...falling off the wagon.
Friday night, myself and SLW decided to have a few drinks. We were watching a movie – an old favourite, The Frighteners, which SLW had not seen – and chilling. A friend came over, and we ended up staying up til 1:30 drinking and chatting. A fine, fine night indeed, and really relaxing after what was a hard week for both of us.
Between the three of us, though, we demolished 4.25 bottles of wine. That's quite a lot, though I'm delighted to report that I got drunk on far less than I had been of late.
Saturday, I had a bit of a hangover, as did SLW. I felt pretty rough, and consequently went shopping for meat. I bought 3lbs of sausages (the local ones are amazing, though I had consciously been eating less saturated fat so not so many sausages...), some rump steak and a pound of bacon. And a Scotch egg, and a large pork pie.
We went 'meatatarian' Saturday night, I think it's fair to say, and I ate 4.5 sausages, a reasonable sized rump steak and three slices of bacon, and a load of fried onions. Lunch was half the pork pie, and breakfast was a few packets of cheese and onion crisps.
Well, I'll be in the gym this afternoon for certain; the Carling Cup Final is one, Chelsea v Tottenham, and I thought that as they have Sky down the leisure centre, I might go and exercise for the entire 105+ minutes of the final. 45 minutes first half on the treadmill, 15 minutes core strength training on the ball at half time, then the final 45 on the cross trainer, so it's 100 per cent cardio training.
Should be fun, and hard, and I'll get to watch the footie. And I might, just might, make up a little bit for yesterday.
PS: Weighed mysefl on parents' scales, and it said I was about 16st 12lbs, which I'm certain can't be right – two members of my notoriously scathing family said I looked like I had lost weight, y'see. They NEVER say things like that. I think their scales are fucked...
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5 comments:
Measure your waist and go by that. Scales are just too variable. And it'll counteract or confirm the bloke-speak that 'muscle weighs more than fat'. Don't tell me you've never said it...every man who's ever taken exercise says it.
Oh, and don't believe the bad scales. They are malicious.
Meat is good, but pork pie isn't. Pork pies are the Devil's Work.
But the local pork pies are sublime. Really excellent - and that's my first one in at least five weeks.
Muscle certainly does weigh more than fat - it's a density thing, as well as the basic composition of the tissue obviously.
And I am BLOODY muscular, beneath the quivering mound.
Point proved, I think...
I didn't say it wasn't true, but that it is often used as an excuse/reason.
The devil is beguiling. Surely you've read Paradise Lost? Dammit, man, now I want a pork pie too.
Nah, not read it. Is there much shagging in it?
Some pretty sexy fallen angels - my favourite is Belial - but the shagging takes place off page.
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