More exercise related worries
After the near brush with death that was cycling, the other half now has a new pet passion. Canoeing.
He has purchased a 15 foot, bright yellow one that resembles a genetically mutated banana and could prove just as hazardous to the health.
After inflating the thing in the living room (regardless of surrounding furniture, pets etc) I was forced to assume the position (IE actually sit in it), which is all very well if you are a slim creature but it did not leave any space for my sizeable thighs and behind.
I was firmly wedged into it, no chance of sliding out during a particularly hazardous stretch of white water.
Next step was to locate a piece of water to actually practice on (not easy as Matlock appears to be strictly patrolled and controlled by different groups intent on staking their rights to the water)
Finally found a secluded stretch to practise our exhilerating (terrifying) new hobby.
Quickly discovered my paddling was completly out of kilter with the more athletic mans, hence we appeared to rotate almost in a circle.
I was banned from paddling entirely then. Sulked.
Occasionally soaked by the over enthusiastic paddling of the partner, arms aching from unaccustomed exercise, looking a right lemon in life jacket and terrified of irate landowners coming out and laying down the law I was more than a little uncomfortable with the new water based past time.
Especially as exasperated voice from behind me kept chanting "left, right, left" in an effort to help me co-ordinate my paddling as if I was a raw recruit in the Navy.
Nevertheless I must admit I was totally hooked by the whole experience and will be doubtless be seen frequenting a stretch of water near you shortly, albeit with a continous dialogue of instructions emitting from the back of the canoe.
Published Date:
24/06/2007
Modified Date:
24/06/2007
summer sun . . .
As the heavens opened and the rain gushed forth, I for one have to admit I relished the torrential downpours that have been drenching us right, left and centre for the past week.
Not because I particularly like the rain or enjoy being soaked to the skin but for the rather pathetic reason that as long as the sun stays away, I do not have to wear any revealing summer clothes.
Not for me the racks of bottom skimming, thigh flashing, arm baring, skimpy summer items. I gravitate towards the neck to ankle length kaftans, the shapeless baggy tunics and the all encompassing beach sarongs.
It is not that I do not like the tiny clothes designed for those with whippet like legs and washboard stomachs, I do yearn to be able to fit more than one leg into a size eight.
However I am currently engaged in an epic battle with the bulge.
I live in fear as the dreaded summer months approach.
The sunshine and sandy beaches mean just one thing. The one word that has me scuttling to the cupboard in search of solace in the form of shortbread fingers and squirty cream. BIKINI.
That infernal invention that comprises bits of string and offers postage stamp sized coverage.
It is all wrong for those of us who can name and own all the body’s problem areas – muffin tops, saddle bags, love handles, pot belly and bingo wings. (If you know what they mean then you are with me on this one).
I have been making small inroads into the complex (and painful) arena of exercise in the past months.
From step classes to squash, swimming to bike riding, you name it, I have tried it, found a reason I didn’t like it and given it up.
The only muscles that really get a work out are the ones in my jaw it must be said.
Published Date:
20/06/2007
Modified Date:
20/06/2007
bike riding, also known as torture
Ah bike riding, one of those simple pleasures from childhood that you look back at with fondness and rose tinted glasses, bringing up images of endless sunny days, bottles of pop and suntanned legs (famous five style) . .
Reality (as experienced on Sunday)
Trussed up in the most uncomfortable clothing know to mankind including a big plastic lump of plastic helmet and some lycra pants with padding between the legs that makes you feel like you are wearing a nappy (meant to stop painful chaffing etc but fails miserably)
One large, multi geared bike (with man seat) equals one whimpering excuse for a woman, hardly daring to take her feet off the floor for fear of hideous injury.
One, (much) more experienced other half, watching with growing concern, disgust and amusement at aforementioned feeble attempts, urging me on with encouraging remarks such as "For goodness sake put your feet on the pedals" and "I though we would start off gently with a ten mile ride" . . .
As we rolled down an incline at hidous speed the fear really kicked in as I vainly tried to keep control of the metal menace, wavering all over the road as if I had consumed my own body weight in vodka.
Small children looked on in pity as I whinged and whimpered my way along the pavement, occasionally letting out shrieks of mammoth proportions as I swung towards parked cars, motorists and other dangerous objects.
The other half trailed aloing behind shouting instructions on how to use the ten milllion gears on the bike, twist it towards you, twist it back, use the left one for this and the right one for that . . . (not realising that my brain was frozen with total blind panic)
By now (five minutes in) sweat was collecting in the helmet and starting to make the stupid thing rub my head, the seat was causing the most evil pain imagainable and i WANTED TO GO HOME.
But no, we were having FUN (other half goes on 25 mile rides for a laugh)
Then came narrow lanes full of brambles, nettles and other stinging creations of nature, ideally positioned to whip my knuckles and flay my poor legs.
Then a few hills, by which time I was exhausted (15 minutes in) and almost crying wth pain.
Finally after a million miles (five) and chance encounters with cows I was allowed to go home.
Two days later and I ache in every part of my body and I flinch in terror at the sight of lyrca, but already my mind is painting over the bad bits and telling me how lovely it is to roll through the dales countryside, enjoying the weather.
No doubt I will be saddling up again shortly . . .
Published Date:
19/06/2007
Modified Date:
19/06/2007
Primark
Righty ho, been doing some serious blog issues lately, felt it was all getting a little heavy so have decided to devote some column inches to that bastion of the high street, PRIMARK.
Previously the place to shop only in the cover of darkness or wearing shades and a wig, purveyors of shapeless knitwear and granny pants, but low and behold the marvellous transformation within the last year, like a caterpillar into a butterfly it has blossomed and grown..
Yes Primark got cool, even my stick thin trendy sister will now be seen dead in there (before I used to have to drag her kicking, screaming and threatening dire retributions )
It is the only shop you can truthfully tell your other half that you ONLY spent £30 (but that you bought the entire shop for that . .)
I have found my shopping nirvana.
Being at heart a slovenly slob I have always refused to pay more than £3 for anything and so picture my delight to find I can now indulge my twin passions of shopping and frugalness under one roof!!!!
Primark evokes a supermarket shopping mentality, ohhhh it is so cheap I can have three . . . marching down the aisles of knitwear and handbags, lobbing them in the basket as if they were tins of beans . . .
Sadly, some so called celebrities have now been pictured wearing items from the shop, (like they can't afford to shop elsewhere) so inevitably the prices will go up, leaving us with less than glamourous wages to find yet another cheap alternative to help alleviate our consumer desires.
Right, I am off to stroke my collection of cheap handbags.
Published Date:
17/05/2007
Modified Date:
17/05/2007
Reduced to tears
Today I decided to attempt to get a mortgage quote.
I say attempt because the whole process quickly descended into total farce.
Question from adviser: Have you been saving a deposit?
Me: Errrr yes
Adviser: How much?
Me: (sheepishly) £500?
Adviser (amid muffled laughter) I suggest you go onto our online calculator which can tell you exactly how much you can borrow (loser . . .)
Me: Thanks (for nothing)
So online I go to the aforementioned calculator of the net worth of my life.
Fill in relevant sections . . . we can lend you £0 for £0 of the property value. Does this help you to purchase your home? . .Erm NO!
Must have filled it in wrong, try again . . .we can lend you £10,000, does this help you to buy your home? . . . (are you taking the mickey? . . it won't even get a mortgage on a garden shed)
Result, despondant, still homeless 28 year old buys lottery ticket and crosses fingers. . .
Published Date:
16/05/2007
Modified Date:
16/05/2007
mast change
Regardless of what else is in the Mercury this week, I wonder how many people have actually noticed that the mast head has reverted back to its old colour.
We have gone back to red . anyone spotted it? Any thoughts on it?
There was general outcry when the trusty old title went black, what are the thoughts on the new design?
Does it reflect the tone of the paper? Is it too bold? Send your opinions to the paper, get your voices heard!!!
And comment comment comment. That is the idea of the new website, to encourage interaction with the readers, to get you all involved.
We want your thoughts, ideas and views, good bad but please no ugly . . . .
Published Date:
10/05/2007
Modified Date:
10/05/2007
Election aftermath
I was there, I reported on it and now I sit back and wait to see what happens next.
I am of course talking about the recent District and parish elections.
Very little changed in the political composition of the district council, one seat changed hands.
It was at the parish level that I found the results more interesting.
Wirksworth now has a green voice on the town council in the shape of Josh Stockell.
Mr Stockell received 504 votes, just four less than one conservative candidate.
Is this a sign that voters are finally turning their thoughts to the environment or are they just fed up wth the other parties?
Who knows, but one thing is sure, green issues will feature prominantly in Wirksworth council decisions from now on and that is no bad thing in my mind.
We all know the mantra reuse, recycle and reduce but how many of us really do?
If more green votes means more green minded councillors then we may well see more hard line environmental policies comig down and change can be violently resisted by some.
Where I live in Amber Valley the District council introduced fortnightly rubbish collections to cut down on waste.
The outcry was unbeliveable, you would have thought they suggested a 100 per cent tax hike or something equally reprehensible rather than an attempt to bring in more green thinking.
Residents complained about maggots, overflowing bins, human rights . . . yet nearly two years down the line the council are hitting government recycling targets, the world has not ground to a halt and we can be smug in the fact that we are doing our little bit to save the earth.
Change can be painful yet it is necessary in this day and age of rampant consumerism and throw away commodities.
We all have to embrace it and I for one hope that Josh Stockell, while still one solitary voice in the wilderness at present, will soon be a resounding bellow in the ear of the district council.
Published Date:
10/05/2007
Modified Date:
10/05/2007
Fluffy pests . . .
Right then, if the sports editor is at it then so am I, blogging that is . . .
I, Colleen, along with Sports Ed Rob and uber reporter Richard Woolley, currently form the small yet select crew at the Matlock Mercury office.
We provide you, to the very best of our abilities, with the latest news and views from around the beautiful Derbyshire Dales.
Aside from that however, I endulge in a variety of ill thought out past times, the most time consuming, frustrating and painful one being windsurfing.
I drag my windsurfing kit up to Carsington on every windy day I can find. To duly sit, stranded in the middle of the reservoir until rescued. I am virtually on first name terms with the rescue boat crew.
However, on one such windy day last month, after unearthing my kit after winter, I unfurled my brand new sail to find three large nuts rolled out of it.
Slightly bemused I carried on nevertheless until it came to putting my mast on, I then descovered that fluffy pests, also known as squirrels, had chosen to nest over winter in my rolled up sail.
The flurry blighters had not only shoved their nuts in there but had also chewed off my mast ribbon to make nice, fluffy bedding.
Cursing them to high heavens I was forced to pack up and go home, with the hysterical laughter of the water sports centre staff ringing in my ears.
Published Date:
03/05/2007
Modified Date:
03/05/2007