Week 1: Life in Blogland

Week 1

Being Good;

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I went swimming twice this week, the first time achieving 30 widths of the pool (4 breast-stroke to 1 front crawl). The second time I completed 40 widths (same ratio) and also spent an hour in a blissfully empty gym cycling. I believed I had done very well until I realised that the entire hour I was cycling a flat. The machine was broken and so couldn't do hills. To compensate I jumped in the walker and nearly died after one minute. Clearly there is a long way to go.

Being Bad;

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I failed on both my tasks this week. I had a bought sandwich, almost without thinking of it. On the day of the marvelous exercise too. It was raining, and I only went in to the shop for a drink. I have also eaten chocolate. To my shame I have twice been caught out by the advertising campaign for Cream Eggs. They may be gone in a couple of weeks, but I say good riddance to them. They also happened to be on special offer so both times I bought two. I had hoped this would be cathartic. Long way to go for that too I see.

So no progress this week, and plenty to do next week. I swear that time is my biggest enemy. Either I have too much time, in which case I get bored and eat, or I don't have enough time, in which case I don't go to the pool.

Life in Blogland

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I started this separate blog thinking that my attempts at changing into a thinner happier person would be of interest to a different set of people. And much to my great disappointment I have had a grand and impressive total of just two views in a week. It saddens me because whenever you start one of these you have this picture in your head of being read by hundreds of supporting fatties trying to gain inspiration from your ordeal. You also imagine being read by thin people who wander across your site by accident and find themselves drawn into your life through a passionate heartfelt story and a strong persuasive narrative. Imaginings, however, are just that. My egotistical dreams are in fact the dreams of an untalented, unremarkable and very ordinary individual who for just one moment felt the fluttering feather of optimism waft nonchalantly under his narcissistic nose.

The truth as any average blogger knows is that no-one will read my musings. Well I say no-one, but what I mean is that no-one other than a few very close loved ones whom I will tell personally that is. Although even that is not totally true either.

The fact is that there is a trick to blogging. To get readers, not only do you have to say something funny or fascinating, not only do you have to get lucky and get on the front page of the WordPress dashboard, but you also have to scout around for similar articles from other prospective writers and leave them comments.  Something I had been doing quite innocently when my simple blog was on MySpace but since I have been here, I must not have done enough.

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WordPress has a habit however of polarizing writers and placing commenters them into two camps. You are either pro the writer and what they stand for, or you are against the writer. If you are against the writer, you will be lambasted by other commenters with long vitriolic statements arguing that you are being thoughtless, unappreciative and what the hell are you doing reading this blog anyway. The fact that you merely stumbled across it by accident and it provoked you to comment (surely a good thing even if the commentary is negative) doesn't matter. If you don't agree then butt out, except don't butt out completely because my comments tally has risen from 40 to 150 in just one week.

If however you do agree, and are lucky enough to have said something suitably supportive and witty, then you get the "Thanks for your comment, Hope you continue reading" return, and you also may be honoured with a returning visit, and perhaps, please God for everything that is good in heaven, a reciprocal comment!

All that however is just as a preface for the fact that I have been reading blogs this week. Blogs specifically about fat and fatness.

I had intended this to be my very own personal journey, and I still intend it to be exactly that, but I have realised there is so much more to talk about.

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Firstly, Fat Acceptance. This is a stunning movement and I can't deny that I was gob smacked when I discovered it floating about in the electronic ethers. As a random reader you may not entirely understand the full meaning of fat appreciation. Indeed I suspected it was merely thinking that fat isn't the disgusting and immoral, repugnant stereotype of lard arse laziness we are lead to believe it is by the world of fashion magazines, health clubs and dietary product manufacturers, but now I realise it means so much more.

http://pinstripebindi.wordpress.com/2009/06/16/these-are-both-the-dumbest-and-the-most-offensive-ads-ive-ever-seen-kudos-jerkface-yogurt-company/">

Now I want to tell you that I personally find larger women more attractive. I like that body shape for many reasons, such as younger puffier looking faces, curvier bodies, and more coy and empathetic characters. Yes, I appreciate this is a stereotype too, but the truth is that we are guided by what we enjoy visually first and foremost, before we get the opportunity to interact properly with a prospective partner.

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However, I have never ever pretended that these, in my humble opinion, sexier women are healthier than their thinner counterparts like some of the Fat Acceptancists do. To me it seems absolutely obvious that we are not supposed to have the kinds of excess of weight that I myself carry. I have always felt like a thin guy wearing a life vest, and whilst I am comfortable with this, I am also aware that without the vest on, I could run faster for longer and keep up with my fiancée's kids better, not be so out of breath-taking the shopping up the stairs and so on.

I have read argument after argument about how fat may protect you from certain diseases, giving you a bigger and therefore stronger heart etc, but despite all these wonderfully scientific ideas, I couldn't get past the blatantly obvious fact that fat... is fat. It is unnecessary excess, that we keep and store for an emergency, although god knows what emergency I am storing for, because I suspect I could last longer than a camel in a desert!

Now I'm all for promoting fatness as a lifestyle choice, I'm even prepared to give the "big-boned" brigade a little rope, and I am very happy to see more images of fat people on TV and in magazines, especially with an ever-growing population of fatties and a child eating disorder problem. I personally wouldn't buy from an online shop unless it has suitably sized models showing off its clothes. Lets not kid ourselves however, lets appreciate that we may be happy being who we are, but we are not how we should ideally be, and we really shouldn't be going around saying we're healthy. I know that this is not the position of some of the Fat Acceptancists, but there were enough out there for me to feel justified in commenting.

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The issue of whether our fatness matters, whether personal obesity is a societal "problem" or not, is up for very strong debate. For my part I see my potential for healthcare issues as being no more serious than other people for drinking, smoking, skiing, or doing the hundreds of other stupid things people do. I pay my taxes and so therefore deserve to be medically treated based on my personal choices. I can't abide the doctors and nurses who refuse to treat someone because of their weight. Who are they to pass judgement on me or others. What difference does it make to their day if they are dealing with me or someone else. They still get paid the same.

In the words of Nelson, before he lost his arm probably, "STFU and get on with it me-laddo!".

There are far more patients in hospital because of drinking related issues than there are fatties, but you don't hear ER doctors screaming I don't want to treat him because he'll only be down the pub next week.

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The issue as to whether I am healthy however, is not in question. I am not, just like the skateboarder who is likely to break a bone, I am more likely to suffer from heart disease or asthma or one of the many things that fat people suffer from.

I was also surprised at the amount of failed attempts people have made to do exactly what I am trying to do. I have heard the phrase food addiction be used often by these bloggers in an attempt to confront their own personal demons. I commend them all for trying, but worry that food addiction, whilst it is something I can very much relate too, isn't another way to blame something else rather than facing our problems. Perhaps not, after all at places like Alcoholics Anonymous, don't they suggest you admit your addiction first and foremost.

I did come across one site however.

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http://adipositivity.my-expressions.com/index.html

A simple site worthy of note I felt. There are a few sites doing something similar, I understand, but this was the one I came across. It promotes fatties in all their glory, and shows how sexy the female form really is. It's not pornographic in any way, but it is quite simply elegant and very sexy. I encourage you to look and hopefully it will provoke you positively as it did me.

Too many Funerals

I have been to two tragic funerals recently, and both have upset me in different ways.

The first one was of an elderly lady. She had lived a long and exciting life, working at The Mirror Newspaper, and travelling around the world. She was an inspirational lady even if she could talk the hind legs off a donkey.

I met her first in my cab. I had had a particularly good day (around christmas). Our local radio station had put on a prize for the best christmas lights, and the town had responded exuberantly. As Mrs Douglas jumped in the car, I told her how much it would be to take her home, but would she like to look around the houses at no extra charge. She did and we laughed ourselves silly at the many displays.

About 6 months later I answered an unusual request to help someone move. It's the kind of job that takes a long time, but doesn't pay well, so the other drivers left it. I was still relatively new however and hadn't realised the full extent of the job. It turned out to be Mrs Douglas, and I instantly recognised her. The job was long and fruitless, but we didn't care so much.

Over the next 6 months we became great friends, but she had planned a move further east, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before she left for good. My parents also became good friends of her during this time though, and when she finally did leave, we all kept in touch with the occasional visit and regular very very long phone calls.

Over the New Years period she contracted an infection which spread across her body. She died in late February.

In March I went to her funeral. It was held in a crematorium in Reading. Only 6 people attended. Only one family member. One lady who was there had never met Mrs Douglas in person, but had been paid regularly over the last 12 years to put flowers on Mrs Douglas' parents grave. The one family member was a distant cousin who lived in the north of Scotland.

I felt so angry with her. I didn't know what to say or do, but after the funeral I found myself crying my eyes out for her. For the waste that had been her life.

Yesterday I went to another funeral. A young lady, only 31 years old passed away last week to the shock of her friends and family.

I knew Miss Kellaway when she was little. We used to throw big family parties, and play charades and trivial pursuit. She was always smiling and entertaining.I have an affinity to children, they mostly see me as a climbing frame as a rule. She did not. This young lady was incredibly well-behaved and polite, and took her time to get to know me. She was always involved and I liked her a lot. I didn't know her as she grew up, but I learnt she had no children, and although she was very attached to her partner, they had not married. I guess they just never got round to it.

The funeral was well attended at one of our local churches, the coffin was placed in the middle of the church before eventually being carried off to the crematorium. Her partner tried his best to read a touching poem, but was too grief-stricken to get the words out properly. Her father had written a beautiful eulogy but he too didn't have the composure to read it. As the priest took control, the whole congregation could feel the immense despair in the words.

Once again I cried, as did everyone around me.I have been to a few funerals now, many more funerals than weddings. This was by far the most personal and touching.

I was heartened to know that so many people will be thinking of her and her family as I have been today.

For my own part, I have come to some stark conclusions. Firstly I don't want to die old and alone. I know how tragic it may seem to my parents and loved ones, but I would rather die younger (not yet obviously).

Secondly, I want to be harvested. I am a humanist at heart, and believe that there is enough great beauty in this world. One of the tragedies of life here on earth, however is the inequality we all suffer. I have been lucky enough to be born here, in a decent secure stable country. I have also been born with a relatively healthy body, which I have learnt to abuse. I do feel a debt to the community I live in however, and so wish to be harvested for educational purposes or transplant. I'd rather not live in a jar, but if that's what happens then so be it.

Finally I want anyone attending my funeral to be wearing the silliest thing they possibly can, and should anyone turn up with respectable funeral clothing, then they should be given a pair of long plastic clown shoes and a big glowing red nose. I know that people could be grief-stricken, but I want them to remember this moment with a warm smile. I want them to be turning to the person next to them and chuckling. I want my final last joke to be on them.

I know that people who know me, would get the joke.

To my two friends, I salute you. You have moved onto our memories, our dreams and our stories, where all the sadness disappears and only the funny and remarkable remain. You have both been funny and remarkable, and will be well-remembered.  You have both made a difference to my life, perhaps the only truly glowing honour.

My Fat Truth

I am 5'5'' and weigh nearly 19st (266 lbs). I am 39 years old with a life expectancy of 55. I am morbidly obese, and have been since I was 20.

I am plenty of other things too, I am a particularly good loser for example. I can juggle with three balls. I am good at recognising bits of music, especially from the 80's. This blog however is about Me and my relationship to FAT.

I know there are many people out there who would probably look at me in disgust. Who would suggest I am wasting my opportunities. Who think I am a failure. In time I intend to really get to grips with what they have to say. I actively encourage your comments. I would be surprised if there is anything I haven't already heard, but please go ahead. Make me your vent if you will. Right now though I want to make my admissions.

There are many reasons for my weight. Literally hundreds that I have come up with in my time on this earth. So lets just go through a few of them.

First my brother is six years older than I am. He was athletic also, loved playing football, joined the CCF at a young age. He walked the ten-tours across Dartmoor three times. When we were growing up there was no chance I would ever beat him at anything sporty, or even in fighting. As a competitive soul I recognised I could only get my revenge by winding him up to the extent where he would get into trouble. It didn't require me to be healthy. If anything, it helped to have people look at my chubby little face in sympathy.

This is not why I am fat, but it's a good excuse.



I was never very good at sports. From a very young age I knew I was not the kind of guy that would be a good runner. My run looked funny. I had bad balance. I was clumsy.When we played games I was picked last, which in turn made me feel bad. I eventually chose to reduce my activity to a minimum, only sticking to the things I really enjoyed doing. Until even that stopped when I left school.

My mother didn't speak good english, and I didn't have many friends. I spent a lot of time on my own in my room. I became a commentator of my own imaginary games, just like every young boy did. I was not a rebel and never pushed going out to other boys houses. My mother was a little distrustful of people anyway, and I hated the idea of having to explain a tight curfew to critical xenophobic parents. In the end I avoided any friendship outside of school hours and so never got as much playing time as other boys.





My father was away for most of my young life. He used to don his captain's hat and sail off into the oceans for nine months of the year, if not more. He was never there to fight my corner, to teach me how to fish or have a kick-about in the back garden. I never grew up knowing what a man should be able to do, or be inspired by his ability. I never learnt how to saw wood, or lay cement, or even to wash the car right. With no father around to fight with and adventure with, my weight, and my excuses built up.





My mother faced bouts of depression. We had a habit of going to our separate bedrooms. She was a good mother caring for me as best she could, but as soon as I began to show independence and with my brother much older, she knew her role in the front room watching TV with us was over. With no dad there, she slowly withdrew to her bedroom, allowing me the opportunity to sneak down the stairs whenever I wanted to. The poem "Chocolate Cake" springs to mind.

She spent many evenings more alone than I can ever imagine, crying quietly into her pillow. I remember listening and wishing I could do something about it. Some of my favourite moments were when my dad would turn up in the front room with what mother would call "pickings". These small morsels such as cheese and pineapple on sticks, mini-cheese pieces wrapped in parma ham, pickles and crisps would make my mother beam with excitement and my brother and I would sit on the floor and lick our lips like two hungry puppies. When I got older, and when mum was sad, I would try to make things for her so she would be happy again. My relationship with food as a source of happiness was already growing.

She was also a good cook, but coming from a poor background, she instilled into us the commendable ideas of never wasting good food and always clearing the plate. At the same time she wanted us to be happy, and we so enjoyed her food. For a very long time I blamed this one thing alone for my weight problem, and today I still have a real effort when throwing good food away.



I have heard that certain things release endorphins into the brain. These pleasure stimulators flood the brain and encourage you to continue doing something. You often hear of people who regularly exercise getting unhappy or even grumpy because they haven't done their daily run or their weekly gym session. The same is true with food. As we are all different, it is obvious that some people get a big high doing push-ups, whereas I get a big high eating a chicken flavoured crisp sandwich with mayo and pickle.

I always liked cooking. My brother did to. He eventually became a really good chef, for a while. I enjoyed the way that flavours mixed together, but I also liked my cooking to be moist and crunchy. It meant lots of cream and milk, lots of meat. I was never good enough to chef. I was never good enough to do anything in fact. I always almost managed to do things. I was good at maths, but not



the best. I was good at chess but not good enough. I have always been a jack of all trades, including basketball and badminton, but never ever a master. Never ever even to a point where people would say, lets ask Eggy.

It was always depressing and that combined with my conscious lack of friends meant I became a recluse to all intents and purposes. The further away from other kids I got, the less my weight mattered. I found myself protected from the outside world, cuccooned. As my self-esteem drifted, I searched for more cerebral attachments, with older friends that could be trusted. I began to reject people my age, most importantly girls. I am not gay, but I never faced the kind of scrutiny other boys went through. Weight was never an issue.



When I finally did encounter girls, I was a young man and could easily see that the aesthetically pleasing girls were also the most obnoxious. The quiet shy lilies were far more graceful and dazzling, appreciative and interesting. They also tended to be girls with similar stories to me. My attraction to larger girls had begun.





As you can see, throughout my life there were many different reasons why I was a fat child and why I became a fat man. All of them had a part to play I am sure, but if there is one thing I am going to do with this blog, it is to accept I am the real reason for my weight. The difficulties I face every single day may be described by things that have happened in my past, but they do not excuse it.

I am morbidly obese. And it is all my fault.

Join the ANTI-ANTIVIRUS VISTA 2010 PARTY!

I hate my computer, I hate it with a growing passion.

The reason I hate my computer so much is that it is nearly brilliant, but in the end, it's frustrating and annoying. Take for example the variety of different windows systems. I have Vista, which I almost love. I almost love the sidebar especially the exchange rate things, except being as I live in the UK, and my fiance is American, and also I like to know how the euro is doing, I have to load up the exchange rate thing twice. Grrr. (Thats a three R grrr by the way. I have moved from the two R grr, to the three R grrr as its gotten that serious. Also the two R grr kind of looked like I was a fan of motor racing.)

I also love the system monitor that watches my processing speed, except then it just tells me one of my processors is working madly whilst the other one is not, and they can't switch the workload to make the thing quicker, and what the hell is it doing anyway, I didn't ask it to do a damned thing! Why can't my lazy processor (which I have now decided to call Berbatov) just pick up the slack! Besides which, have you seen how much operating memory it takes!



I love the windows background features, but I now have thousands of pictures suitable for my background and I want my lappytop to randomly choose one, but Vista doesn't do that, so I end up finding a program online to do it for me, which works fine, except it's really really slow, and it interferes with a load of other programs (No, I don't care that you have just changed backgrounds when I'm in the middle of running away from a hoard of hungry zombies!) and have you seen how much operating memory it takes!

I love the internet, because it gives you access to everything except when you want to find one specific thing in which case it gives you everything BUT the one specific thing you wanted. In fact rather worryingly more and more even google takes you to sites selling you stuff rather than the information site you actually want. (When I type "All Holes at Augusta", I didnt expect to see THAT. I had my Mum in the room!)



The worst thing without doubt on computers though is, rather specifically, ANTIVIRUS VISTA 2010.

This as you may know is not an anti-virus but a virus. It infects your computer and installs a program called AV.EXE on your PC. This program is a very very annoying advert that repeats itself again and again until presumably you link to their website and buy the product that, one can only pray, will leave this virus on your pc dormant, but more likely will either copy all your passwords and steal all your money, or send itself to all your friends instead.

This is also particularly annoying as turning the process off doesn't work as EVERY SINGLE TIME you use any program, it turns itself back on again. Also somehow it manages to stay hidden by an anti-virus, a spyware, and a malware program, which must make all three of those an even bigger waste of money. Why did I bother getting them when this insidious pice of software can jus waltz in whenever it feels like it! Half of my computer space is taken up with anti-viruses and anti-spyware and none of it works!

You can't delete ANTIVIRUS VISTA 2010 as, well it's not a stupid as all that, and even if you could find the right file location and get to the file, it would only reload itself into your memory on the next boot up.

It's like Russell Brand, you don't like him, you don't want him but he keeps bobbing back to the surface like a floating poo.

There is an election coming up in May, and I am offering my vote here and now, and I suspect the vote of thousands of internet users in this country, if ANY PARTY promises to hunt down the people who run this virus, who take the money, who create more and more strains of this insidious thing, and hang them from their scrotum, in a public place, like the Tower of London, for the whole world to see. Then supply us with big sticks so we can hit them like a pinata!

It can't be that hard, freeze the accounts, petition for their arrest, they are committing a form of robbery or fraud or extortion or something here! There must be a law against it. Why is no-one fighting this.

Please stand with me and scream and shout. Lets complain to our leaders, lets demand they do something about this. Viruses are infecting our systems and they should be stopped once and for all! Join the ANTI-ANTIVIRUS VISTA 2010 PARTY!