It’s January, season of the detox, where everyone got a bit too merry over Christmas (because half the population started on the mince pies, mulled wine and Cliff’s carols on November 30th) and the vast majority of your Facebook newsfeed is filled with gym selfies or people trying to flog you weight loss shakes.
Happy 2016 everyone.
You go with it, and attempt to get in the ‘New Year new me’ mode whilst secretly shovelling down the left over festive cheese platter and lying to yourself on ‘My Fitness Pal’
But there is progress to be made… no one wants to carry their snapchat double chin onto February and that extra Baylies or seven is beginning to play havoc with your waistline. And I my friends am in the same boat.
I found a photo of myself when I was 22, necking a bottle of champagne but still looking like a mean lean blond pulling machine. I could do it back then, Barcardi breezer for breakfast the nights that turned into days and still look fab. I remember feeling fat in that photo but I was at my peak, my body was smaller than my legs- that never happens. Now a fortnight of festive frolics and I’m round enough to roll.
So I made the decision to eat properly and cut back on the wine for a bit. A few months without drunk dialing ex flings and hugging the toilet seat might very well be a magical experience.
Put the problem with cutting back on the pop is, the cloudy judgement that once filled the pub as you hit your fourth glass of pinot disappears and you begin to see the human race for what they truly are- a bunch of massive cunts… well not all but most.
I’ve spent a lot of time in small communities and it always ends in tears – village mentality and that but my spell in London broke that. You could go in the same pub every week for a year and still no one would know your name and it didn’t matter if it did.
I’ve always found my home town to be a bit of an odd place, the kind you could weave into some kind of twisted fairytale with the rumple Stiltkins, ugly sisters and little pigs. There’s a reason why I once attempted to retell my teens as ‘Little Red Ridinghood’ – the whole journeys through the woods. Fairytales taught us that huts surrounded by trees were always bad news, remember what happened to Hansel and Gretel?
The thing with small knit communities is that they make it their calling to know everyone’s business, you see it in small pubs everywhere. I remember when I worked in one of the pubs at uni, the locals all had their set seat and god forbid someone else sit in it. They had their set drink, their set routine and their set of standard responses and small talk for those who they didn’t know.
Last night my stomach was making noises I never knew it could- sod top shelf weightloss products, if you want to shred the entirety of your insides get your self some sugar free jelly teddies and stock up on the Andrex. But after my tummy had stopped singing to the dog I decided I was ready to venture into the outside world. I had afteral stayed in pretty much all week, not been at the wine and told my glowing skin made me look like a different person- swoon 😉
I’d met someone before Christmas. Completely innocently and nothing had happened. He’d treated me to his left over Burger King Whopper after a Sunday in the pub (oh the glamour) and got me a taxi home like a true gent. But we’d stayed in touch cos he was intelligent and kinda nice.
He isn’t my type and I promised myself I wouldn’t so much as sniff a man unless they happened to be Tom Hiddleston or at least related to Benedict Cumberbatch but we get on like a house on fire. He gets me and treats me with the respect that no man ever has before, I couldn’t tell you the last time I shared a bed with someone and simply spooned but that’s how it is because he’s respectful and I’m confused, but its kinda cool.
And when things are kinda cool they grow on you. It’s nice when someone texts you from the other side of the pub to say your hair looks lovely and it’s even better when they take interest in you rather than your tits.
That is all until one of the locals gets rat arsed, slightly jealous and tells you to back the fuck away from ‘their mate’ who you haven’t even so much as snogged properly yet.
He’s there giving me all this gip about how I’m an evil man eating person (true but he has no grounds to know that) that everyone in the pub hates me and I need to leave and never come back – erm pipe down Peggy, since when were your the landlord?
And I’m stood there thinking jesus wept.
I’ve never so much as sniffed a man in this little hut since 18 I’ve come here and not copped off with anyone. Simply drank wine and sang along to the juke box. Do I have some secret twin whose been having it off with half the middle aged punters mid whitney medley behind my back?
To make matters worse I do not even know this man’s name but he’s there yelling at me and people get involved and he tells said man when he holds me that ‘he’s made his decision’ if he leaves with me and I’m like is this real or some kind of jager infused dream?
‘Are we out of the woods yet, are we out of the woods yet, are we out of the woods, are we in the clear yet, in the clear yet, in the clear then good’
Why do people have so much interest in everyone’s business when it’s complete innocent and undeveloped when no ones about to get hurt , they’re doing what people do.
I’m upset that he doesn’t stick up for me but he’s clearly veiled with the shock of confrontation. As I was to a certain extent.
We talk on the phone as I make a cup of tea (none shot faced Laura is capable of making a mean mug of caffeine free builders) He tells me he’s never asked me about my past because he doesn’t want to know about it, that’s not what matters. And i’m like, I’ve got a fucking encarta of a backstory but none of which is known by or involves any of the people who made a made jump at me this evening.
It’s a strange environment where only the bar staff ever see the truth and they deserve a medal- I remember working in a bar and seeing the same things like witnessing animals in the zoo.
Am I really that dislikeable at first glance? When people meet me what do they see?
The intelligent, creative and caring woman I want to be?
Or a drunk selfish man eater?
Because the later has never been me (well apart from the drunk bit) everyone can make up their own fairytales, porky pies and takes on reality.
Anyone can get jealous by someone else’s potential happiness and create a back story to justify it.
But that my friends will never be me…
And I won’t be put off by something because others want to put in their two penneth. I’m en route to being healthy, fit, fabulous and mentally at one and no one will stand in the way of that no matter what fables they want to tell.
New year no me?
No, new year same, just better, self assured and reassured me!