There haven't been that many posts on My Miserable Existence for some time now. This is because, up until recently, I wasn't living a miserable existence. I was travelling the world, sunning myself in the States, eating tasty food, enjoying the finest wines available to humanity - well, available to a member of humanity with a less than satisfactory bank balance - and best of all staying out of the gym. There has been no real reason for my skiving off like this. I suppose I could make one up. Okay, how about this; the damp, rain-drenched shithole that is normally Ye Olde London Towne between the months of June and September surprised us all this year by having a summer in which we saw rain only ten times. Ten. That's got to be a record.
(It must be - the papers were saying we'd all die from lack of water, if the heat didn't give us cancer first. And even if we avoided cancer, we'd probably get swine flu, they said. And even if we avoided that, we'd still have to live in a world where the financial markets are crashing, schools are failing and Peter and Jordan were getting a divorce - oh the humanity! Sometimes I really fucking hate the The Fourth Estate, I really fucking do!)
Anyway, the weather was nice and I was fucked if I was spending summer in the gym, eating tofu, farting like a racehorse and generally being miserable while my friends cleverly got smashed, sunburned and stuffed their faces with bbq meats. Then there was the fact that this last couple of months I have been to the States several times - twice on business and once for my holiday. I wisely chose Las Vegas as my holiday destination. Being a Brit, and thus a drunkard, it makes sense to holiday in probably the only city in the world where the authorities allow you to waltz down the street clutching a cocktail the size of your left leg without trying to slam your head off the bonnet of a prowler.
The strippers and gambling didn't hurt. Neither did the incredibly bling shirts, the gangsta wine bottles and the hotel we stayed in that looked like three massive memory sticks glued together in front of some lions and fountains.
That is all over and done with now, as I have returned to Blighty broke, sullen and more than a little portly. I haven't returned to the enormous 108 kilos (17 stone) I was at the beginning of the year. But I am hovering around 100 kilos (just under 16 stone) and this shit stops now. I have been to the gym three out of the last four days and am thus filled with righteousness. The Beast is training me again tomorrow, and this time we go all out. I fully expect to puke, shit or at least burst into tears in the gym when he brings the pain for the first time in months - anything less and I'll be wildly disappointed!
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In the interests of variety, I shall be introducing some new things to this blog. All The Love, All The Hate starts very shortly. It shall be a series of posts in which I will occasionally attempt to cling to the dust particles of hope in this cruel, scum infested junkheap of a world, but mostly it will involve thinking up things that aren't connected to the gym in any way, in order to make myself more miserable. What japes!
Stay tuned.