Here we go again

It's that time of year again. Having exhorted us to fill our boots with exotic festive food, the newspapers and magazines are now full of the usual advice on how to shift the resultant weight and Get Fit. We must swim and walk and ride bikes and go to the gym (no mention, ever, of riding a horse) and jog. I see the miserable joggers, soaked to the skin, faces grimly determined, sloshing through roadside puddles, and I smile at them from the comfort of my car.

As for the diets....I've never understood the thinking behind "detoxing". Why would you want to drink hot water every morning before feasting on a kiwi fruit and two nuts? Gwynneth Paltrow is apparently detoxing on the juice of garden weeds. Apart from astonishment that Paltrow's garden has any weeds to juice, and a certain feeling of disgust, I'd just like to know, why? Who would even think of doing such a thing? How did it start? ("I'm just popping out to gather some weeds, darling. I thought the juice might  make a nice change"?)

And the diets. Today's Times suggests a week of meals that include such things as a quinoa salad, or a blueberry pancake for breakfast. Who has the time, never mind the inclination, to faff about with a blueberry pancake, cooked specially for oneself, first thing in the morning? What planet do these people live on?

Since I'm much the same  shape as I was in November   (barring my startling new nose.Remember
the nose?), I'm not changing anything about my lifestyle. Plus, I've broken my 'not-so-much-blogging this year'  resolution already. Damn.

G is for Gym (early, because I'm away tomorrow)

I used to go to the gym. Three times a week. I absolutely hated every minute, but it was wonderful when it was over. It almost made it worthwhile. Almost. But sometimes, this can happen:

"I'm going to get fit!" cried young Ned.
"So goodbye to fat, sugar and bread."
He thought going to the gym
Would be so good for him.
But his heart disagreed. Now, he's dead.

So I gave up, and bought a horse.