Monday, October 16, 2006

Fat Vat

G. was away in Barcelona this week-end. Whilst I was left in charge of the children he was busy hopping from one working-group to another and spending the evenings downing champagne on a luxury hotel terrace. What is telling about this week-end is that G. managed to squeeze in a twenty minute jog on the Hotel’s exercise machine. Free, for once, from the routine of getting children fed and into bed, he managed to put on his running shoes and sweat. When he asked the receptionist over the phone whether the Hotel’s fitness centre stayed open all night he got a confused but polite answer “Yes, Sir. The City Centre stays open all night.”

The path to hell, as the old cliché goes, is paved with good intentions. Well, the path to my personal inferno is certainly paved with virtuous thoughts of “getting into shape again after all those years”. G. and I even managed to fit in some running over the summer hols. But hey – that is the summer holidays when evenings are relaxed. There is no early morning rush. Children are even tempered and there is a big support group of adults to take care of the kids whilst we go for a half-hour jog.

No such luck back here in the middle and my “get yourself fit by jogging in five weeks” regime was strangled and stifled upon our return. G. has managed to maintain his run – but rather than three times a week he’s lucky if he squeezes in a run once a week. In a burst of energy, zeal and late summer warmth I did manage to go to the gym twice a week in August and early September and “kicked ass” in the Thai-bo kick boxing fitness centre.

I am a creature of the seasons however and with autumn drawing in the need to get out has caved in to the need to curl up after dark and stay warm. I have long believed that we mammals should spend the winter asleep in a cave only to remerge when the weather is warm and the days longer. Those bears in Canada have got it right – and in more ways than one.

Only the other day I was dunking a sugary children’s biscuit into my cup of Nescafe decaf when I noticed the next Commission document lying on my pile. It was entitled: “Promoting healthy diets and physical activity: A European dimension for the prevention of overweight, obesity and chronic diseases”. We European are fat; are getting fatter; and are heading for obesity. Even worse – we are reaching the same level of fatness as the Americans and boy can they be fat. The beautiful people in Brussels, who are normally very envious of American economic and business statistics, find this statistic just too hard to swallow.

Reading the Green Paper there is only one conclusion to be drawn: Western civilisation is not going to end in a bang. It is not going to end in a whimper. Western civilizations is going to waddle into the history books as a civilization that collapsed under the weight of its own calorie intake. As the outside hordes begin to attack we’ll be swimming in a vat of transfat; too over-weight to throw an arrow or sock a punch in their direction.

Personally I think its all the EU’s fault in the first place. I mean were it not for the Common Agricultural Policy and the Common Market there is no way that we would have so much choice in the supermarket. Thanks to the EU the Scottish eat Italian buffalo mozzarella in the Hebrides, the Irish can eat Austrian Alpine goat’s cheese in Galway and tourists can cave into Belgian chocolates in Athens. The CAP tells us to produce, produce, produce. More eggs, more milk, more meat. OK so Brussels is trying to reform CAP and make it more environmentally and commercially friendly but there is still an over-production of food. With so much availability no wonder we are so fat.

In any case it was probably an EU regulator somewhere who approved the production and import of trans-fats or hydrogenated fats – or whatever those nasty fats are called, in the first place. The ones that one is not supposed to eat since they stick to your arteries like carpet glue to floorboards - but which can be found on every food label innocently disguised as “vegetable fat”. Rather than picking a fight with the Americans on genetically modified organisms perhaps the EU Trade Commissioner should try and pick a fight with the Malaysians. He should simply ban the import of Palm Oil on the grounds of public health and safety. After all, Palm Oil is the main ingredient in hydrogenated fat. Or so I gather.

As for promoting physical activity – when in heaven’s name are we supposed to fit that in? The holidays are over and the only time I have to: i) get to the fitness centre; ii) get changed into my sport’s clothes; iii) do the sport; iv) get back home again and v) shower, is at around eight in the evening once the kids are settled. I find it so hard to motivate myself at this hour especially when it is drizzling, dark and cold.

No, my advice to the Commission is as follows: Regulate hibernation. As from next winter we must all find a nice cosy place to sleep the winter through. As we slumber peacefully we loose all that excess fat – bears apparently come out of hibernation mean and lean. There is no need keep the heating on high and thereby we save ourselves a ton of energy. No need to over-produce food. No need to worry about exercise. Its all quite simple really.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Charlene


Whilst I might pride myself on trying to have a tastefully painted kitchen and the odd designer piece casually sitting in a corner, when it comes to music there is no doubt that I have no taste what so ever. Trailer trash kitsch that’s me.

I am becoming rather nifty at picking up CDs at bargain prices. Much to G.’s disgust we now own a set of dubious CD titles – the kind you hide behind the Mahler symphony and Bach’s Water Music.

OK I confess. In recent days I’ve bought Meatloaf, Barry White and Tropical Summer. My all time favourite though has got to be “Endless Love”. I am so happy to have found this CD featuring some deliciously corny love songs. Its taken me quite a long time to source such a nugget. The songs include Lionel Richie Stuck on you; Maria McKee Show me heaven; Glenn Madeiros Nothings gone to change my love for you (do you remember that one! The guy in the Hawaiian shirt).

The one that I love above all others though – the extra special love gush mush song has got to be Charlene I’ve never been to me. The lyrics cheer me up no end. Childcare frustrations can include and in no particular order: sleepless nights, being holed up in a house with lots of bored children on a rainy day in October, never having a clean pair of corduroys, vomiting children, feverish children, having to find babysitters, not finding babysitters, sitting in on a warm Friday evening when a terrace looks inviting, being woken up at 6 am on a Saturday morning having had a chance to stay out until late, not having time to paint bedrooms, not having time to write….

But hey – who cares. Parenthood has its frustrations but if you think that’s bad you wait ‘till you hear what Charlene has to say about being free. At the end of her song you’ll be embracing children and shuddering at the thought of being in any other state. Charlene, you see,sings - and she repeats it several times so it must be true: “I’ve been to Paradise but I’ve never been to me”.

Charlene, for those of you not familiar with her, has been to Georgia and California. In fact she’s been any where she could roam. She’s taken the hand of a preacher man and made love in the sun. She’s been to Nice and the Isle of Greece (?). She’s sipped champagne on yachts, been undressed by Kings … and seen some things that a woman ain’t supposed to see. Yep – the lady’s been around and had her fair share of fun with all kinds of dubious men and in all sorts of glamorous settings. But that ain’t enough – oh no. Having fun in the sun and a sophisticated glorious set up is just not enough because as she goes on to say, in what has got to be the corniest voice possible:

Truth is the little baby you’re holding in your arms
It’s the man you fought with this morning
Its the man you’re going to make love to tonight
That’s what truth is.

Oh yes. I love Charlene for telling me this. Right on. Go girl. Its just what I want to hear. Who wants to sip champagne on yachts with Kings of ill repute. So, I may have to stay in all day with bored kids on a rainy day in October, rouse myself out of the comfort of a warm bed to feed the baby – but hey this is Paradise. Unlike Charlene I’m not bitter from the sweet. Go out and get the song – its really great. Really it is.