Post no.121

I’m back in the staff room at work, looking at a poster that scares me. It’s a list of upcoming fund-raising events being planned by employees to raise money for the supermarkets chosen charity for 2009 (which is something that supports ill children.) It’s not the poster itself that scares me, but the fact that written in my handwriting at the bottom it clearly says “Rory Chesworth – Sponsored Weight Loss. Target weight loss = 3 stones”
I’m now in the process of setting up a ‘justgiving’ webpage, and wondering what the hell possessed me to have the idea in the first place. Maybe a possibly approaching romance has provoked me to think more about my current physical appearance, or maybe I’m just sick of nearly passing out every time I climb up the stairs to the toilet. The management are all very supportive. It turns out that full-time employment here entitles me to half-price membership at some ghastly Health Centre nearby, and Line Manager Dave has already offered to introduce me to his personal trainer. I told him I wanted to shift some fat, not muscle up like some Arnie-obsessed wanker in a leotard, but thanks anyway. He didn’t laugh. He just stared at me looking as disappointed as a girl that wrote to Santa for a Barbie bike and woke up Christmas morning to a toothpick. I think I may have poured more cold water onto an already frosty relationship, but its hard not to be honest when its 1am and you’re tired.

RC 5-3-09
0142 GMT