Roy and Hazel

Having just dropped Hazel off at the airport (she's off for a 4 day break in the sunshine with her sister), I get a call from my mate to tell me that he's arrived in Brighton and to ask if I'm still up for a boys night out on the town. "Yeah. Sure! I'm looking forward to it" I reply. "Great!" he says, "See you at eight! And don't forget to bring some wine!"

Marcel is one of my oldest friends. He lives in London and comes down to Brighton for a night out, just once or twice a year. This weekend he is staying over at Mark's apartment, and Mark is cooking steak for the 3 of us before we go out to the club.

I am a little bit worried though. I am like this every time I go out. I can never find something to wear that looks good on me, and frankly I hate the thought of people laughing at 3 middle aged men trying to have a good time. Brighton attracts a young crowd, and we have been turned away by doormen before "because we're full" only to see them let in the people who arrive behind us. I decide on black shoes, grey jeans, and a black and grey shirt.

Tonight is Halloween and I hear hoards of kiddies in the street outside squeal with delight as they knock on doors, crying "Trick or Treat!" No-one comes to our door. Could be because the dog growls menacingly in the hall if anyone approaches. The sweets and chocolates that Hazel left for me to hand out are left untouched in the hallway.

I get dressed and head off into the black night. The air is still and it is a pleasant evening. I decide to walk the 30 minutes it takes to Mark's apartment. Every so often, a group of giggling teenagers run by, shouting "Happy Halloween". There are lots of pumpkins lit like lanterns on doorways and in windows. It does feel quite magical.

When I arrive, Mark and Marcel are in good spirits. As old friends do, we soon settle down to some banter and catch up on each others' news. Mark offers that I can stay at his place tonight "if I get lucky". I wince and point out that I am wearing my wedding ring and am not looking for anything more than a few drinks and good conversation. Marcel recalls the last we went out. At the night club, he got chatting to a girl who fancied him, but she wouldn't go off with him unless her friend could go off with me. Needless to say, he went home alone that night. It is hard going out for the evening with two single (divorced) mates whose idea of a good time is very different to mine. I tell them both about my attempts at losing weight this year. Mark advocates using those meal replacement shakes. He says he's lost 11 pounds in the last week. Marcel says exercise is the key. He is fit and has a honed body. He describes the crunches he does every morning on waking, and he goes to the gym after work several times a week. He suggests that I should try and find an exercise buddy.

After a great steak and some glasses of red wine, we call a cab and head off to the nightclub. We always go to the same place as it caters for the "Over 25s". It means that the students avoid it and older people can have a dance without fingers being pointed at them. As an added bonus, its also very dark inside. Its not lost on me that I'm almost twice that age though. When we arrive the doormen look us up and down and let us in. GREAT. We pay and step into the club. We're the first people to arrive. NOT GREAT. Mark shakes his head and says "Where are all the women?" Marcel consoles him and tells him they'll arrive soon.

We buy 3 beers and stand close to the dance floor. The club has been dressed for Halloween with pumpkins, spiders webs, and black balloons. Marcel glances towards the door and grins. "Here they come" he says, as the first witch arrives, followed by the grim reaper. I look at Mark: "Did you know it was fancy dress tonight?" "Yeah. But it doesn't matter," he replies.

Bit by bit, more people arrive and the club starts the fill. The music is fantastic, 70s and 80s funk soul and disco. Soon we edge our way onto the dance floor. I have always liked dancing so just tend to get on with it, whatever the track. Marcel is a good mover but he has to love the music. Tonight, he's dancing all night. Mark tends to stand in one place and shuffle his feet, keeping his beer in hand. I watch as both Marcel and Mark try to carefully weave towards girls that are dancing together. If they're lucky, one of the girls might move her body towards them, giving encouragement, but mostly, they turn their backs briefly as a signal to "back off!". Two guys step onto the dance floor, move apart from each other and then start circulating the dance floor, looking for opportunities. I grin to myself. Competition! This is going to be good!

Suddenly, from behind the grim reaper, a woman, must be in her late 50s, leaps onto the dance floor. Her eyes dart left and right, then rest on me. She beams widely, puts her arms outstretched in the air and she runs towards me. She stops immediately in front of me, with her arms still in the air. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do so I try and give her a "high five!" She grabs my hand and pulls me to towards her. I struggle to free my hand. I get it free and I dance backwards, in time to the music. She shrieks with joy and dances wobbily forwards, mirroring my movement. I hit the wall at the back. I jump forward and dance forwards, she stops and then dances backwards. We now find ourselves going backwards and forwards like a pendulum. Even though her steps are matching mine, her arms are still outstretched in the air. I don't know why she's doing this. Maybe she's trying to act like a zombie. All I know is that her mouth is wide open, with a big grin on her face, and she's starting to dribble from one corner of her mouth. I'm with a crazy drunk woman who looks like she wants to devour me. I look frantically around the room. My mates are standing, pissing themselves with laughter. I am finally released by the woman's girlfriends who have now discovered where she is. She is pulled away, looking quite forlorn, and taken back to the bar area.

The rest of the evening goes by really quickly and is great fun. As the last track is played, a young witch grabs Marcel and takes him for a slow dance. He returns happy. As we stubble out of the club, at 3 am, I am shocked to see how busy the streets are, full of revellers in costumes. This is a world I'm not accustomed to seeing, as Saturday night normally means watching Strictly Come Dancing or X-Factor and then bed.

When I get home, I find J and the dog asleep in my bedroom. Maybe they're both missing Hazel already? I decide not to wake them and slip into bed beside them.

In the morning, I am woken by a text message from Hazel. She's just had breakfast and is off to lie by the pool. I get up and make my way unsteadily to the bathroom. Damn. Every bone and muscle in my body is aching. Still, what a great night.

Have been thinking about our moodiness.

Both Hazel and I are frustrated at the moment. Hazel's frustration stems, I think, from having to become used to a change in routine. J has started 6th form college and has a lot of free / spare time which means that he spends much more time at home than when he was at school. It also means he has become more demanding, in terms of food, general untidiness, and asking for lifts in the car. For Hazel, its less time for gathering her thoughts and trying to be organised. The result has been more arguments as Hazel refuses to do something that J has asked for. I seem to get the brunt of it when I get home after work as both try and get me to see their side of a situation. My frustration is that I can see if Hazel handled things differently, she'd get a different reaction from J and a more positive one. The only good thing really is that my own relationship with J has dramatically improved over the past year.

I am frustrated at my lack of progress with losing weight and this is making me angry too. It feels like I can't break out of a cycle, and I don't know why. Changing my diet is not the answer. I can see that. If this was going to be the case, I'd have lost stones over the past year or so as my eating habits have changed dramatically. The key has to be increased exercise. I must make time for it. I feel so apathetic. Or should that read "pathetic"...

Its Sunday morning and my mood feels a little lighter.

The past week has been hectic at work and the evenings have sometimes felt like battle zones as Hazel and J pick fights with each other.

On Friday evening, I almost have a melt-down. The car journey home is a nightmare with rain falling so heavily I can almost not see out of the windscreen. At times, the road disappears and it feels like I'm driving through a river. When I'm about 20 minutes away, I call Hazel to tell her that I'm almost home. She tells me that she's cooking chili and I offer to stop by the shop and buy some wine and garlic bread. (Yes, still not got back to low carbing this week.) I arrive in Brighton and get soaked as I run from the car into the shop. I return with the wine and bread.

At home, as I put my keys in the lock, I can hear Hazel shouting. She's berating J for not helping bring dirty dishes from his bedroom. I sigh and head towards the kitchen with a heavy heart. "Hi hon. Here's the garlic bread", I say when I get closer. Hazel turns towards me and angrily says: "Don't put it down there! Its in my way!" She glares at me: "All I do is cook and clean in this house! You and J do nothing to help! I get no respite!"

I turn away, reach for a wine glass from the cupboard and grab a bottle of cold wine to take into the lounge. As I switch on the TV, I can still hear Hazel talking out loud to herself. Then she shouts: "TURN THAT TV DOWN ROY" and I sink down into the couch.

I realise that I have a band of pain around my head. Feels like a vice, clamping down slowly but surely.

I channel hop for a while, then decide to put on a rented DVD that arrived the day before. The film starts. I am stunned by it within the first 5 minutes. It is deeply moving. While Hazel fumes in the kitchen, I'm sitting in the lounge crying my eyes out as I watch the main character make the most of the last 3 months of his life. Suddenly Hazel appears with a plate of chili. She sees that I've been crying. "Oh for gawdsakes, Roy, why do you watch crap like that?"

I take the plate from her and ask: "Where's the garlic bread?" Hazel glares at me and says: "Its in the fridge. I didn't cook it." I stare at her. She turns on her heels and goes back into the kitchen. I shake my head in disbelief. I made a special detour for that bread. I got wet so we could have that bread. I chose that bread because it went well with the chili. I've worked hard all week. I deserved that bread. I start to sob uncontrollably. Then I get angry. I am absolutely fuming. I shout out: "YOU LAZY SELFISH COW!" and I lose it, tears streaming down my face. Hazel sits in the kitchen, chewing moodily on her food. J is in his bedroom, headphones clamped to his ears, listening to trance music. I'm in the lounge, sinking into a black deep hole of despair.

I wake early and the vice like grip around my head has got worse in the night. I have a headache and my mood is grim. I go downstairs and stare blankly at my laptop for the next two hours, not even bothering to surf the net, just waiting for Hazel or J to stir and get up. Finally, I hear Hazel. She makes her way downstairs and comes into the lounge. "How are you feeling today?" I can barely look at her. I feel such resentment. "I'm fine" I say through gritted teeth. "Why don't you talk to me? Tell me what's wrong. Is it anything to do me?" she asks. I look at her: "I DON'T WANT TO TALK. OK." Hazel sums up the situation and then says,"I was planning to go out for the day, you don't mind do you?" "No" I reply, "That's fine." Hazel gets herself ready and goes off in her car.

J comes downstairs. "Dad, can I have a lift into town please?" I nod. At least with both of them out, I'll have a peaceful day to myself. As J gets himself ready, I get something to eat in the kitchen. Then I see the shopping list that Hazel has left for me. Damn. I have to go to the supermarket. J appears and I stuff the list into my back pocket. Once in the car, J attaches his phone to my car music system and blasts out some trance music. He grins widely, nodding his head to the regular beating rhythm. "Don't you find this music calming, Dad?". I shake my head. "No I don't. And its putting me off my driving." We arrive at J's drop-off point and he jumps out of the car with a cheery "Bye, Dad, Thanks!"

I drive slowly to the supermarket. My headache is bad. As I walk into the store, I feel like biting someone. My first port of call is the flowers. I walk round and round and see nothing I like. Oh well. I can't be bothered to buy any. I move onto the meat aisle. I stand still and look up and down. I can't be bothered here too. Surely, we'll have some in the freezer at home. I walk towards the fish counter. On the shopping list, Hazel has scribbled "Mussels". Ahead of me, I can see that there are fresh mussels in a tank with cold running water. But there's not many left. Maybe just enough for a meal for Hazel. I arrive at the fish counter at the same time as an old man. He looks like a tramp. The person behind the counter shouts: "Who's next?" I smile at the old man and say: "You go first". The old man turns to the person behind the counter, points his finger at the mussels tank, and says: "I'll have the rest of those." I stare at him, speechless. I momentarily think that I'm going to slap him one. I grunt very loudly instead and walk off.

I make my way around the aisles, throwing stuff into my trolley. I'm getting increasingly angry as I do. Hazel has not written down items in the order you go round the store. This means that I'm having to go, repeatedly, up and down, from one end of the store to the other. I am swearing under my breath. I also happen to have picked a time when the store is full of frail grey haired old ladies who move at a snail's pace and manoeuvre their trolleys in such a way that you can't quite get past them. More than once, I reprimand myself for almost daring to knock my trolley into the back of one. In the vegetable aisles, I find a pack of leeks and put it in my trolley. Five aisles later, I'm reading down the shopping list, and realise it says "leeks and cabbage mixture". Aaaaagghh. I throw the leeks out onto an adjacent shelf and storm back to look for the mixed bag I am supposed to have. Finally, I am done. I walk towards the check-outs.

As I reach my intended check-out, from no-where appears a woman, and she slides quickly in front of me. Oh. That's cheeky. I look at her and she's only carrying a basket with a few items in. I decide not to say anything. She loads her few items on to the conveyor belt but steadfastly refuses to move to allow me to start placing mine. I am confused and think its a bit rude. Then, I watch in horror, as she puts her hand in the air and waves to someone. "Hey"" she shouts, "I'm over here!" A younger woman with a trolley full to the top waves back and heads on over to where we are. "There. I've held a place for you here, dear" the first woman says to her. And with my mouth gaping, they both start to unload items on the conveyor belt. I am totally speechless. I see red mist and I think I'm going to explode. I grunt out loud again and storm off. I do this because I cannot trust what I would say or do, having lost my temper. My headache is ranging now. I join the back of another check-out queue.

When I get to the cashier, I am appalled to find someone who is happy and chatty. Oh. No.

"Hi there? How are you today?" he asks.

"Fine thank you." I reply but quietly hoping he'll get the hint that I don't want him to chat to me. But he doesn't.

"Do you want any help packing your bags?"

I look him in the eye and almost say out loud: "Do I look disabled to you?" but, again, I stop myself and reply: "No, thank you."

He smiles back and says, "Have you got anything good planned for later today?"

My bones are aching and my stress levels are beyond belief. "No. Nothing." I reply.

"What will you be doing?" he continues.

WTF. What do I have to do to shut this guy up.

I reply, "Nothing. I'm not doing anything.

"A quiet day," he replies, "Oh that's nice. A quiet day."

I sigh inwardly. I think he's going to stop talking now.

The cashier looks at me, "So what's a quiet day look like?"

I almost smash the can of tomatoes I'm holding into his face.

"Nothing", I reply, "Maybe some TV. Maybe some cooking."

Wrong answer. Big mistake. The cashier looks brightly at me again.

"Oh, anything good on TV? Anything I should look out for?"

I grunt heavily. And ignore the question.

He comes back: "What will you be cooking, then?"

I want to raise my head up and shout out loud "HELP ME!" This guy is driving me nuts. I reply, "Oh, maybe, lasagna."

"What was that you said?"

"Lasagna"

"Sorry?"

"Lasagna"

"Lasagna?"

"YES"

Surely, he's had lasagna before! If he asks me for the recipe, I'll kill him.

"Oh. That's nice. Are you cooking for friends?" he asks.

I shake my head but I don't answer.

He picks up a bottle of wine to scan it. "This is lovely wine. Have you had it before?"

I shake my head.

"I think you'll really like it" he says.

So the guy thinks he knows what I like now. What? Has he been to my house? Has he enjoyed one of my meals? I try to smile. "Thank you. I'm sure I will."

He continues: "Did you mean to buy only four bottles?"

I look at him puzzled: "Sorry?"

He said, "Did you mean to buy only four bottles?"

For christakes, the guy must think I'm an alcoholic who's forgotten to put enough in the trolley. Or do I look like I can't count. Drrr.

"I'm sorry" I say, "I don't understand what you mean."

He smiles, "I mean, we have a promotion on this weekend. If you buy six bottles of this wine, you get 25% off. Its a great deal."

Erm. I saw that deal in the wine aisle but I didn't think it applied to the wine I had chosen.

"Okay. Yes. That sounds like a good deal. I'll go and get two more bottles" I say.

"Stay there. I'll call someone to get them for you!" he replies happily.

"I really don't mind getting them myself," I reply.

"No, sir, just wait, someone will get them for you. No problem."

Ten minutes later the guy is still pressing the supervisor call button. He is still smiling brightly. Damn. I wish I hadn't bothered.

Finally, someone appears and he goes off to find the wine. Five minutes later he returns with the two extra bottles. The cashier scans them, saying to me, "Can't wait to tell you how much you've saved!"

I briefly see the numbers flash up on the display. Strange. The cashier's smile wavers for a split second and he looks momentarily confused. I realise what I have just seen. There was no 25% reduction. The cashier looks at me again. Smiles. And says "Oh, you'll have saved a lot there. My maths isn't very good so I can't tell you the actual saving but hey, it must be at least one bottle free, don't you think?" I almost call his bluff but can't be bothered. I just want to get out off here. As I am walking away, the cashier waves goodbye and says:" Let me know next week how you like the wine!" Not if I see you first.

I get home. The house is empty. Thank heavens for small mercies. I unpack and sit on the couch. The phone rings several times. I know its Hazel checking up on me. I can't be bothered to answer. Early evening, Hazel arrives home with J and the dog. "Feeling any better?" she asks. "No" I reply. "Oh, OK. I'll keep out your way then." And, true to her word, I have the evening to myself.

I don't sleep well in the night. And I get up early.

But as I said at the start of this post: its Sunday morning and my mood feels a little lighter.

Weekend mornings are my favorite times of the week. I get up early as soon as my mind turns to thinking about work issues. I refuse to think about work in my bed. I switch on the kettle and my laptop and, as Hazel and J sleep soundly upstairs, I log on and catch up on the blogs I am following. It can sometimes take several hours. As I read everyone's progress towards a healthier, fitter and happier existence, I see the constant themes of hope, disappointment, encouragement, frustration and a great deal of humour. Its not setting the goal that's important, its making the journey. Or as my grandma used to say when I came last in the race at school: its not the winning, its the taking part.

This week, I have not been taking part.

With the week starting with an unexpectedly hot and sunny day, Hazel and I head off to Brighton Marina. J, holed up in his darkened bedroom, refuses to come. I pop my head round his bedroom door, ignore the clothes, plates and drink cans on his floor, and ask if he's sure. He's sitting at his computer with headphones on and he's chatting on MSN. "No, dad. I'm fine. Leave me alone." and then he adds, "What time will you be back?" which sends a shudder down my spine as I momentarily imagine returning to the house to find a rave party in full flow. "Oh, we won't be long. Just popping out", I reply.

We take the scenic route into town, driving along the Brighton seafront, with the car roof down. The beaches are packed. Traffic is quite slow and we cruise along. Massive steel and concrete barriers divide the traffic lanes just outside the Brighton Centre. Here the Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will host the Labour Party Conference in the coming week. The area is teeming with police. We drive on by and head towards the Marina. The sun is beating down and I feel relaxed. I am suddenly aware that Hazel is talking to me. Something about me having to do some jobs when we get home. I grimace and shut out the noise. I get a dig in the ribs when she realises that I'm not listening.

Arriving at the Marina, the car park is full. Everybody has had the same idea: catch the rays of sunshine before Autumn. I manage to find a space at ASDA, which means we'll have to call into the supermarket to buy something to avoid having to pay for the parking space. We stroll up to the walkway overlooking the boats, bobbing up and down on the sea. The walkway is lined with restaurants so we have lots of choice, but there are few tables available. We end up grabbing one of the last ones at an Italian restaurant, La Strada. Hazel makes me swap seats so she can tan better on her face and shoulders.

Its glorious. The sun puts both of us in a good mood. I ask Hazel if she wants some wine with her meal. She says "no" but then offers to drive home if I want a drink. Great! I order a bottle of white and some sparkling water. Looking at the menu, there's a wide range of dishes, lots of pasta, bread, risotto, and pizza. I find a salad that I can eat but, maybe its the first sip of cold wine going down my throat, I decide to order a starter of goats cheese and tomato on brushetta, followed by a spicy sausage and chili pizza. Hazel orders pork with a creamy butter sauce, with mash potatoes and green beans. As the restaurant is so busy, it takes a long time for the food to arrive, maybe an hour? Somehow, it doesn't seem to matter. We watch the people walk by: the family groups, young couples holding hands, grandparents being taken out by their middle aged children. The food, when it comes, is delicious.

Almost 3 hours pass, and we head back to the car. We call into ASDA and buy some more wine (putting out of our minds our resolution not to drink this week) which means we get a refund on our car park fee. Driving home, we almost stop off at the French Market which has been set up for the weekend on Hove Lawns. We visited it the day before and Hazel bought some french bread and cheeses, most of which she had almost already finished.

At home, on a promise to do the jobs next week, Hazel allows me to settle in for the evening with a new bottle of wine.

The week at work is a busy one. Having started the week eating pizza, I ignore the salad bar in the staff restaurant and have a freshly made sandwich every day. In the evenings, I let Hazel cook and I eat what she and J has. Which means potato, pasta and rice. For this reason, I keep away from the bathroom scales.

So, what will the week ahead hold? I dunno.

Let's see.

I must get back on the horse. The bike. The wagon. Whatever.

Poor old Hazel - she's feeling really rotten and thinks she's got swine flu, even though I keep taking her temperature and tell her its perfectly normal.

My week has been okay. My food choices have been sensible with salad for lunch everyday at work and some meat for my evening meal. I made a great beef casserole one night and a pork goulash on another. In fact, I ate out twice and had a fishcake with salad the first time and a chicken Caesar salad the second (leaving the bread croutons). Not so good is that I skipped breakfast every day. I have continued to do well with my water intake, and I have taken to carrying water in the car and taking a bottle into meetings at work. How did this all play out on the scales?

I PUT ON 3 POUNDS.

GRRR.

I was so despondent that I switched on my laptop and started to look for inspiration on the Internet. I typed in my search term and as I was reading the page of returned results, I happened to notice the ads presented for me by Google:

"Losing weight for idiots. Click here."

"Have you got bad breath?"

"Move it or lose it."

HEY! Even Google is on my back now.

FEELING much much much much much BETTER.

I change my shampoo, paying for a medicated one double the price of my normal one, and miraculously my scalp returns to normal. Whew! What a relief. I also find that flossing my teeth has reduced the swelling of my gums. Eating meat in the evenings meant that bits got lodged in between my teeth resulting in greater sensitivity in the mornings when I brush my teeth.

I have stuck to eating freshly cooked healthy ingredients based around salad and meats. Although my weight has fluctuated by a few pounds up and down I have lost the weight I gained last week. On the scales this morning, I am 14 lb 13 (209 pounds). I look into the bathroom mirror and grin widely...until I notice my manboobs. Oh well. Some way to go yet.

During the week I have two moments which made me stop and think.

The first is when I'm weaving my way through the new staff restaurant at work. The food is so much improved on the old. There's freshly made to order sandwiches, a salad bar, and at least five different hot food options. I have settled into a routine: heading straight for the salad bar. As I leave the restaurant, with my salad, I look to the tables left and right. There's a guy who is as thin as a rake. He's tucking into lasagna with chips on the side. On another table there's a guy with 3 massive slices of deep pan cheese crusted pizza with what looks like a whole garlic bread baguette. He looks anorexic. I hold on tightly to my polystyrene box of salad leaves and smoked mackerel pieces and tell myself I'll enjoy my lunch. It is tasty. I have to say. But why oh why do some people get away with eating exactly what they like?

The second time is on Sunday. We go to a college to watch a rugby match which has been organised as a memorial tribute to Hazel's dad who passed away two years ago. My goodness, how the time flies. I'm explaining to someone who I haven't seen in quite a while just how difficult it is to lose weight. I explain how your metabolism seems to slow down once you start eating less than normal. She looks me straight in the eye and says: "How about exercise? If you are so committed to losing weight, why aren't you exercising?" I ramble on about being too tired after work in the evenings and she replies sincerely: "But I thought you said this was important to you? Why aren't you making the effort?"

OUCH.

Blaah!!!!

Its been a bad week.

I have gained 2 pounds since last Monday.

*SOB*

And my mood has been black as thunder (ask Hazel).

My diet has been great: I have been eating lots of salads and meat, and drinking water instead of diet coke. I haven't touched any sugar or caffeine. I have made all my meals from fresh, mainly organic produce. My portion sizes have been fine. So what's going wrong?

Well. Physically, I've felt rotten. My stomach has been stopping me from sleeping properly. Its felt like a washing machine churning round rocks inside. A constant dull ache. My scalp has been itchy and bleeding which has really upset me. And my gums have been bleeding too. I feel that I am falling apart. Because of this, I have not felt able to abstain from my usual evening habit of having some white wine. I needed something to numb my upset.

I need to pull myself together and so I turn to youtube for some inspiration. How can I lighten my mood and make me feel better?

I don't feel up to some real exercise but I could move around a bit. Perhaps a bit of dancing round the living room?



Oh! Maybe not.

Getting off my head could be the right answer after all? Making things go fuzzy can't be all that bad, can it?



Ah! Maybe not a terrific idea. Perhaps I could take J. out for the day? He loves theme park rides?



Oh no - I remember the last time we went and I could hardly fit the restraint harnesses around my stomach. Still, I could always watch a cartoon. Cartoons always cheer me up.



Usually.

How about escaping from it all?



I could always take Hazel with me...and have a nice romantic break away.

But seeing the dog has hurt his paw, and needs looking after, I don't think that's going to happen. Oh well.

Roll on next week.