Bugger.

The one thing I had not foreseen in weight management was the effect of shite sleep. I usually sleep brilliantly, right through the night, for as long as I need. Anything up to 10 hours, sometimes as little as five or six.

Since we've been in the new house though, sleep has suffered and with a couple of reasonably major obstacles in our way early on, I've been waking around 4am and worrying about stuff.

It also doesn't help that bed is two double mattresses on the floor, one on the other.

So for the last couple of weeks, to assist my sleeping, I have been getting pissed right up most nights. Well, having a fair bit of wine at least, and my gut has responded accordingly to the massive number of extra calories and no exercise.

I do have a plan in my head though for next year. I'm running the London Marathon, injuries allowing, and have a pretty solid training plan drawn up in my ind which will improve my cardio fitness no end. See, I can do the stamina side of distance running no problem, but that doesn't burn anything like the number of calories that regular speed training does. So I plan to have one speed session a week in my training, possibly combining speed with hill work too. It quickly and simply makes you a much stronger runner.

I've done one speed session before; it was 50m sprints, then trot back to the start, then 50m sprint, all out, again… repeat. x15. In the middle of that incredible humidity of summer 2006.

But the next run I did… I just flew. Felt faster, stronger and much fitter. After one session.

So with speed sessions every week, I think B-Diddy will be relatively svelte before too long… Especially as when I'm getting lots of exercise, I eat very well. It's when I'm lazy that I eat badly.

Of course, tonight I drink wine and play cards with my lovely wife. 2007 has been very kind to us, and we shall toast in 2008 this evening.

That's the diet gone down the drain for a couple of weeks

Well, the diet's been quite stuffed over Christmas. It didn't help at all that my sister brought along a box of Indian cardamon-flavoured halva, which I completely adore. I can't resist it at all, and I observe from the box that it is 22.5% fat with 509.87 calories per 100 grams. The box is 250 grams and I'll eat most of it, although Ro likes it too.

I've continued to cycle, although not every day. If you leave it a few days, it's much harder to start again, especially when it's cold and windy. It's also very hard not to eat too much. However, the week after next, I'll be in the shop and I'll knuckle under there again. I'll be there between 8 am and 6 pm every day, although not all the time every day, and I'll have breakfast before I go, a meat and salad roll from the bakery during the day and nothing else except fruit and raw vegetables. Of course, I'll then eat mightily in the evenings, but as long as I stick to basic stuff like chicken, steak, fish, veggies, and don't call in the chippie on the way home (now, is that likely?) then I think that's fair enough.

I will...

...weigh myself at some point, I really will...

I'd like to know, kind of, you see. I think I put on a lot of weight in Vegas, but since I got back it's been non-stop physical labour or work, so not had much time for food or alcohol, and the physical labour has been both hard and long. And not in a good, sexing way, either.

So who knows where my weight's at? But I think I will log my weight in the coming months as I have been offered a place in the London Marathon, and I suspect I'm going to take it.

The mice prove it. We're all doomed.

Yes they do. A 'recent study' shows that fat mice have gingivitis, whereas skinny ones don't.

I'd love to be a scientist. I could think shit like that up all day, every day. "Do hot air balloonists wear gloves more often than cyclists, do you think? Let's have a study!" "I wonder if fat people wear bigger clothes than thin people? I call for a study!"

Apparently, the porksters – one of whom I count myself – are more open to infection and all that jazz, because of the added fatness in their immune systems.

S'funny, I'm sure all my skinny mates are ill all the time, and I'm not.

Furthermore, looking into that study, you have to wonder if any of the mice would have had gum disease had they not had the virus washed around their mouths. I think what this could actually show is that scientists are picking on fat mice by rubbing their mouths more, and with worse diseases to make them ill.

So what does it prove? Scientists are fuckers, and this study is a hate crime. End of.

Ups and downs

This weighing oneself business is a bit rubbish. I did, the other day, and seemed to have put on a couple of pounds. This was nonsense of course, and I took little notice of it. I weighed myself again this morning and seemed to have lost three pounds - this all from the starting weight, not from the other day's. But if the last one was absurd then this has to be too. I think I'll stick, in future, to my original decision, which was not to weigh myself at all and just meekly trot along to the doctor every few months and get a nasty surprise there.

I'm still being absolutely well-behaved in regard to food, but the wine-drinking has crept up to normal levels. And I'm still cycling every day unless the weather is impossibly foul or I'm out too much. It rains every day, but not all day - though it's bloody cold. This describes December weather, I suppose.

What I miss is running everywhere. I don't mean going for a run, like wot Badgerdaddy does. Just that I have never walked because going slow is a bit boring. I run - ran, I'll have to say - upstairs, down to the greenhouse, along the road - maybe only 20 yards or a couple of hundred at most, but it's had to stop. Even if I forget and start, my leg hurts after a few yards and keeps hurting way after I stop. This doesn't matter in itself as my leg hurting is normal and doesn't mean anything. But after those few yards I run with a strange lolloping gait like Quasimodo being summoned by bells and I am an object of ridicule even to myself.

I was about to go out on my bike, but it's suddenly pissing down. Just as well I paused for a moan.

I can hardly weight

I think I'll weigh myself when I get home. I reckon I've put on about 14lbs since I got to the US, thanks to a steady diet of red meat, eggs and bread.

I feel fucking enormous. And soft. Mind you, the half marathon firmed lots of things up – but when some things get firm, it also helps you realise how soft some parts are.

After Wednesday, we'll be in the new house and eating healthily. I really cannot wait. I've never dreamed repeatedly about broccoli before, it just doesn't seem right.

Z suffers from Wind (not in a bowel blog sense)

I can't remember what I had for lunch, which is probably a good sign. I've been carefully evaluating meals for nutritional content and lack of naughtiness, which is fine and dandy 'n' all, but does mean that one spends most of the day thinking about food, which isn't quite the idea.

I hadn't cycled into town for a few days as either the weather was wet and windy or I was out at meetings and things. It was still wet and windy this morning, but after lunch I set off. I sailed across the dam speedily and thought how well this was all going - maybe a couple of days rest had done me good and now I had finally started to crack the fitness barrier. I didn't slow down as I went over the awkward little bridge, even though a car appeared round the corner ahead of me with no intention of stopping (it had the right of way, except that I was already on the bridge by then). We missed each other, anyway. I briefly wondered whether to tackle the hill to the post office, but thought better of it. The road to the left is on a hill with an awkward camber and poor visibility and cars rather edge out before stopping.

Having shopped, I set off home again, and discovered the reason for my speedy incoming journey. This time, the wind was in my face and I actually struggled to pedal. On the slight upward inclination, I almost came to a halt. I was grateful not to be overtaken by any little old ladies.

A bit down

I spent an hour in the shop this morning and a couple more this afternoon - basically, that means I set up and dismantled the outside display. It was cold and, in the afternoon, rainy. I ached badly by the end, which was fair enough and my own fault for not thinking to take painkillers before I started. No need to bother afterwards, it all settles down again once I stop and warm up. But what has made me really quite despondent is noticing that my hands ached. Not all the time, when I was doing anything fiddly. I realise now that my hands do ache sometimes, and I hadn't taken any notice because I didn't know about the arthritis in my hips then.

I haven't mentioned it to anyone. But I'm going to start playing the clarinet again. Exercise for my fingers.

It is not all gloom. I have discovered I can sing better since I started cycling - as I could when I played the clarinet (not simultaneously). It's all in the breath control. The Sage will be pleased when I improve my embouchure, too. That is, build up the muscles in my lips. Wind players have great tone in their lips.