Blogging conference nerves ...

I am sitting on my sofa with freshly painted toenails and a tummy that is rumbling for breakfast.Its also rumbling with nerves. I am heading off in about 3 hours to the BritMums blogging conference - BritMums Live 2012. I have a lovely hotel to stay in and I am sure that the conference will be great ... but ....

I am asking myself "What the Hell am I doing??" I know nobody there and to be honest my little blog is just that - my little blog. Its just my way of freeing myself of the stuff in my head. I read about bloggers who are sponsored, featured in magazines and newspapers, bloggers who seem to be totally confident, totally professional. And I seem to have fallen into this. I am so tempted not to go. The only reason I am going is because my husband has been so lovely in paying for my hotel.

I am worried about getting there. Worried about finding the hotel, finding the conference centre, getting back to the hotel ... What about food tonight?? I read about bloggers who are planning on going out together for meals, going for drinks ... Oh God. I reckon I will be back in my room with room service chips and crap tv.

On the outside I hope I appear calm and confident, but on the inside I am totally twitching, afraid that everyone will think me odd, boring ... Sorry about all this. You would think that by now I would have a tad more confidence.

This year has been a bit of a bugger so far and I feel so exhausted by life in general. I'm not going into details on here, but between work and family I just feel like curling up in a little ball some days. And I have put on loads of weight ... could as well get all my moans out in one go ... I am going to a very glam party on Monday and thought I would try on my possible outfits. The little black dress I wore to a similar party two summers ago will not zip up. There is a gap of probably 7 inches ... It turns out that all the eating, drinking and total lack of exercise has actually had an effect. I don't weigh myself but I have turned into an unfit, matronly blob. And I'm not saying that to get your sympathy. Its true.

So here I am. Feeling sorry for myself. Worried. Overweight. Come on woman!! I have to stop this. Just put on a smile, think about other people, get out there. I know I will pull myself up, its just that right now I feel a bit wobbly. I am sure there are other women going to BritMums Live who are feeling just as rubbish. Not everyone is actually as chirpy and confident as they sound on Twitter are they?

I will write again this evening from my hotel room and hopefully I will be full of enthusiasm. I just need to get my head round how lucky I am ... appearance is not important, its how you are on the inside ... just need to smile and think of making other people feel relaxed ...

Perhaps I will start by cleaning my teeth.

Fat Bird..... continued.

 Ooooooooh..... I ache... I ache... I ache. Having moaned on about being a bit of a fatty and about not doing any exercise I have seized the proverbial bull by the horns and this week have run twice and today spent 2 hours playing in a 5 a side football tournament.


I thank you for your generous applause.... well... maybe not.But its a start fellas, isn't it?? If there was any justice in life I would now be a size zero with buns of steel, but methinks there is a tad more work to be done on that front!!In fact there is rather a lot more to do... but it will be done.Being the shallow person that I am, I am not prepared to stay this downright pudgy.


In my head I am an Amazonian- like fit bird who can play any sport, looks gorgeous and runs like the wind.Unfortunately there has been some sort of malfunction, as the woman in my head bears absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to the sad old bird I see in the mirror!!


I went along to the Clinique counter this week and was waylaid by the new Liz Earle counter that has sprung up. The consultant was very helpful and I was about to comment on her flawless skin, glowing countenance and generally fabulous look - about to ask her what products she actually uses... And then, in a millisecond it dawned on me.The reason that she looked so beautiful, so naturally lovely was not down to any skin care product that I could buy.She looked that way because she was bloody 20 years younger than me... Oh, groan..... groan.... groan.....


Still, we all have to age and at least if I stay away from mirrors I can keep believing the whole Amazon thing.I wanted to thank all of you for your kind comments this week.You have ranged between telling me that I was lovely and NOT FAT..... to telling me to get off my big back side and do something about it if I didn't like being a whale.My favourite suggestion was that from Roberta Fleck. If you want to know what it was then I am afraid that you will have to go and look in my previous post's comments.... but suffice to say Mr Secret Housewife will be looking chirpy as the weeks go on if I follow said advice...

Warning.... whingeing, fat Englishwoman on the loose.

Ok... just to give you fair warning.... this blog may contain elements of self pity, whinging and general pathetic shallowness.

I am prone, as those of you who have read my blog for a while will know, to moments of absolute shallowness.Its just as well I have a blog because if I allowed myself to whinge in real life on the scale that I whinge on here.... well, I would probably have been dragged away by someone in a white coat by now.


Today my theme is me.Now, that's a surprise...not.I am becoming more conscious with every day that passes, of my increasing gut and wobbly chins.Now, I know, I am not enormous... I do not as of this evening need a crane or the fire department to get me out of bed... but the way I'm going I could be on that road.


I have no excuse of overactive glands or heavy bones.I have no psychological condition that predisposes me to put on weight.The reason I am turning into a porker is the fact that I eat too much. There... I have admitted it.My name is Secret Housewife and I eat like a bloody pig.I like cooking. I like eating. And I especially like to eat the wrong things. By that I don't mean processed rubbish... believe me.... all the crap I eat is Free Range Organic, grown by hippies in kaftans chanting ommmmmmmmmm.


I just eat toooooooo much!! And at the moment I am not exercising enough. I have gone from running 4 times a week, building my miles up for the London Marathon..... to zilch, nada,niente.... nowt.One of the little girls at school today asked me if I had a baby in my tummy.... "No" I said.... "I am just fat"

I know what I have to do to stop this.Its easy. I have to eat less, get out and exercise and all will be well.But, for Goodness sake.... I can't be bothered. I want to be slim and fit and trim and gorgeous..... but I want to eat truckfuls of lasagne and sit watching Strictly Come Dancing on my ever increasing backside.I don't want to have to work at being slim and fit.I want to be healthy.... but not eat healthy.


So... what am I going to do about it? All around me people have hideous problems that make my fatness pale into insignificance... but it is beginning to bother me.It just seems such a long road to travel... to get to what I want to be.If only I could be happy being a blubber mountain...but that's where the shallowness really kicks in.I want to be gorgeous and a size 10. I want people to think I look lovely. And don't give me all that nonsense about how its the inside of a person that is beautiful... sod that.Let me be mean and ugly on the inside.... just let my outside bits be beautiful.


I suppose there is only one thing for it... this is where I start paying.... in sweat.... but maybe I'll wait until the morning.