The great depression

This blog is depressed, it’s official. As of yesterday, we’re on a diet. That’s not the royal ‘we’ but the both of us. Owners are supposed to look like their dogs right? We’d need to wheel in a St Bernard to make that work. Collectively we need to lose about 78 stone which is a bit of a distressing prospect. I just wish I had the willpower of Sue of No Problem, who at the beginning of the year set herself the target of losing two stone by the summer. Well she did it, ahead of schedule, and she’s looking even more fantastic now – dontcha just hate her? No, only joking. Sue’s an inspiration – she did a nine mile walk earlier in the week! But what really impresses me is that she did it while living on a narrowboat. When I get back on board, it’s like I’ve given myself permission to do what the hell I like. I’m so happy, I don’t care what I eat and in fact, eating is one of the great pleasures of any trip afloat. Maybe I think all the lungfuls of fresh air will miraculously burn off all the calories? If you were to put a time lapse camera on the stern hatch, you would see a bewildering array of tasty treats come out – tea, coffee, biscuits, bacon sarnies, Kit Kats, Nik Naks, beer, wine, and that’s just for breakfast.

But I think I know where I’m going wrong – apart from being a greedy porker, that is. Sue is very canny in that she orders most of her groceries online from Mr Tesco. That means she can sit at her computer and fill up a virtual, virtuous trolley. There’s no temptation is there...just pick and click on the carrots because you can’t smell the cookies. Whereas I like to go to the shop and, seduced by the bakery pheromones wafting through, zoom up and down the aisles chucking in sausage rolls and donuts with gay abandon. The only modicum of self-control I have is the knowledge that I have to carry all my shopping back. And even then things can go tits-up. Cue story of shopping in Leek last year.


We had moored up just before the tunnel in the pool (an idyllic mooring), which meant that we were a bit further away from the supermarket than we could have been. But I had the bike anyway so I headed off by road, rather than by towpath. Once in the store, some terrible mental aberration afflicted me which meant that I totally forgot about my limited mode of transport. I came out with a towering rucksack and two bulging plastic bags but undeterred, I placed a bag on each handlebar and headed for the towpath as the safer route home. Safer but for whom? There were walkers diving for the safety of the hedge as this wobbling lunatic cycled towards them, boaters hastily unmooring lest I crash into their pride and joy, even the ducks were covering their eyes. With the bags furiously oscillating like some wild shillelaghs, it was only pure luck that stopped me braining someone and riding straight into the cut. I settled instead for a minor coronary after pushing half a hundred weight of shopping up to the top of the hill above the tunnel. (Hillock surely? Ed.) I thought about rolling the bike down the other side in the general direction of the side hatch but rang A on his mobile instead to come and lend a hand. I think a cream bun was more than adequate recompense for all that exercise...