Sunday, 18 August 2013

7 day detox - day 3

Ah, yes, ummmm, well, maybe not quite the best day yesterday. Let's look at the evidence.

When I updated my progress yesterday I was already chucking down the coffee like it was going out of fashion. This was due to a stinking hangover and an extremely busy night followed by a ludicrously early morning.

I'd love to report that after that minor hiccup I got things back on track. Unfortunately that would be an utter lie.

My daughter does gymnastics so at 10am yesterday we piled into the car and headed down to the gym. The gymnasts at the club are quite incredible. It is literally the only sport I have seen where kids can reach an incredible standard at such a young age. Whilst the younger ones perform their splits and handstands and assisted pull-ups on the bars and bridges that look frankly rather dangerous, boys and girls of no more than 7 or 8 back flip and somersault all over the place. Once the teenagers begin to perform it's like watching the Olympics - at least from the point of view of an overweight, middle aged man who struggles to touch his toes.

Her class lasts about an hour and 45 minutes. Not too much of a problem in the grand scheme of things and you wouldn't think it would present any dietary challenges. Unfortunately, in addition to the international standard gymnastics equipment and first class coaches, Lucy's gym also has...................a small café.

The first half an hour was fine. I sat watching the display whilst sipping my bottle of water. Then something unforeseen happened. Parents began to order..................bacon.............sandwiches!

The smell of crisp, smoked bacon, began to fill every core of my being. As I looked round the room, everything went in to slow motion. I watched every single glorious mouthful being consumed. It was almost perverse. In fact so perverse that it gave me a great idea for a web site.

I stayed strong. But fate had other plans for me. Those of you who follow me on twitter will know that Mrs Hapless is away on a Hen 'do'. So I had my son Josh with me as well. He was sat, quietly watching the gymnastics until he uttered the words "Dad. Can I have some toast?". How could I refuse. So I had to approach...............the café.

The closer I got, the stronger the smell of bacon. I asked for some toast, a small globule of dribble running down my chin as I watched the bacon sizzle on the grill. Then the girl behind the counter dealt the final decisive blow. "Can I get you anything else?", she said in all innocence.

"Yeeeeeeeessssss I'll have a bacon roll and a large coffee!!"

The words flew out of my mouth so fast she had to ask me to repeat them. Which I did and she provided me with the prize, at a decidedly reasonable costs. I devoured that glorious bacon roll like it was my last meal on earth and washed it down with a lovely frothy coffee. Lush.

"Bugger!" I thought. Consumed with guilt and a severe sense of failure I decided to make sure that the rest of my day went to plan.

We returned home at lunch time. I fed the kids and pondered what I would eat myself. I visited the fridge. Our fridge was decidedly empty. There is a very good reason for this. Taking my kids to a shop is like a cross between the London riots and a flash mob. They are literally everywhere, shoplifting to their heart's content. This makes it a very stressful experience so, where possible, the person doing the shopping doesn't take the kids. Fine when there are two of you. But in the absence of Mrs Hapless, I have not visited a shop.

Apart from some milk and a jar of cranberry sauce left over from Christmas there was only one thing in the fridge. The leftovers of my Chinese takeaway from the night before. I tried to avoid it's gaze but it drew me in like a sweet and sour tractor beam. As I stared at it in some sort of trance it looked bigger and bigger and bigger until I could see nothing else.

In a state of panic and self loathing I grabbed the bag of chicken balls in batter, headed for the microwave and ate them all, in one, fluid movement. Bugger!

From there the day went from bad to worse.

It was the first day of the football season. Again, those of you who follow me on twitter will know that I am a rugby fan. You will also know that I think football is a ladies sport, but without the benefit of ladies. However, my son has started playing football and he really enjoys it. So in the spirit of pretending to be a good dad I have decided that I will make an effort to get into football this year.

This is a major challenge for me. I have tried before. I hate the fact that the players argue with the referee like spoilt children even though there is no way on the planet he is going to change his decision. I hate the way they fall over clutching their face if another player breaks wind within 10 feet of them. I find the attitude of some of the fans uncomfortable to say the least. I have never understood why you would hurl abuse at someone at the other end of a football ground who clearly can't hear you. Some of the instances of racial abuse etc. that have been directed at football players is nothing short of disgraceful. Some of the songs chanted by some fans would result in arrest if it wasn't just accepted as part of the game.

Then there are the commentators and pundits. Now, don't get me wrong, rugby commentators get on my nerves too. However football commentators have a special language that makes me scream at the telly. Here is an example:

"He's taken the ball on his left foot and he's slotted it past the keeper".

That may look perfectly normal. But no one speaks like this in real life! I have only ever heard this in football. In real life you would say:

"He took the ball on his left foot and slotted it past the keeper".

This might sound like a small thing but it drives me completely bananas.

I must also say that, as a sportsman myself I totally understand the levels of fitness and skill that premiership football players posses. It is quite breath taking at times and really quite graceful. I really do think they are incredibly talented and the money thing doesn't really bother me either. Good luck to them I say!

Anyway, I digress. To cut a long story short, I decided to watch the football. However I now had the challenge of finding a way to enjoy the experience. There really was only one option. Beer! So during the course of the afternoon I drank my way through the contents of a small off-licence whilst watching Swansea City get hammered by Man Utd. It helped. I also put a number of very small bets on the matches for this weekend. Nothing that I wouldn't lose down the back of the sofa, but enough to give me an interest in the results of the other matches. I have to say it worked, particularly as I had Aston Villa to win against Arsenal.

By this point of course the beer had removed the part of my brain that makes sensible food choices. So the rest of the Chinese was swiftly consumed. Along with the remainder of last night's bottle of Spar Chateaux Thames Embankment. My head hit the pillow some time after midnight.

So here we are on the morning of day three. I say day three. In reality it's day one again. I'm doing well so far. I've avoided coffee and just had some porridge for my breaky. Finger's crossed for a better day.

Hapless Dad

No comments:

Post a Comment