Augustus

I turned 29 not too long ago and a mate asked how I'm coping with the Dirty Thirty fast approaching. 

Truthfully? Looking back at my 20s I would never, ever, ever go back and do it all again. Never. Never in a million years. Never in a million years times infinity. Never in a million years times infinity plus one.

I've heard rumours that peeps sometimes get upset when their 20s are over. I'm feeling the exact opposite. Every single thing in my life is better at 29 than it was at 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26 and especially 27 (27 was a ba-a-ad year). 28 was awesome and I didn't think it could get any better until I turned 29.

One of the most awesome changes I've noticed over this Decade of Life is around body image. I don't look at my normal-sized body in the mirror anymore and see a chubster-wubster-flubbster she-whale.

I was exactly the same weight at 19 as I am now (58 kg if you must know). True, I had a chubby face back then, which is probably the reason so many people from uni who haven't seen me in a while yell, "Oh my GOD, you're so thin these days!" Nope. It was that beautifully natural process of puppy-fat-face-mush sinking in to create the chiseled cheek-bones I've grown to love. So don't worry puppy-fat 19 years olds, it'll happen to you too and you're gonna love it.



But my face was the only actual physical thinning that has happened in the last decade, because I was 58kg then, and I'm 58kg now. 95% of the shift in my body image paradigm has happened in my head.

I'll never forget the day. I was 19, I'd just taken a shower and I walked past the mirror. I noticed a new addition to my body - a small roll of flubber round my tummy. This was my reaction.





After bemoaning the grossness of this new and unwanted body part I gave him a name. Augustus Gloop, after the fatty from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. That's what I thought Fat Roll was. A nasty, obese-food-baby-child sent from the depths of Hades to ruin my chances of pulling hot manshakes.



I hated Augustus and would get depressed every time I noticed him. I'm a bit of an anti-dietist, I'd never deprive myself of the things I love, which include steak, chocolate, nachos, burgers, ice cream, liquorice all-sorts, wine, coffee, Diet Pepsi, beer, cider, ALL products made out of piggies (crispy bacon and ribs... mmm...), chocolate coated Digestives... You get the drift. I'd never be able to diet if my life depended on it.
At 19, 20, 21 and 22 Augustus made my life hell.

But then something funny happened. When I was 23 I travelled Europe for six months and I noticed Chubby Fat Roll was keeping me warm...



Then at 24 and 25 I started running longer distances. Whenever I thought I didn't have enough energy I'd pinch Augustus and would know that I had enough reserves to get through anything. So I ran my first half marathon.



Then I moved to Dubai and became a raging alco, so between the ages of 26 and 28 I don't remember much. I wouldn't know if Augustus was there or not, it's all lost in a drunken haze of insobriety.



Then I moved to London and I turned 29. And to my utter shock, I've discovered that I've grown to love Augustus. He's been with me through thick and thin. He's my tiny little chub roll. He's soft to spoon at night and he has a personality all of his own (he grumbles when he's hungry and sits quietly and contently when he's had enough supper).

Life is so much better at 29 than it was ten years ago, it's freekin' ridiculous.

Pan’s Labyrinth

Somebody should tell naive, nimrod adults like myself  that just because a movie sounds like a kids movie, does not a kid movie it make.

I thought Pan’s Labyrinth would be one of those lovely, Disneyeque, definitely-has-a-happy-ending flick. First, it’s got the word ‘Labyrinth’ in it, which conjures up images of David Bowie jumping around with Muppet creatures singing Dance Magic Dance. And when you read about Pan’s Lab on the interweb it sounds innocent enough, “the bookish young stepdaughter of a sadistic army officer escapes into an eerie but captivating fantasy world.”

So Boyfriend took me to see it.













Captivating fantasy world my butt! This is an awful movie about broken promises, broken dreams, broken hearts, dead mothers, murdered little girls, an eggplant-fetus thing that gets burned alive, soldiers being tortured, executions of poor innocent farmers, giant cave-rat type creatures chasing kids around banquet halls, ugly fairies and a scary, scary maze. FYI, fairies are supposed to be pretty and colourful and spray pixie dust which makes flowers glow. They are not supposed to look like mini flying Satans.

Spoiler alert – every single good, kind person in this movie dies, including the main character. The little girl gets SHOT by her adoptive father.

Yet I was the only one upset . Boyfriend and Boyfriend’s work mate were fine when the movie finished. Cheery, in fact.









They didn’t get it. I think their ability to separate reality from made-up-movie-land is more developed than mine.







Ice-cream sweet, sweet things make Allie happy, Allie not happy at the moment so maybe solution ice-cream.

Yes, definitely solution ice-cream. Ice-cream meaning of life.

Dad

My Dad is possibly the greatest human in existence. Why? Because he had to raise me, which (surprise surprise) puts my Mum in the same category –  both survivors, both living legends.

This was my Dad before I was born. Happy, successful, pleased with how life was planning out.




Then I came.









After two years of me waking up at ridiculous o’clock, this is what my Mum resembled.



And that’s being flattering. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I think when I was about two years old Mum pulled Dad aside and calmly told him,

“From now on, you look after Allie in the mornings, because if you don’t, I’m going to kill her, and anyone who stands in my way.”

So the routine changed and became this:













At the time I was certain Dad was thinking,

"Oh joy, Allie is here and I get to play. Hurrah!”



What he was actually thinking?

“God I hate you.”

I had A LOT of energy when I was a kid, and nothing held my attention long. If I was bored there were tears and screams, and to let my Mum get her zzzs, Dad would have to do exactly what I wanted…













Mum would wake up at 8:00 a.m.-ish and take the next shift.

Leaving my Dad a broken, shell of a man.



So to both my parents - I don't know how you managed, but I'm so grateful you did. 

350 Calories

I decided to treat myself this morning. I went to one of those Starbucks/Costa/Nero places and ordered a muffin. I thought it might not be enough, because the  night before I underwent a HARROWING 11km run, so I looked at getting a secondary treat. Wanting a healthy snack to make up for the unhealthiness of a muffin (because let’s be honest, muffins are just cake. We’re all eating cake for breakfast), I chose a tub of blueberry yogurt oat stuff too. Blueberries, oats, yogurt. Can’t go wrong, right? They’re all superfoods. Three superfoods in a pint sized tub. Winning.

From the start, the universe tried to warn me that it might not be my day…







But back at my desk I forgot the pillaging of my wallet and got down to business.



Was so excited, so happy. I was about to eat cake before 10am! Was feeling all these delightful sensations right up until the point I felt the muffin was as stale  as old crackers. Really old crackers.







But I still had my Triple Superfood Yogurt Time. And surely, that had to be tasty. I like oats. I love yogurt. I go gaga over blueberries. So I set expectations accordingly.



And you know what? It was great! Although the tub was the equivalent of three mouthfuls (maybe 3.5 if you're eating with one of those mini spoons) they were mouthwateringly scrumptious mouthfuls. So scrumptious in fact that I got suspicious. Yogurt and oats and blueberries don't taste this good normally? Like, ever. Something fishy was going on…

I usually never do this because there’s nothing I find more annoying than calorie counters, but I had to know what was in this little tub of goodness that made it so… well… so good. First, I checked the ingredients: Glucose, sugar, fructose, blueberry concentrate… lots of other diabetes-inducing sounding things… then at the end it listed yogurt and oats (they probably only made up 2% of the concoction).



Then I looked at the calorie count.



350 calories. 350 CALORIES FOR THE TINIEST TUB OF YOGURT I’VE EVER SEEN!

Totally. Freekin’. Lame.