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Woo-hoo. Weighed in this morning at 85.4kg. 10kg down on 1st January. It's taken 130 days. But crash diets are for fools. I hope I have found a lifestyle that I can continue with for good.
I went to the gym twice today. Not because I have gone insane with exercise, but because on the first visit I realised that I'd be able to watch the York City play-off match in the evening. Or most of it at least. The gym annoyingly closed about 30 minutes before the game was due to end. But if I idly cycled on an exercise bike for all the time I could burn calories and support the greatest and most magical team in the world. Win/win. Or Win/draw. Or Win/lose. Depending on the result.
As it happened my exciting Saturday night plans of watching football on an exercise bike on my own in a gym did not come to fruition. The game was delayed due to torrential rain and then postponed. It did mean I did an extra 25 minutes cycling as I waited to find out what was going on, but there was now a big hole in my Saturday night.
My wife was out, which gave me a likkle idea. And amazingly I'd come up with a sadder Saturday night than the football/exercise bike/gym thing. I played snooker against myself in the basement and recorded it so other people could listen. It could have been more tragic. I could have spent my evening watching the Eurovision Song Contest and commenting on Twitter about which minor celebrity I thought each act resembled. Who needs TV Burp when the whole nation has Twitter and can spend their days noticing the same things as each other on TV shows.
Yes I wasn't like you losers. I was playing self-playing snooker. All the Mes were tired and the snooker board seems to be getting wonkier and both the players were coincidentally way off form. It is surely the poorest frame of snooker in all self-playing snooker podcast history. But surprisingly exciting at the end. Listen to it here (but only if you've listened to the other 44 frames) or subscribe on iTunes. It's only a matter of time (maybe just ten or fifteen more years) before this is recognised as the comedy genius that it is. Sorry, not comedy. It's serious. The sporting genius. I will not be happy until it has won a British Comedy Award, Sports Personality of the Year and a Turner Prize. It deserves all three. In my humble opinion. And I can show off about it because it's not really about me at all, this podcast wouldn't be what it is without all the Mes playing their part and the unsung hero, Terry the producer who makes sure all the boring bits are cut out and Smithers and Liono who provide entertainment for those listeners who are more into cat antics that poorly-played audio snooker.
But had it not rained tonight in York I would have been watching football and this frame of snooker would never have existed. Strange how the world works. Everything that happens affects everything else. If a butterfly flaps its wings it can lead to a hurricane. And if it rains in Yorkshire about 3000 people will end up hearing a tired man playing himself very badly at snooker.
I made some good progress on the sitcom script that I am writing (for an established show), but had hoped to finish it today and am only really halfway through. I also need to get some material together for the last Meaning of Life and a first draft of "I Killed Rasputin" by the end of the month. I feel a bit sick and maybe I should have been writing tonight, not snookering, but I had overcooked my brain earlier and I don't think I would have done anything worthwhile. It's hard to argue that anything worthwhile happened this evening. Until the vindication of the Turner Prize. How do I enter that thing?
