Archive for May, 2009

I know it’s lame but I just can’t help it.

I love that shit!! 🙂 here is a little treat for the weekend.

and another one:

Enjoy your weekend!


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Hmm. Fitness.

Somebody I won’t name convinced me to sign up to fitness classes. To be honest, I didn’t resist too much as I will be reaching 26 (too soon) and intend very much to keep smoking, boozing and eating as much as I was before without gaining any weight and while building myself a Goddess’ body.

Everybody has its dreams…

But those are not regular fitness classes, oh no! I’m talking Military Fitness!!


British Military Fitness. Help..! I went to the first class on Wednesday evening. Today I still feel like I’ve been beaten up by a whole team of rugbymen.

The concept is fairly simple though: a military / ex-military instructor screaming orders and encouragements at about twenty people wearing blue numbers (blue because that’s the easiest level, the “unfit” level), sweating, running, rolling in the mud, doing press-ups, sit-ups, and loads of other very rude words I haven’t a clue what they mean.

Oh yeah, first thing first, half of the time I hadn’t a clue of what they were screaming at me. To my ear it sounded like barking. And to make matter worse, it was tough. Oh God it was so, so hard. I thought I was going to throw up, to die from a cardiac arrest, to fall on the ground and never get up again. But in the end I kept going apart from the occasional stitch and cramp, and you know what kept me running/jumping/rolling/crawling?

No. Not BF’s encouragements and advice…

Hatred. Pure HATRED. If I could have caught one of the two instructors (very, very unlikely to happen though), the thought of all the horrible things I could do to him/them made me go through the whole session. A good point, they know how to get the maximum out of somebody although I doubt my reaction is the standard one – I hope it is not anyway.

Results are there. I feel fitter! Well, at the very minute, I feel totally knackered, in pain, and even breathing is sore… but it was the first class. It can only get better from now!

Seriously now. It’s good. Even fun (yep!). And definitely worth a try. The classes take place outside, in our case at the Clapham Common, and it does make a nice change from stuffy gyms.

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My dear friends, let me tell you something sensible today:

The Sun, thou shalt avoid.

Indeed it’s bad. I know what I’m talking about. Cursed by a fair skin I am no stranger to sunburnts. I got my fair share, I don’t think any part of my body has been spared during those last 25 (almost 26) years.

I know very well everything of its dangers but still I burn.

Last weekend however I’ve touched the bottom (if bottom there is) of the stupidity. From now, my relationship with the Sun will never be the same ever again. Last Sunday we went to Brighton – lovely town, and decided to sat on some deckchairs we found on the beach. Not for long, just for 10-15min because we were tired (we got up at 6am this morning). Hardly suprising, we fell asleep.



How more stupid can that be?!?

As a result my dear friends, I woke up BURNT! I mean burnt, burnt, burnt. The face (of course), the arms, the neck, the legs burnt, the toes (ouch!) burnt.

I’m not talking about the pain here. It hurts. A lot.

I’m talking side effects. The very, pretty, original, striking, attention-grabbing side effects.

  • The glasses effect. In my case even more striking because I was wearing mask-like designer glasses. I now have (and must live with) a big white mark around my eyes and accross my face while the rest of my face is red, red, red. My boss when she saw me on Wednesday literally burst into laughing… It is that bad.
  • The scabbing (yuk) effect. My nose tip and my chin are so burnt that a brownish scab is actually forming…
  • The pealing effect. And I’m pealing! I’m disseminating my DNA in the whole of London. It’s terrible, it’s terrible, I not only look like a leper but it’s gross!!

To those who say I deserved it, well yeah ok. I did. To the others, thanks for your support in those troubled times.

PS: One of my colleagues actually proposed to cut me a balaclava in a Nusa Soup paper bag so, I quote: “You can hide yourself and look innocuous in the Tube back home..


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granny power

Let’s light the spirits up a bit.

A granny, a zebra cross and an impatient driver. Funny combination you think?

Well, not as funny as that video!

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Why can’t everything be easy, understandable?

Why has everything to be so complicated and above all is it really worth all the hassle?

Why can’t a friend listen to you the same way you listen to her?

Why is the hole so deep and dark and cold?

Why isn’t your other one here, helping to pull you back up on your feet?

Why does it have to hurt so much and what if you were wrong?

What if you were just wasting our time, your effort, your strength, your joy, your soul and your freedom?

What if everything, life, love, death, eternity was just a joke, a big unamusing big joke?

What if you were alone?

What if you were giving up, would people notice, would he notice?

What if you were to stop pretending everything is ok and let the facade crumble? Would they sympathise with you, would they ignore you, would they ostracise you…?

What if you don’t care anymore?

What happens next? And if everything fails, would you be strong enough to start again?

You are weak and pathetic, a creep crawling in a big hole. A big dark cold hole. At the top the sun shines but it doesn’t reach you. There is no way out.

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