “the anger” in those songs, and says she nearly cried during Wish You Were Dead.  She says the album is bound to be a huge hit.  I smile as I read it but I wonder how honest she’s being.  I’ve heard it all before.

            It takes me nearly two hours to reply—I deliberate over every single word in the e-mail and wonder how she might construe it, and if it sounds good, or if it sounds stupid, and I wonder why I care so much.  I type her name into Google and look at some pictures of her.  Then I make sure to delete my history and temporary internet files.  Kate has to work late, and when she gets home I’m asleep on the sofa.

LAST week we gave you the exclusive news that stunner SAMANTHA LOUISE was to star in the new Jack Smith music video, Plastic Woman.  Our snapper was on hand to catch an exclusive shot of the couple leaving a posh London bar on Monday night. 

An onlooker said, “There was definitely a spark between the two.  Samantha looked gorgeous, and Jack—well, he’s a lucky guy!”  He sure is.

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