Young, Free and Single

"Find a job you like and you add five days to every week." ~ H Jackson Brown Jr

2010-08-25T18:12:00.005+02:00

I am employed as an MDT Co-ordinator. My title is 'Float MDT Co-ordinator', and I provide cover for four specialities within Adult Medicine. As an MDT Co-ordinator, it's my job to make sure that patient with confirmed or suspected cancer get the best treatment possible as fast as possible.

Recently, the hospital where I work has been having a few financial difficulties. Frankly, most hospitals are at the moment. I think it has something to do with the governments decision to axe managers. Possibly. I'm not really sure, but anyway, the NHS is supposed to be saving money. The best way to save money is to axe jobs.

By now, I'm sure you've worked out where I'm going with this, but just to put it in black and white, yesterday I was told that the role of Float MDT Co-ordinator is no more. Gone. Axed.

It's not as much of a disaster as it sounds - I am not being made redundant. It just means that five people are applying for four jobs. One person will be 'redeployed', whatever that means. It's a bit like UCAS and clearing, I think. Thing is, I didn't go through clearing when I did my A-levels. I went to the university of my choice. I can honestly say, I'm not thrilled at the prospect of doing it now!

My feelings about the demise of my (less than a year old) job? Mixed. Primarily, I'm angry. I feel like management have effectively said that my work is a waste of time and energy. The fact that I have spent the past year working pretty damn hard to improve things for co-ordinators and patients alike is irrelevant. Apparently, because the secretaries provided cover before, they can do so again.

Do you know what I'm supposed to be doing on Tuesday? Providing cover for one of the other co-ordinators. Right now, I feel like telling the management where to go. If the secretaries are so very competent, let them provide cover. But... That's sour grapes talking.

In terms of the future... Well, I'm actually not best pleased at the assumption that I will want to be an MDT Co-ordinator for a single speciality. I don't. I can't imagine anyone being happy if I replaced one of my colleagues, and I don't want to. They have a relationship with their physicians that I can't hope to match. For a variety of reasons, I have no desire to fill any of the four roles.

At the moment, the game plan is for me to volunteer to be redeployed, effectively guaranteeing my colleagues their jobs. My pay is guaranteed for at least six months, so I'm covered there. In the meantime, I guess this is the kick that I need to start working towards employment that actually utilises my degree.

With that in mind, I have several avenues to explore. The first thing I need to do is learn how to drive. I'm 25 on Sunday, and driving lessons are going to be my gift to myself. Once I am able to drive, my employment options increase dramatically. After that, who knows...

I am trying to look at this in a positive way, because at the end of the day, it's a fait accompli. I cannot change the fact that my job is no more. I'm convinced that things happen for a reason, and I know that ultimately this will benefit me.

I know that, but I'm still sad. I really like my job. I was planning to stay in it for more than a year. I've never done that before.

"Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet." ~Colette

2010-08-13T23:14:00.010+02:00

Meet the new man in my life... Sweet William. Sadly there are no more human prospects on the horizon, but frankly, Wills is probably less trouble - he doesn't answer back, eats what gets put in front of him, and is happy to cuddle for hours without demanding more. Of course, there is the small problem of his harem, but you can't have everything...

As with all things in my life, there's a story behind the picture. As previously documented, I was getting Isobel a baby guinea pig for her birthday. Well, I wanted to rescue Isobel's guinea pig, because I think rescuing is the way forward, and none of the local rescues had any babies. But they did have Rose and Sweet William, at RSPCA Leybourne.

Rosie and Wills are approximately one year old and had to be rehomed together. After discussing it with Mum, Isobel and my sister, we agreed that we would go and have a look at the two of them. And we promptly fell in love... (Lest you were wondering, by the way, the picture shows - from left to right - Sweep, Sweet William, Rose and Sooty)

Adopting an animal from the RSPCA is nothing like buying a pet from the Pet Shop, I have discovered. In fact, rather disturbingly, adopting a pet through the RSPCA involves more rigourous checks than having a child. I don't know that I would encourage inspecting homes before breeding humans or that I would discourage the RSPCA policies, but it does give paws for thought (sorry, couldn't resist!)

So, in order to have Wills and Rosie (they came with their names, but Bel and I have given them both nicknames) we first had to have a home visit. At said visit, our cage had to be checked out. This caused a great deal of angst, as when we visited to see the guinea pigs, the lady said they needed a 6' x 2' hutch, and there was no way that a cage that size was going to fit in the house. I did find a 5' x 2.5' cage, which we marked out on the kitchen floor, and concluded that even that was too big for our living space.

This left me with something of a dilemma. Sooty and Sweep are indoor guinea pigs. Sweep, because of her back leg issues as a piglet, has always lived in the kitchen, and Sooty has been living with her since her return from exile at my auntie's. To my mind, it would be unfair to move them out into the garden when they are used to indoor conditions. However, the only way to meet the 6' x 2' requirement would be to have an outside hutch. But how was I to explain that to Isobel - there was no way that Sooty and Sweep were going to go outside, too, and it seemed unfair to have two guineas indoors and two outdoors. I found a two tier cage the same size as the one Sooty and Sweep have been living in, and checked out with the RSPCA, who assured me that it would be an acceptable size (4' x 2', lest you were wondering).

So, I dutifully ordered the cage, but then had to wait for it to be delivered before I could have the home visit. At about this time I discovered that Sweet William and Rose might only be reserved for a week - and it was taking longer than a week for us to get ready for them! Fortunately, Vicky, our home visitor, arranged it so that our rescue pigs would remain reserved for us, and we finally had our home visit on Tuesday 3rd Augst.

The home visit was pretty much a formality for us, I think. With two guinea pigs who are the picture of health, a huge garden and indoor living facilities (not to mention a girl crazy about guinea pigs), life here is Guinea Pig Paradise. Sooty and Sweep performed admirably, and we passed with flying colours. Unfortunately, though, the RSPCA centre is closed on Wednesdays, so it was Thursday afternoon before we could finally bring our new pets home.

Isobel and I went in to collect Wills and Rosie, and while we were waiting for them to be brought through, we heard the story of Gilbert, a stray guinea pig. An RSPCA inspector had just rescued him. The mind boggles at the concept of a stray guinea pig - whilst they are inquisitive they are not generally inclined to disappear at will. Essentially, as far as I am concerned, Gilbert was abandoned.

Happily, I signed my life away and we came home with our new guinea pigs. They were extremely timid at first, but comparitively, I was impressed at how willing they were to be handled. Considering the upheaval they'd been through, they were remarkably good natured about Isobel holding and stroking them, and actually got quite comfortable on Mum and my sister!

The RSPCA gave me documentation about their time at the centre, and I could have cried - poor Rosie had terrible mites when she first came to the centre and Wills suffered from an infected wound after he was neutered. Instead of being cherished family pets, they were both abandoned. It's enough to make anybody cry!

A week down the road, though, it's a very different picture. Wills and Rosie have settled in very well, and love to have cuddles. Bel adores them, and will spend time with them with just her hand in their cage, talking to them and letting them get used to her smell. They are quite happy to be with her now, and allow her to pick them up and cuddle them independently (but not unsupervised - she can only get them out when I am at home, and I get them out of the cage and carry them to the designated cuddle zone).

We haven't followed a strict quarantine period on the grounds that both Rose and Wills had been at the RSPCA centre for a suitable period of time and both had received clean bills of health from the vets. Thus it is that the four guinea pigs spend lap-time out together, although we are still holding off on using both tiers of the cage and co-habiting them; Sooty and Sweep are quite wary of the new members of the herd, and Rosie, despite looking like butter wouldn't melt, thinks that she should be the alpha female. As for Wills, he's in boar heaven with his harem of three! He rumblestruts around (has to be seen to be understood) and purrs with delight when he's with his women!

Meanwhile, in Sooty and Sweep land, things have not gone quite so well; Sweep has lamed herself by hiding under a rock rose. I was trying to get her out and I am not sure if she caught her foot in the bush or if she was stung/bitten, but the net result is a very swollen foot and a very costly trip to the vet. It's a good thing I love her! The vet does not think the leg is broken, but she is to take things easy for a week and return on Tuesday. Sweep doesn't do taking things easy, but she's not been out in the run and we've had lots of cuddles. She's taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories (Metacam, which is for cats, but at a very low dose) and certainly her leg seems better, although her foot is still very swollen.

I know that there are people out there who think I'm crazy because I treat my animals like children. Maybe I am, but their love is pretty unconditional, they're funny and cute, and they never answer back. Vets bills not withstanding, they're cheaper than children and, crucially, they do not require male input. When you're perenially single and broody, that's a very important factor!

'Constant togetherness is fine - but only for Siamese twins.' ~ Victoria Billings

2010-07-26T22:38:00.008+02:00

Last weekend, there was an article in the Daily Mail which caught my mum's eye. Why can't twins be treated as separate people - not one person with no name. It's a question that has been plaguing my family for nearly 23 years, ever since my little sisters were born.

People are fascinated by multiple births. I get that, because I am fascinated by them too. Human beings are not designed to carry 'litters' and thus, when more than one baby is born at a time, it is something of a freak of nature. Or a miracle, as I prefer to term it.

Nowadays, of course, twins are not such a rare occurence. Twins and higher order multiples are a side effect of IVF treatment. But when my sisters were born in 1987, twins were very much out of the ordinary.

I am 11 days shy of being two years older than Alison and Rebecca. I've always been 'the twins' sister'. You get used to it. In a family with twins, the twins are the defining element. Mum was always 'the twins' mum', just as we were always the twins' siblings. As for 'the twins' themselves... They were a source of fascination.

One of the most frequently asked questions is 'are you/they identical?'. No. My sisters are particularly special because they are fraternal twins. Genetically they are no more alike than any of the rest of us. About 2/3 of all twin births are fraternal, and 2/3 of fraternal twins are same sex pairs. Fraternal twins, unlike their identical counterparts, come from two separate zygotes.

One of the things people have difficulty with (apparently) is telling twins apart. Alison and Rebecca are quite clearly individuals, and in fact, there have been people who have not realised that they are siblings. It's my belief that people see what they want to see. They hear that Allie and Bex are twins and so they expect them to look alike. The fact that Alison is taller and blonder, that Rebecca has turquoise eyes and Alisons are blue? Irrelevant. They are nothing like each other to look at, but they are twins and so they must be confused.

One of the great twin myths is the concept of a 'psychic bond'. I'm not saying that this doesn't exist - certainly there have been times when A&R seem to have been aware of the other being in pain even though they were not together at the time - but it is certainly not the norm. I'm pretty sure there's not reading of thoughts going on in the bedroom down the hall. That's not to say they don't say the same thing at the same time sometimes, and they have been known to independently wear the same outfit, but to be fair, the same can be said of Victoria and I - and we're separated by seven years.

One of the things that really bugs me it when twins are dressed in the same clothes. Exactly the same clothes. (And yes, I do realise that thus far the pictures of my sisters show them in the same outfits, but they were special occasions. You'll note that Victoria, James and I matched, too!) They might have had the fortune (or not, depending on who you ask) of being born to the same parents on the same day, but twins are individuals. Dressing them in exactly the same clothes ALL the time could be termed lazy. I'm not saying they can't co-ordinate - same clothes, different colours, or whatever, but... Putting them in exactly the same outfits is hardly given them a status as a person in their own right.

People like to ask Allie and Bex 'what's it like being a twin?' This has to be one of the insanest questions ever asked - as twins, they have always been twins, and therefore they have no idea what it's like NOT to be a twin, and therefore no point of comparison. Obviously, they also have older siblings, so maybe that could be used, but it does not negate the fact there experience of life has been coloured by the circumstances of their birth from the get go.

For myself...would I want to be a twin? I don't know. I think it has its upside - the friend that's always there, the playmate that's the same age as you. But it has its downside, too. The comparisons - by other people, and by each other. The lack of individuality. I think being a twin is probably a blessing and a curse. Many things in life are. It's all a matter of perspective.

'Being sober on a bus is, like, totally different than being drunk on a bus.' ~ Ozzy Osbourne

2010-07-16T21:14:00.003+02:00

As I write this, I'm sitting on a bus destined for the nearest shopping centre. The bus is crawling along, presumably because it is Rush Hour.

My reason for shopping this evening? I need to get my sister's shoes reheeled before taking a trip to my Alma Mater tomorrow to upgrade to an MA. I went to a rather posh university, you see, and graduation attire is somewhat prescriptive.

Of course, I've known about graduation for months. It is likely that the shoes have needed reheeling for equally as long, but there you go. Procrastination is my middle name.

Anyway, I'm on a bus. I should feel virtuous - after all, I'm not polluting with car fumes. To be honest, though, I just wish I could bring myself to the sticking point and learn to drive. I got as far as getting a provisional license last year. It took me three years to do that. And this isn't a case of procrastination so much as a case of 'GAH! A TON OF METAL? IN MY CONTROL! GAH!'. Suffice to say, I'm a bit scared of driving.

There are, however, many advantages to having your own transport. For one thing, it provides an instant getaway if things are ever too hot to handle. By which I mean I can run away when I am bored/freaked out without having to phone anyone.

I suspect that being able to drive would also open a large number of metaphorical doors. I'd be able to go on trips on a whim, not to mention the fact that many of the more interesting jobs out there require you to be able to drive.

On the other hand, by and large I get on okay without the ability to drive. I'm quite fond of Shank's pony, and public transport, whilst occasionally frustrating, exists and does a reasonable job. I'm a dab hand at buses and trains!

There are two big issues I have with public transport, though - time and money.

Trying to go to various shopping centres in a day? Do it by bus and it will take all day. I know this, because I've been there and done that. Unlike cars, buses have timetables and set routes. So a round trip which by car would take no more than 3 hours (including shopping) will take 5 or 6 hours if you are travelling by bus.

In terms of money, if you plan to be on and off the bus all day you can get a day ticket from £5. I actually think that's pretty good value. But say you want to go to and from work? You're looking at the best part of £5 for two journeys. Petrol isn't cheap, but I'm fairly sure £5 will get you more than the 8 mile round trip to and from work.

Don't even get me started on trains. To get to London from my home in a commuter district you're looking at £20 return. At least. If you're a commuter it will probably cost more and you will find yourself on a dilapidated, overcrowded and overheated vehicle purporting to be a train. These are the trains the phrase 'mind the gap' was invented for, and travelling on one is probably the only time you'll be thankful for the few extra pounds you've gained - your bulk will save you from a one-way trip to the livewire via said gap.

Trains and buses both have the unfortunate problem of being obliged to transport undesirables. Far from being a snob, I tend to embrace my fellow travellers for the most part, but there are some things you cannot ignore. Smelly people are one of them.

These poor souls do not appear to be acquainted with their bathtub. Their rubber duckies lie neglected - if they have them. Deodorant is some place in Outer Mongolia. Even once they've left the area, the scent of stale sweat and dirt lingers on, making you wish for an olfactory malfunction.

There are also drunks. Now, I have to admit that I've never had any trouble from my bevvy swilling fellow travellers, but they make me uneasy. When 2 men have 8 empty cans of cheap beer abandoned on the luggage rail and another couple of four-packs in front of them, as a lone female traveller, I do not feel safe. It's probably irrational, but I become acutely aware of my own vulnerability. I failed spectacularly when I attempted a self defense course at school, so I'm fairly sure I would be rather stuck, to put it mildly, if someone took it into their head that they disliked me.

Finally, there are the threats, real and imagined. I travelled to Bluewater shopping centre by train once. Ten minutes into the journey, some kids made an announcement that there was a bomb on the train. 9/11 had not occurred desperately long ago, and I thought I was going to die. Strangely, I was fairly philosophical about it all, fatalistic even.

Obviously there was no bomb, just some youths who'd managed to tap into the announcement system and scare everyone witless. They, no doubt, found it highly amusing. I and my fellow passengers did not. In fact, the next time I travelled by train I was physically sick with anxiety.

The fact of the matter is, not being able to drive is a limitation, whether I like it or not. One day, hopefully in the near future, I'll call a driving instructor and take to the road. For now, I'll brace my wallet, hold my nose, gird my loins and take public transport.

'[F]riends we allow into our company, pets we allow into our solitude' ~ Robert Brault

2010-07-10T20:41:00.010+02:00

Hi, my name is Hayley and I have guinea pigs. I don't have a boyfriend/fiancee/husband/partner, and I don't have children. But I have Sooty and Sweep. Love me, love my pigs.

The little lady on the right is Sweep, my runt. Not that she's so runt like anymore, but when I first had her she couldn't walk either due to infection or a lack of Vitamin C. As a result of Sweepie's problems, she became an indoor guinea pig. Sooty was shipped off to temporary digs with my Auntie and cousins while I nursed my baby back to health. As a result of basically being hand reared (I was working in a school and I got her in July, so we spent most of the summer holidays hand in paw so as to speak), Sweep is about as tame a guinea pigs get. She's a real character, and particularly beloved by the many children of the family.

To the left, that's Sooty. She likes to think she's in charge, but Sweep gives her a good run for her money nowadays. Sooty, whilst by no means timid, is not as socialised as her sister. She is not a fan of new people and is quite jumpy. But don't let that fool you - she knows exactly what she wants in life!

My niece was a toddler when I bought the guinea pigs home. I did the one thing that no responsible pet owner should ever do and made an impulse buy. I went into a pet shop with my cousin, Oliver (who was 5 at the time) just to look at the animals, and came out with these two beauties. Mum was not best pleased, but they were so cute, and the deed was done. Plus, Bel loved them. And the way to get Mum to agree to anything is for Isobel (or Noah, but he wasn't born at the time) to fall in love with the idea.

For a while now, Isobel and I have been fantasising about getting a baby guinea pig. They are SO cute when they're tiny. And in the last couple of months, she's really taken to being a responsible pet owner. Seeing her with Sooty and Sweep is the cutest thing. Noah is also fond of them, but at 21 months his favourite thing to do is point to their eyes and say 'EYES'. Anyway, I had planned to take Bel to the Pets at Home Summer workshop to see the baby guineas there as Mum and Dad (Dad in particular) had been very clear that there would be no more guinea pigs in this house. Unfortunately, it seemst that Isobel took this to mean she would be getting a baby guinea of her very own. Contrary to what Alison will tell you, I made quite clear to her that this was not the case.

Then, on Saturday morning, Mum says to me that in fact, Isobel can have a baby guinea pig for her birthday! My feelings on this actually vascillate a lot more than I thought they would; a pet is a huge responsibility and the onus will be on me to provide love and hugs when Bel isn't around. I think it's hugely important to realise that five year olds really aren't at an age where they can be solely - or even mostly - responsible for an animal. It is irresponsible to believe otherwise. Whilst the new guinea pig will be Isobel's, I will be its primary care giver.

Logistically, too, adding to the herd is a lot more complicated than I really considered. At the moment Sooty and Sweep live in a large indoor cage in the kitchen. I am dead=set against them becoming outdoor guinea pigs for a variety of reasons, not least because Sweep is now three years old and has never lived outside. I believe that they are tamer and more sociable with humans because they are always in the human domain. It's pretty easy to work out why; it's much easier to take them out of a cage in the kitchen late at night than it is to trek up the garden and remove them from a hutch. They are staying put in the house.

But what about the new guinea pig? Well, here's where it gets a bit more complicated. Any new guinea pig will have to be quarantined for a couple of months so as to avoid transmitting nasty germs to my two, and so a cage will be needed for him/her to live in for that time. But the other consideration is that S&S won't take to the new piggie, in which case he/she will have to live in a different cage forever. In which case there will need to be 2 piggies, because guinea pigs are herd animals and it's really not fair to keep one on its own. If we are having two more guinea pigs then we need another cage of the same proportions as the one S&S have. But where will we put it?

These are all issues that need to be solved before we can commence to getting our new baby(ies). Currently I am of the opinion that the way forward is to adopt from the RSPCA rather than buying from a Pet Shop, and our local RSPCA is having an Open Day on 24th July. We're hoping to go along and check out what's available at that time. We may or may not come home with our newest furry friends on that day.

Today, Bel and I paid a visit to Pets at Home. I thought she might like to see the baby guinea pigs there and get an idea of what she was getting in to. The plan possible backfired a little, as the lovely lady there let us have a cuddle with the little cutie on the right (I have a lovely picture of Isobel with her new friend, but I have yet to ascertain my sister and brother-in-law's feelings about posting pictures of their children on unrestricted websites). Isobel wants to know if she can have this little love as her baby guinea pig, As he's a BOAR, I pointed out that it could be a little problematic. We left him in the pet shop and he will not be coming home with us; I hope I haven't scarred her for life by allowing her to cuddle an animal not destined to be hers. I thought it would be no different from stroking animals at Pet's Corner. My bad! Anyway, she has decided that she wants a BOY guinea pig now. I am not completely averse to the idea of a man in my herd, but he would have to be neutered. The RSPCA do have neutered animals available, so it is possible that she may get her wish; otherwise we may do a little fudging about the sex of her newest friend. We had Rosie the budgie for years, and it wasn't until after she died that we realised that Rosie was, in fact, Robin. I don't think she'll be too scarred by the deception. I do hope not.

So, wish me and my wallet luck in the next few weeks as we prepare for a new addition. What on EARTH have I let myself in for?!

'Music is enough for a lifetime, but a lifetime is not enough for music.' ~ Rachmaninov

2010-07-08T22:37:00.004+02:00

It's no secret that I have a love affair with music. My taste is varied in eclectic, and I think part of the reason for that is that a) I play myself and b) I studied Music right up to AS Level. My iPod features Pachabel, Pixie Lot and the Soundtrack from Wicked, not to mention medical musical parody by the Amateur Transplants (warning - strong language and potential for offense). In fact, I think of my life as something of a soundtrack on occasion.

My good friend Katie starts most days on Facebook with a lyric. I love reading these posts - they provoke a smile and a good hum and put me in an excellent frame of mind.

I came across a wonderful fridge magnet quote: 'When words fail, music speaks'. It's so true; the image above is from my brother's wedding, when I played Bizet and Elgar. Less than three months later I was playing at my Great-Uncle's funeral. I like to think that my emotions were clearly illustrated by my choice of music and execution thereof.

One of the best things you can do when you feel down is to sing. It's free to do, and crucially, it releases endorphins and serotonin. Now, if you're a crazed loony like me, you need all the happy juice you can get, and if it's natural, so much the better. I'm not making this up, peeps - check out this Telegraph article if you want to find out more about the healing power of song.

One of the more tedious elements of my job involves data entry. It's mind-numbingly boring and painfully slow because the NHS does not understand the concept of up to date IT services. I find that belting out my favourite tunes whilst doing this makes it easier to stay awake. My colleagues are not so fond of this tactic, so I don't employ it often, but I do often have a little background music to lift my mood.

I play the flute and the piano (and a few other instruments). I started playing the piano before I learnt the flute. I took up the flute because I wanted to play a more sociable instrument - pianos are very rarely employed for orchestras and wind bands. Nowadays I play in the City of Rochester Symphony Orchestra. I'm also quite involved in Church Music - I play in two groups. One is fun and funky and I love it. The other I lovingly term Hayley and the Sugar Daddies because I am the only female and the guys are all old enough to be my father. I love them, too, but the two groups are very different.

My point is, not only is singing a wonderful way to cheer yourself up, it's also inherently sociable. Look at the success of SingStar and Lips! If you're looking for a more formal arrangement, join a choir. Heck, form your own Madrigal group if you so desire.

Music is so very versatile; it ranges from the purely orchestral to the extremely avant-garde. It can be happy or sad or funny or troubled or exciting. It can make you smile and make you cry. With music, there's something for everyone.

My niece, Isobel (4) and my nephew, Noah (21 months) are already flexing their musical muscles. Isobel is desperate to play the flute and whilst her technique's not quite there yet, she gets full marks for trying. Noah LOVES the ZingZillas and has been fond of the piano for a long as he's been mobile. Both of them have a wicked sense of rhythm and are not afraid of singing. There's no age limit on music. When Bel and I are playing/singing Molly Malone it makes no odds that I am 20 years older than her - she has the ability to perform the song as well as I do. We're still working on performing together, but we both get a buzz from it. I especially like it when she charges admittance (and provides the funds to pay!)

So, if you're wondering what to do this weekend and are chronically short of funds maybe you could have a karaoke party. Or you could rent Music and Lyrics - a feelgood film about the greatness of music as a communicator. Or you could make a video montage of your holidays or similar with your favourite track. Or you could pick up your old neglected school recorder and annoy the neighbours. Heck, you can get a really nice descant for £10, if you don't have one you could buy one. The choices are endless.

Make Music. You won't regret it.

'A thing of beauty is a joy forever.' ~ Keats

2010-07-07T21:11:00.002+02:00

I have tarted up my blog, which has been immensely satisfying. I think I can be a little obsessive about things, sometimes, and I spent over an hour getting the banner so that the background mingled with the background of the blog itself. They now match.

There are a lot of homilies about beauty; one of my favourite is actually 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'. I think there's a lot to be said for this. What, to one person, is a dead stick is, to someone else, a work of art. I think that those who search for the beauty in life rather than focus on the ugliness are probably those who are happier all around.

Beauty, in the manifestation of the human body, is an ever changing concept. Check out the lady in the image on the left. She was painted in 1640 by Rubens, and exemplifies the idea of a beautiful figure at that time. If take the time to look at Rubens' work, you'll see that his models are of a more voluptuous nature. That's because, to put it bluntly, to be fat was to be beautiful at that time. The lady with the mirror is no size zero, and even with a corset it's clear that she's carrying a few extra pounds.

Compare and contrast with Keira Knightley (right). Knightley exemplifies the complete opposite of my lady in the mirror. If the wind blew it seems she would blow away, such is her stature. Now, I'm not saying that my lady in the mirror is more beautiful than Keira or that Keira is more beautiful than the lady in the mirror. But as examples of society's perception of beauty, they illustrate my point beautifully.

Obesity is one of the more newsworthy medical problems of society as a whole in 2010. Newspapers and magazines don't hesitate to tell us that our grandmothers had an average waist size of 27". Today it's more likely to be 34". Of course, our grandmothers tended to be rather shorter, too, but this tends to be glossed over.

I used to work in the Cardiology Department, and there's no doubt that obesity can affect your health. But things have gone to extremes, and we now have Food-Nazis monitoring our every mouthful. Children are banned from having anything other than water at school. Chocolate is the devil of the diet. It's a case, in my opinion, of one extreme to the other.

Please note, people, that in the war rationing included a CHOCOLATE allowance. Chocolate and sweets were rationed from 1942 to 1953. You were allowed 2oz of sweets/chocolate a week. Ok, so it's not much, but it does prove that chocolate is not quite so very bad as it is made out to be!

One of the things that I really hate about Rosemary Conley's diet plan (even though I don't object to the plan as a whole) is that if you have something 'nice' then you use up a 'sin'. Chocolate is not a sin. Ice cream is not a sin. Gluttony is a sin, but really, the amout of chocolate/ice cream a sin entitles you to does not qualify as gluttony. The implication of calling chocolate/sweets/ice cream/cake a sin is that you are, somehow, naughty for eating them. I'm sorry, Food-Nazism aside, this is not true.

The general consensus is that the key to a healthy diet is everything in moderation. Clearly eating a whole giant Dairy Milk bar in one session is not a sensible thing to do (and yes, I have done it). But equally, you aren't going to get very far on bread alone.

I have to admit, I have a habit of falling off of the dieting bandwagon at times, and I may gorge on chocolate, cake, doughnuts, crisps and the like. I recognise that this is not healthy behaviour, but they are SO nice. When dieting, though, I note that chocolate cake is never, but never, featured on the diet plan. It should be. Not every day, not necessarily every week, but these things should be incorporated into diet plans, because if you want chocolate then eventually you are going to succumb to that craving. Far better to build it in, whether it be at four squares of Galaxy a week or a square of Bournville a day or whatever.

For the record, I have not had any chocolate this week (except for a bowl of Coco Pops this morning - does that count?). I have not had a packet of crisps either. I have eaten the grand total of one (1) chip. My meals today included a lunch of Uncle Ben's Savoury Chicken rice. All I had was rice. No meat. No veg. Just rice. Breakfast was said bowl of cereal. Dinner was chicken and salad (and I admit to having a small amount of full-fat (gasp) coleslaw) and that the potatoes were done in the oven with a spray of oil). I had cheese on toast for my snack, and I ignored the 'half fat cheese' rule and went for the real McCoy extra mature cheddar. It's not going to kill me, and I have no intention of never eating it again. Let's make this whole diet thing realistic, please. I quite liked the rice at lunchtime. I didn't object to the cereal or the salad. But cheese is one of my favourite foods, and I am not compromising on what I use, just how much of it I have.

So, beauty? Beauty is a formless thing. I've given up the pursuit of beauty, because frankly, if I aint there yet I'm never going to make it. There are worse things in life than a slightly larger waist measurement and seriously flabby thighs. I'm healthy and I'm loved. Beauty, to me, is a day spent with my family enjoying their company. Beauty is Noah wrapping his arms around my legs and giving me a spontaneous hug. Beauty is about actions as much as it is about looks.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever. The secret is to see the beauty in everything. It stands to reason that your life will then be filled with joy (or at least, you won't be miserable because you're not the next Keira).

'Don't dig your grave with your own knife and fork.' ~ English Proverb

2010-07-06T21:50:00.001+02:00

It's not secret that I have food issues. I hit my teens and fell into virtual anorexia, losing two stones in six weeks. It was not a good look. I've had issues with food ever since. Prior to my time at university, they tended to be issues that involved eating too little. I left uni at my ideal weight (as evidenced by the image to the left), and promptly put on a load more whilst looking for employment. Nowadays I eat too much, if anything. I am officially overweight. And I hate it.

It's no secret that the world is obsessed with image. We don't market things on how they smell, what they taste like, or how well they function - these are secondary to the primary rule of marketing. Image. And I can tell you now... you rarely see an overweight woman doing a promotion, in spite of the fact that the average woman in the UK is a size 16.

At 5'10" I carry fat well. I am tall and broad, and I don't look overly chubby. Most people are surprised when they find out I need to lose about 2 stones. But I do. And, having been the ultimate in slender at one point, being average now is... well, it bothers me.

I actually lost a lot of weight between October 2009 and March 2010 and was only 1 stone off of my target (see image to the right). Unfortunately I then had an operation, was bed bound for a while and off work for longer. It was fatal, and in 13 weeks I managed to put on all bar 2lb of my lost weight.

At which point, I decided I needed to do something and joined the Prima Diet Club. It gives you a meal plan and a shopping list, which appeals to me. It allows me 1600 calories a day. This does not appeal to me, but I recognise that it's necessary to get back on track. I've only been doing the diet since Sunday, and frankly I am hungry. But...I don't actually need more food - the hunger disappears if I don't give in to it.

I have to wonder how healthy our diet driven lifestyle is. I don't think I'll ever join a diet scheme which involves taking on only liquid calories, or only protein. I want to diet sensibly so that I can maintain good habits. It's not about a fast fix, its about long term results.

I'm hoping to have lost the weight I put back on by the time my birthday rolls around on 29th August. I'll be half-way to my goal at that point and will 100% in the size 16 zone. Even when I finish losing weight I doubt I'll be anything other than a 16 - my hips are too wide, for one thing. But it's not about dress size. It's about feeling good and eating well.