The week (or two) that was.
First on the list was move to Brixton. Which I have. And you know what readers, it's very cool. I love the fact that I can buy all my veges, fruit, meat, tipples, and skunk all in the space of 5 metres. The Victoria Line is no doubt the quickest tube line in London, which makes going to work easier. The pubs are great, including my favourite The Whitehorse which is exactly 250 steps from my house. How good is that! The Ritzy cinema is a stones throw and 95% of all my mates live within walking distance. My new flatmates are easy going and not at all like the my nemesis ice queen harpy from hell from Finsbury Park that I had the misfortune of spending the last three months plotting to kill. Funnily enough on my last night in the north my flatmates had a really big fight. I resisted (just) from walking into the lounge and throwing them both steak knives and yelling "Go for the throat!" Ha ha ha. So glad to be out of there. On a side note, the very next day one of my new Brixton friends told me that Finsbury Park backwards spelt Krapy Rub Snif. Talk about hitting the nail on the head. Thanks Catherine, you're a gem.
The next step on the rebuilding of Reilly is watching my girlish figure. Which hasn't been that girlish of late. The mix of booze, bad food and no exercise from the minute I arrived in England isn't doing me any favours what so ever. So my diet is changing slowly and surely. I'm actually discovering fruit and veges is actually quite tasty, and healthy. Amazing eh? And here was me thinking that pork rinds, fatty meat, diet coke and cheese was the way forward. Mr.Atkin, thank god you are dead, you have a lot to answer for buddy. Balance is the key. I know this seems pretty simple to most folks out there, but I think missed the whole class on nutrition when I was 12. I think I was probably discovering the joys of cigarettes, glue and truancy at the time.
The final component is the dreaded "E" word. Exercise. The bane of anyones life. Especially mine. Being off your chops and having a sweaty boogie isn't exercise. Not eating for a day or two due to being off your chops isn't exercise either. Neither is walking to the shop to buy crisps. Or that 250 steps to the pub. Taking all this into account I took the plunge and joined a Gym. When I actually go, and don't have a heart attack with in five minutes I'll tell you how great it is. Fingers crossed.
All seems relatively simple eh? Well on paper anyway. Only time will tell.