To Blog Or Not To Blog

It’s difficult to know sometimes, what to say, in life. Some things, no matter how difficult, should definitely be aired; others, not. But often it’s not that clear which way to go. Myself, I’ve always been of the ‘when in doubt, blurt it out’ school. Hence yesterday’s post. But as commenter Dan said last night, ‘…I'm not convinced that your blog was the most appropriate way of saying this. You may have decided to put your life out there on the net, but maybe [Keith] hasn't….’ Yes. I agree. I really do. But I also disagree, kind of, and for three important reasons:

a) I didn’t break any confidences. It would have been different if Patricia didn’t know that her boyfriend had cheated on her and there was a chance of her finding out through this blog. But there was no chance of that, because she already knew.

b) All of the people mentioned in this blog are disguised. So Keith isn’t really called Keith, Ange isn’t really called Ange, and Patricia, who isn’t really called Patricia, doesn’t really play the cello. She’s actually called Pam and she plays the viola. I jest, but I must concede, it’s not the most sophisticated of encryption techniques. I’m not Graham Greene after all. But on a tiny little blog that only one of my friends reads, I’m certain it’s enough.

Or it least it was. Till yesterday. Now – I’m not entirely sure why, but I guess it’s for slightly misguided reasons of damage limitation - he’s told Patricia about the blog.



I’m guessing he’s probably mentioned it to Ange too. (I don’t think I’m doing him any massive disservice to presume that breaking a small confidence is beneath him.)

c) …I’ve forgotten what the third thing was. Damn. I think that may have been the clincher too.

But still, I agree that really the point is that people have the right not to have their private lives discussed on a public forum. But for Christ’s sake, this isn’t Perez Hilton or Matt Drudge. I only have - at most - a dozen regular readers.

Sorry. I keep trying to justify myself, and I shouldn’t. The fact is, even if he is a smiling damned villain, even if he is a treacherous, conniving, back-stabbing, adulterous dog, Keith is my friend – my best friend – and he wasn’t best pleased with my virtual washing of his dirty, stinking, love-rat laundry.



So I’m sorry. Genuinely.

And from now on, there shall be no more discussing my friends’ private lives. Which is a shame because there is news. But no…. From now on it’s just me and my sordid forays into weight loss and sexual satisfaction.

Speaking of which, two things:

a) This morning I lay on my back and attempted to lift my legs up in the air – just keeping them straight and raising them, like we used to do at school in the gym. And I could manage five seconds, at most. I felt ashamed. Really ashamed. I have to do more to get rid of this sickening blancmange I have the temerity to call a stomach. I think it might be time to invest in an ab roller. Or even better, a 6 second abs system. Complete with DVD. I love DVDs! Wave goodbye to the aberration of your abs in just six seconds! Six seconds! I can’t get over that. What kind of moron would I have to be to miss this opportunity?

Yeah, well. I love the way it has ‘As seen on TV’ splashed over the packet too, like that’s supposed to give some kind of guarantee of quality. Hey, it's been on TV! It must be good!

More swimming I think, is called for.

b) I feel terribly, terribly libidinous. I think it’s a combination of losing a little weight and starting to feel healthier in general, not filling my body with bad chemicals, nascent spring filling up my nostrils when I go for a run, and - not forgetting - my recent discovery of YouPorn. JesusGod. If this had existed when I was 15, I would NEVER HAVE LEFT THE HOUSE!

Ever.

Oh, and I’m playing tennis again later with Pip. You remember Pip, fitness freak, good-for-nothing and potential dog-murderer. Shit, am I even allowed to say that anymore? Or have I betrayed another confidence?

Jesus.

A guy can’t say nothin’ round here.



Supercool war posters from here.


Afterthought: Do you blog? Course you do. So what's your take on the whole 'tell it like it is' thing? Do you tell it like it is? Or is it just not worth the bother? Do tell.

Happy Fat War (Xmas Is Over)

So that was Christmas. And what did I do? Well, I ate an enormous amount of predominantly rather unhealthy food. That’s what I did. I actually decided that I may as well eat as much as I possibly could before I start the diet. A proper blow-out. And in fact, according to my brand new Argos electronic scales, my body mass has grown to the tune of ten pounds. Baby Jesus, had he existed, would have been proud. He would also have been lunch. And it’s not over yet. I intend to continue to eat like a Shetland Pony with a tapeworm until January 1st, when I will quite suddenly revert to small portions of healthy food and large portions of exercise.

Believe it.

I had fun though this Christmas, despite not being able to smoke that much. There is no smoking in Patricia’s house. She is a born again non-smoker. As I shall also be in less than a week. Shit, three days in fact. God, that’s scary. Anyway, as well as copious amounts of food and a fair amount of alcohol, there was also fun and games and much hilarity with the kids, with whom I got on very well. Ben and Dina, 9 and 11. Our getting along famously came in very handy, allowing Keith and Patricia to nip off and canoodle, loudly, in the afternoons. Good luck to them I say, even when they’re banging, yelping and yodelling like not so lonely mountain sex goats all night long. Insensitive swine.

So I got back yesterday and just lay beached on my bed like the proverbial whale. I lay there reading my copy of Men’s Health, which Keith kindly stuffed into my Christmas stocking. Keith knows about my health kick. And he is the only one of my friends who knows about this blog. Although he has yet to visit. But that’s what friends are for.

Men’s Health is hilarious. I’ve never owned a copy before but I’ve chortled many times at the impossible boasts on every single front cover, month after month after month after month, year after year after year. This month for example: ‘Hard Abs Made Easy’, ‘365 Days Of Sex’ and ‘Fat To Flat In 7 Weeks’. But because this edition is the first of the year, it also has the irresistible header, ‘YOUR ESSENTIAL NEW YEAR WEIGHT-LOSS BIBLE!’

Bastards. They must sell more copies in January than in any other month. (Which reminds me, I must join a gym.)

I also spent a good portion of yesterday reading Bridget Jones’ Diary, the success of which I have decided to emulate.

More of which later. Now however, I must sleep. But I leave you with a quick, comforting Men’s Health fact:

‘Cabbage fights more cancer than 100 oncologists’.

Believe it.