For richer for poorer, till death do us part

With the winter now behind us and my muffin top threatening to morph into a Brioche, this morning I took myself off to a spin class.

It’s been over a month since I last graced the gym with my presence – a chest infection and school holidays have kept me at home, and in a distinctly weakened state. It’s hard to say what caused my state to weaken more, the chest infection or the school holidays, but either way I haven’t been able to get within sniffing distance of my trainers for a while.

So there I was, back in the darkened room and safely impaled on the ‘cushioned’ seat. I have to say it took me a while to remember how high the seat should even be and which way the peddles were supposed to turn. As is always the case at the start of a class the room was completely silent, except that is for two women near me who were in the middle of a deeply depressing conversation. Seeing as I was already strapped on the bike and had nowhere to go, I naturally tuned in my ears to listen.

One of the women was recounting the tale of an incredibly unlucky friend whose husband had recently suffered a heart attack, and dropped down dead in front of her. To make matters worse, he had no insurance, and as a result, the family home now had to be sold.

With this new and rather unsettling information sinking into my mind, and wishing I’d tuned my ears in the opposite direction, the class began.

For the next 45 minutes, as I sweated away like a beast and used all of my powers of self control to stop myself throwing up over the woman in front, part of me kept wondering why I had ever thought it a good idea to come to the gym this morning. The other part of me – the more dominant bit, that tends to mess around with my concentration – couldn’t stop thinking about this man. Or rather the widow that he’d left behind.

Like most people I suspect, the two things that I fear the most are the loss of my children and my husband – losing either would turn my world upside down. The very idea of some terrible happening to my family is something that doesn’t even bear thinking about. Yet I do. Probably far more than is considered rational or even remotely healthy.

For some unknown reason I have a tendency to keep living out these worse case scenarios in my head, and in doing so, making myself feel sick to the core. I wish I wouldn’t do it, but when my paranoia is triggered by distressing headlines or other people’s bad news, I can be like a woman possessed.

So as I’m peddling away, climbing imaginary hills and racing other stationary bikes, my brain is spiraling into a panic induced overdrive. What would I do if this happened to me? How would I deal with it? Where would I find the strength to get up in the morning and get through the day?

Several gears later and these questions are replaced by guilt – for not appreciating everything that my husband already does for me. Vowing to be an all round better wife, I peddle on with renewed vigour. Oh how my husband – who was at that time sitting in his office and as fit as a fiddle – would have laughed his coffee up at these irrational and melodramatic thoughts. He’s simply not enough of an emotional basket case to take it to these levels, and for that, and the fact that he has a truly proactive approach to death, I am incredibly grateful.

For what sets me apart from this other poor woman is that I know that even if I were to lose my husband, I would never lose my home. Being the ever practical man that he is (and working in the industry, which always helps), we are both insured up to the hairline, and worth far more dead than alive. Cheery thought that, but not terribly helpful it has to be said when it comes to paying the credit cards in life.

So now, whenever I get a bee in my bonnet about some hypothetical tragedy, he is always quick to point out that if he dies, whilst I may be alone, at least I will not be poor. And while I do of course protest that this will not make up for his absence, I know what a difference it would make. Of course I would still grieve and weep and wail, but at least I wouldn’t be forced to do it out on the street, or without a clue about how I was to house, feed, clothe and educate our kids.

That said, I still mutter loudly about the large amounts of money that leave our account every month to pay for the host of different insurance schemes, covering loss of life, limb and hubby’s income. It’s always galling to pay out for something that may never happen, but as my ever sensible husband would say, if you can’t afford to pay for your insurance every month, then you certainly can’t afford not to have any at all.

So to cut a long story short – the spin class ended, my heart rate returned to normal and I proceeded to extract the ‘cushioned’ saddle from my left Fallopian tube.

Somewhat short of breath and damp around the edges, I calculated that in the space of 45 minutes I had not only killed off my husband, mourned my loss and appreciated his knowledge of life insurance, but I had also lost just about enough calories to counter balance the Yorkie I wolfed down the night before. Quite an exhausting morning all in all, and one that I decided called for a Kit Kat to calm my shattered nerves.

hkbk

When BIG really isn’t beautiful

Some people might have thought that my previous post about parents murdering their kids was a little extreme. And then a story popped up on the world news that backed up everything I had said.

It’s about Leanne Salt. A 24 year old girl who is happily feeding her 8 month old triplets towards a life full of medical problems, and all but giving them a helping hand into an early grave. A girl who should be locked up for the great big helpings of child abuse that she is dishing out to her kids, along side the junk food she’s filling them up on.

Despite the fact that only a moron wouldn’t know better, this 30-stone lump sees nothing wrong with how she is bringing up her triplets. Far from it. She is actually proud of the fact that her babies became card carrying members of the Happy Meal club at just 6 months old.

Refusing to acknowledge that she is doing anything wrong, she believes that because she takes the batter off their fish and chips, she is giving them a healthy diet.

And after all,  as she says, she does feed her babies vegetables every Sunday. Perhaps she believes that an onion ring and a pickled gherkin count towards their 5 a day? Or should that be their 5 (at a push) a month.

Now 8 months old, these poor babies are being fed around 1,249 calories a day, with a diet consisting mainly of junk food, fish and chips, crisps and microwave meals.

Seriously? Is this woman for real?

It goes without saying that such an eating machine has zero respect for her own body, or her diminishing life expectancy, but how can she be so incredibly selfish when it comes to her kids?

And there in lies the problem. As well as being selfish, the girl is obviously plain stupid. Certifiably dumb actually. Devoid of brain cells and missing any sort of solid matter between her ears. After all, anyone who seriously believes that watching what you eat and consuming healthy foods leads to anorexia is one stitch short of a lobotomy.

Her line of reasoning? “I do worry my kids could get picked on if they get fat, but I’d tell them that big is beautiful.“

Yes, that will make them feel so much better when their mother is harpooned in the school car park by Greenpeace. Or when they get diagnosed with diabetes. Or when they drop down from a fatal heart attack as they turn 21.

Of course beauty is very much in eye of the beholder, and big can be beautiful. But there are always exceptions the rule, and this has to be one of them. I don’t know when Miss Salt last looked in a mirror, I suspect it’s been a while, but beautiful is not one of the words that immediately springs to mind.

And that brings me to the question that everyone who has heard about this girl is surely asking themselves. How in God’s name did she even snare anyone mad, brave or drunk enough to impregnate her in the first place? And when she did, presumably with the aid of chloroform, how did the the deed itself (I shudder as I write that) even take place.

Now I’m certainly no physicist, but aren’t there some laws regarding mass, volume, weight and proximity that would have made this nigh on impossible? It would be like trying to mate Dumbo with Mickey Mouse.

So taking the fact that some poor bugger did somehow manage to put 3 buns in her cavernous oven, and then wake up with a hangover from hell and run screaming from the house, how did she even know she was pregnant? Did she wake up one morning and think, that’s odd, my stomach looks slightly swollen today?

Let’s face it, she could have gestated an elephant without attracting any attention. Well apart from the fact by the 9th month she had gained a further 10 stone.

And now for the bit of the story that really makes you believe that the world has gone mad. Being that she was the fattest mother of triplets that medical science had ever clamped eyes on, it took a team of 68 people to deliver her babies, at a cost of £200,000 to the NHS. This included the operating table that had to be specially-built for her Caesarean section.

Well come on, you didn’t think that she was going to have a natural birth did you? All the crow bars in the world and a forklift truck wouldn’t make that a possibility.

Now that she is back at home with her brood and securely wedged into her 5 seater sofa, she is happy to live off benefits with no future plans to ever lift a 20 kg finger and do any work again. After all the poor girl is apparently already too busy to clean, tidy up or prepare proper meals for her children. The family only get dressed to leave the house once a week – so that they can collect her benefits.

And let’s not forget that if the governments latest  hair brained scheme takes off, then one day she’ll also he paid to walk (roll) her kids to school as well.

On the upside, Miss Salt is making some plans for their future. She has decided that she now deserves to be given her own council house, and is completely ready to face the world alone.“I know how to microwave a meal and make up instant mash, so I think we’d all manage.” Stand aside Jamie, the girl’s got your job in the bag.

And what is the shocking truth about this tale of chips and child abuse? This girl is not alone.

A recent survey by the Infant and Toddler Forum found that 29 per cent of children under the age of three ate a takeaway at least once a week, while 23 per cent eat crisps and 16 per cent drink fizzy drinks almost every day.

Thanks!

These are by way of a thank you, to all those who have visited my website and helped me to reach my first 10,000 hits in the 4 months since I started writing this blog.

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And no, I haven’t forgotten those of you with fragile digestive systems. They are also gluten, carb, sugar, shellfish, egg, wheat, soy and nut free. They contain zero calories and best of all, if you hold one close to a boiling kettle it will, believe it or not, make you a cup of tea.

Please help yourself (be sure not to get any crumbs stuck in your keyboard or chocolate on your mouse), enjoy and make sure you come back soon…

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McDonald’s Saves the Day

Australia, a country renowned for it’s love of sports and outdoor lifestyle has just been named the ‘Fattest Nation in the World’. Oh what a proud moment in history that is, let’s bring out a double cheese burger and chuck it on the barbie to celebrate.

What on earth has happened to this world and it’s waistline, and who is really to blame? Is it the companies who make the junk food, the media who promote it or the consumer who thinks if they buy a meal that’s ‘Happy’ then they must be onto a good thing.

At a time when the world seems to be sinking into financial hardship, ‘cheaper than chips’ food is even more appealing to those who are forced to budget and tighten their belts. Of course not eating the junk food would help considerably with the tightening, but that’s neither here nor there.

Still not to fear. McDonald’s (the all American hero) is one company that has ever so kindly stepped up to the plate and is fighting the good fight to ensure that the world doesn’t go hungry, and it seems that the public is incredibly grateful.

Grateful enough that in the UK alone, McDonald’s, the countries largest low wage employer, has recently created 4000 new jobs in their 1,200 outlets. Jobs evidently needed to keep up with the demand of the 2 million new customers who are flocking in through their doors every month, to fill up on a menu that seems to get cheaper by the week.

Now I have to say, that with the world media so heavily focused on the growing problem of obesity, and a staggering 58% of the world’s population predicted to be obese by 2030,  I just don’t get it.

Why are so many people still refusing to grasp the simple fact that it is not called ‘junk’ food for nothing?

The definition of junk according to my (Websters) dictionary is ‘discarded useless objects, rubbish, trash, any narcotic drug, such as heroin’. How very appetising. No wait, let’s wrap that in shiny paper and stick it in a box with a big smiley face on. OK, that looks much better. Now it’s good enough to eat.

Yes of course there is no denying that a ‘Value meal’ may be cheaper than buying all the fresh ingredients you need to cook a meal. Yes of course it is undoubtedly quicker to queue up and have your food thrown together for you than it is to stand in your kitchen at the end of a day and make it yourself. Yes of course kids will love it and therefore the threat of enduring yet another argument over how long it takes them to eat their dinner is significantly reduced.

So yes, yes, yes. I get that it can be a quicker, easier, cheaper and less stressful option all around. But that doesn’t mean it’s a better option. Cutting straight across a crowded road might be quicker than walking an extra 50 yards to the nearest flashing green man, but it doesn’t mean you will get to the other side in one piece. Several flattened pieces perhaps. Or, if you are in Singapore, with a fine for Jay walking.

The simple fact of the matter is that if you consume your body weight in Big Macs and McNuggets every month then the likelihood is you will get fat, you will get sick and you will die… years before your name ever comes up on the Grim Reaper’s call sheet.

Surely no food is worth gaining weight or dying over? I reckon if every McDonald’s had a pair of scales at the counter and you had to climb on them to place your order, it might make a whole heap of people think twice before stepping through the door and in turn, cut down the queuing time for those ‘Super Size’ fanatics who really don’t care.

Of course I know from experience the occasional burger might be nice. Or more to the point the idea of a burger might be nice – when you are out, hungry enough to eat the furry contents of your glove box and too far from your own fridge to make it through till the next meal. The reality of it is very different if I  remember rightly (since cutting red meat out my diet I haven’t been back). You go in through those doors starving and full of hope that it’s just what you feel like and come out 15 minutes later feeling bloated, greasy and in need of a colonic irrigation.

Now I know that it may seem like I have a real axe to grind with McDonald’s (or those who eat it), but that’s not the case at all. All fast food places are as bad as each other and wherever you go, the menu is nothing more than a recipe for any number of chronic medical conditions.

When it comes to the kids, these places are especially bad news. Nearly every possible combination of children’s meals in all these fast food joints are too high in calories, exceeding 430 calories – an amount that is one-third of what the National Institute of Medicine recommends children ages 4 through 8 should consume in a day. Incidentally Subways is the healthiest of them all and apparently the only one that doesn’t offer soft drinks with kids meals.

It seems crazy that some parents are OK with their kids filling up on empty calories and nothing else. If they were asked to make their child neck a bottle of vodka and chain smoke a packet of B&H for their tea would they agree? So why would they let some clown called Ronald help pour a load of saturated fat down their throat instead.

The reason why McDonald’s bugs me the most is because they base all of their promotion and advertising around families, suggesting that it is the perfect place to take your 2.4 kids for a nice meal out. Hey, who needs a Sunday Roast in a nice country pub when you can sit on a plastic bench, get ketchup all over your shoes and leave stinking of chip fat instead

McDonald’s spends over $2 billion a year on advertising – a large chunk of which would be used to target young kids. Their marketing encourages the use of ‘pester power’, the bain of every parent’s life. They know that if you stick a small plastic piece of nothing in a box, link it with the latest product, film or event then those little McNugget loving consumers will come a running.

And when chunky little Jo Junior hankers after the complete set of McAction ‘limited edition’ toys that come with his Happy Meal, then the rest of the family will invariably also come along to chow down at the Temple of McDoom. So what you have is the whole family now eating a load of cr*p just so they can get their hands on something that won’t even make it out of the backseat of the car. Clever marketing it maybe, but should companies be allowed to lead little lambs in for the slaughter like this?

I know for a fact this marketing works. The other day on the walk home from school, my daughter asked out of the blue if I would take her to McDonald’s. Obviously my eyebrows disappeared into my hairline and she had more chance of growing a second head, but I still asked her why she wanted to go. It turns out that it wasn’t for the food or even the play centre (the ones they put in to trap parents and get them to buy more food). No, it was because she desperately wanted some beanie thing that McDonald’s have brought out in honour of the Olympics. Sadly my daughter won’t be getting one, but seeing as she had forgotten she had even asked by the time we got home, I don’t think it will stick in her childhood memories and scar her for life.

Talking of the Olympics, there’s another really clever marketing campaign.  Who else could possibly be more suited to help promote the world’s most famous sporting event than one of the world’s leading sponsors of obesity. Strikes me as a bit of an odd partnership that one, much the same as if you held a sex convention in a nunnery or an AA meeting in a pub. But then, as every company knows, you should never underestimate the power of positive association.

Of course fighting McDonald’s cause along the fatty highway and creating a positive link between health and the McHeart Attack are some of the world’s most celebrated Olympians. Namely the 8 time gold medal winner Michael Phelps and the world’s fastest man, Usain Bolt.

Phelps, who once again has put Flipper to shame with his speed in the water, has talked about how he consumes a massive 12,000 calories a day, including foods from his favourite eatery – McDonald’s. Bolt, who makes slow motion look fast has revealed that he doesn’t eat breakfast and fills up instead on nuggets before hitting the track.

Oh yeah. Bang goes any hope of parents using these athletes and the extraordinary feats that they have achieved to motivate our children into eating well. I personally think Phelps should get back in the water and keep his eating habits to himself. If the average person took a leaf out of his book and thought that consuming this much food would help them win a gold (and we know there is always going to be someone dumb enough to try it), then Greenpeace would have to be called to dredge them off the nearest sandbank.

Despite their claims that they care and are working to help stamp out obesity, McDonald’s are only there to feed those who come knocking. Of course they are, that’s the nature of what they do. Their policy is not to restrict portion sizes and dispense nutritional advice with ketchup. Many light years ago my husband did a stint at a McDonald’s. After a few weeks on the job he was fired. Not because he stole fries or dropped a gherkin slice on the floor, but because he asked one very overweight ‘little’ boy, when he came up for his third Big Mac, “Don’t you think you might have already had one too many?” Straight talking is obviously not a trait they look for in their employees.

Please McDonald’s, enough with the celebrity endorsements and sponsoring of sports. Just start making the food a tad healthier and then maybe, just maybe, the obesity trend will be brought under control and in 50 years time there will still be enough space left on this planet for all of the people to squeeze in.

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