Diets

Diets are something I'd usually lump in with chunky women who feel that their neck breasts are becoming too much to handle when they're hiding it on every picture taken for the sake of the almighty, Facebook.

If you feel that your belly neck is a bit too X rated to publish to the watching world, then it's usually time to curb the cake.

I've always felt that not eating what you want, when you want was reducing yourself to some sort of torturous non existence, funny as that may sound. Not eating burgers, steaks, jalapeno covered nachos and fat drenched ice creams was denying yourself the pleasures that make being a man, so very manly.

But a simple booking of a holiday has prompted me to kick out the crisps, ban the bread and fuck off the fried rice.

After a week of hardcore dieting, I have now changed my entire outlook on food. I now pour scorn on chippy teas and look on with pity at the people drowning themselves in emulsified fats.

I'm not really that much of a food Nazi, but I've started actually thinking about my dinner and how it's going to affect me.

My usual ham butties have been replaced with a nutritious fish steak, with a plethora of vegetables accompanying them. There's also the pasta bake, usually from the night before, with chopped tomatoes and sweetcorn.

Now I would love to come on here and tell you that I am carrying these changes out scientifically and carefully, taking note of all the bits and bobs I'm lashing in my body and balancing them in a logical manner. But I'd be bullshitting, ladies and gentlemen. I haven't a clue about any of the ingredients so I'm literally picking generally healthy things and eating more of them, and taking the other stuff and eating less. But in general, I leave the picking up to my better half.

Now, I have listened to the Missus. I've lost weight, and I'm planning to continue to do so. In a healthy manner. I don't really fancy the LSD diet. The general consensus is fibre, good. Bread, bad. Salmon, good. Crisps, bad. Tuna, good. Coca Cola, very bad. Chicken, good. Biscuits, bad. Pasta, good, in moderation. And that's about all I can remember.

So, besides coming on here and chatting a bit of bollocks, I would just like to send a message to all you wannabe 'dietees' out there. If I can start eating healthy and lose some weight before going on one's jols, anyone can really.

Fitness

Fitness is a funny thing. Something which mankind used to uphold quite easily a million years ago now costs £40 a month in gym memberships and a low carb diet.

We used to run around killing dinosaurs and now we get a sweat on watching people do it on films. While chomping on Ben & Jerry's and Minstrels! This is probably more expensive than the gym, but that's for another blog!

In general, you go to the gym. Feel inadequate for an hour or two and then go home and eat crisps. Or is that just me? Either way, I'll run you through the experience, bit by bit.

So first of all, you sign the form which basically said if you're killed during your trip to the gym, it's your fault. Not the equipment, the staff or the serial killer that's been hiding in the male showers!

You start with a warm up on the treadmill! Running at about 9.5 whatevers until 5 minutes, and then upping it by 0.5 whatevers every further minute! This is all well and good when you're, say, not a fat fucker. Me though? Well....

After that, there's the weights machine. You'll stand there lifting what you feel is a considerably heavy amount while next to you, a bouncer who lives behind the cross-trainers is lifting a people carrier. Onto the next lot then!

Excercise mats! You can do sit ups, press ups. Even forward rolls. But then this means lying on the floor in a gym full of sexy people and panting while you attempt to excercise a muscle which is restricted by the ale gut your trying to get shut of!

Then you have the swimming pool. Or the jacuzzi in Joey language. You can't beat getting in the aquapool, then the sauna, steam room, etc. Although it's probably just a good way of resting those muscles I've done in whilst trying to fix them. Irony? I think so!