how many posts make a theme?

just noticed i've done two in a row about my new ROF (roll of flab).
am i now officially obsessed or do i get a few more posts about it?
another recurring theme, of course, is the radiator in the bathroom.
it remains BOILING hot but continues to gurgle so i now have to unplug it every night and plug it back in every morning.
when i remember…

eat, drink and be merry, tomorrow we diet

The Mayo Clinic, Atkins, food combining, blood type. Forget those old-timers – I’ve started a new fad. It’s called the reverse diet. I go on holiday a week on Saturday. To Spain to lounge around in the sun and to stay at the house I co-own (and which leeches money from my bank account every month, but that’s a whole other rant).
Every year around May I start thinking, right, must drink less, eat a bit more sensibly and up my running so I’ve got a nice flat tummy / six pack for my summer holiday.
And every year I miss my target.
Well, this year I have surpassed myself.
I’ve had a particularly boozy / eatty (or is eaty?) few weeks, which consequently have left me with a rather unbecoming roll of flab that hangs menancingly over my trousers when I sit down – it’s like I’ve already been on holiday and have the body one expects to have after a week lounging around eating rich food, drinking too much and doing no exercise.
The day before I go I am going for a fake tan.
And that’s where the reverse diet comes in. I am going to go away brown and ‘cuddly’ and come back certainly paler (sunbathing is a no no in these surgically enhanced / face ripped off and stuck back on again times, you know) and hopefully a bit less flabby.
Get it? Remember where you read it first.
No doubt my first entry back will read To Barcelona, where my tan faded and my stomach became firmer. Which brings me to today’s pet hate: people who, usually in the Londoner’s Diary pages of ES begin a story by saying ‘To The Wolseley…’ or ‘To the courts of justice’. Whatever happened to ‘I went…’?

i have hangover cubed. that's a hangover on a hangover on a hangover.
i also have another kind of hangover - a roll of flab that spills from over the top of my jeans. it's a brouilly belly (i don't drink beer – far too butch). it was a sad sad day when i realised there were calories in alcohol. and not just any old calories. empty calories.
and i'm going on holiday in two and half weeks. every year i think to myself 'right, this year, i WILL have a flat tummy for the beach' then i go into psychotically social mode and go out night after night boozing.
i've always said that the best thing about me and the worst thing about me is that i am ALWAYS up for a drink.
so yesterday i had a Christmas food preview. this basically consisted of trying loads of food and drinking Champagne and shots of flavoured vodka. at midday!
i then went out with a mate in the evening to a new gaff in Park Lane where, apparently (does that take care of the lawyers?) there had been some shenanigans with rohypnal the previous night (too late again!).
so, get there. get in, by the skin of our teeth – despite the fact that mate is actually the pr for the place.
it is full of suits and overly tall, overly blonde sloaney types neighing things like 'Sophie, you look amaaaaaaaaaaaazing' and 'oh you must meet my backer, he's a sweetie'.
we were meant to have a table.
'private event i'm afraid, you can't have a table until later. can't you come back after supper.'
er, no.
'oh yes, i've got you down on our lists. no table, just 10 drinks.'
so, we get to stand at the bar drinking 5 cocktails each, being stamped on by suits and horses?
we took a rain check and went into Soho instead.
Vodka gimlet is currently vying with frozen margarita for favourite drink ranking.

ping,,, pong...

so, was it bad chicken, a hairball or AASD (acute attention seeking disorder)? whatever it was that had me being sick at various points last night / this morning has also meant i have spent an extremely leisurely day at home.
i've been mostly sitting on the sofa waiting for a tennis match to start (more of which lately).
i also had a look through my old photos and couldn't help but think of that Baz Luhrman song that is based on a supposed graduation speech (though variously attributed to Kurt Vonegut and others on the interweb). the lyrics 'one day you'll look back on yourself in a way you can't comprehend how truly special you were' rang particularly true. i was, quite simply, ravishing!
a picture of vital fresh faced youth.
Oscar Wilde really did get it right when he said that yut is wasted on da yung!
mind you, my hands have certainly improved with age. i now have fingernails where once i had angry looking stumps - invariably with a cigarette between them.
i also have fewer wrinkles now than when i was in my 30s, which is uncanny.
speaking of which, is it my imagination or does Sue Barker look fresher faced than she used to?
anyway, got to go, the Murray / Nadal match is about to begin.
For those of you who don't speak Catalan (heathens!) Nadal translates as Christmas!
So Andy Murray is about to get his ass kicked by Mr Christmas.