Tag Archives: crabbies grand national

Friday Night Disco

It’s Friday night, its 9:30pm and I am busting some serious moves…..sat at my desk….listening to Itunes shuffle…..in my running kit….despite only going as far as the wheelie bins in my front garden today.

It’s been an absolutely manic few weeks and I’ve racked up a good few miles just dashing from meetings to interviews to catch up coffees and lessons. I love that step counter app thingy on my iphone, you know the heart icon one that tells me how many bars of Galaxy I can have after my tea….I mean how many steps I’ve done.

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Proof that I got off my ass in 2008.

Despite all the dashing (I sound like a bloody reindeer) I’ve also spent an inordinate amount of time sat on my arse consuming sugar-laden Costa coffees which has done my summer body prep no good whatsoever.

It would appear that journalists spend a lot of time sat in meetings, in pubs, coffee shops on trains, buses and cabs. Journalists do not tend to carry out meetings while generally moving, at all.  And the last time I checked, talking (even the sheer amount that I do) does not burn body altering amounts of calories, nor does it tone bingo wings or create Victoria Secret model-esque body types. This is bitterly disappointing news.

It’s now March (silent scream) and I’ve not really made any effort whatsoever towards my dream goal of being a perfect size 10 for Grand National weekend, panic has set in.

So, as per my usual knee-jerk reaction to pretty much everything, I’m lacing my Nikes up first thing tomorrow and heading to the park with my sister to rack up some miles. Also typical me, I have signed up for Hellrunner which is a half marathon distance with obstacles (muddy bog, freezing river, big-ass hills) dotted through Delamere Forest in Cheshire. It’s either train for these type of events or live on dust for the rest of eternity, and my god I love cake, so that’s just not an option.

Wish me luck!

Edit- forgot to mention that my friends have now renamed me Cake Reilly. Sounds like Kate….its just that Cake is more me….or just is me. Yep. 

 

 

 

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Cap & Gown

A friendly note to all graduates…….

Graduation is a special time…you’ve worked hard….some for 5/6 years or more to gain your degree…your passport to a life filled with abundant wealth and a multitude of opportunities. Your family travel far and wide to celebrate your achievement and your parents brag, quite rightly to anyone who’ll listen about just how fabulous you are!

So for the love of Lagerfeld please don’t lower the tone of such a momentous occasion by draping your beautifully starched, well-earned gowns over dresses fit for pole dancing and heels that even MoneySuperMarket Dave wouldn’t be seen dead in. Why…why? You’re in a bloody big church surrounded by 4 thousand other students, families and staff, yet you feel its appropriate to wear a white body-con dress with mesh panels so tight I could see what you ate for lunch! The guys aren’t much better either! Are you going straight from graduation to a Bugsy Malone convention? No? So why all the gangster pinstripe suits and yes….one lad even wore the matching hat! Nee Naw Nee Naw…..take him away officer!

I never use the blog to hate on people, I’d never take photo’s and shame like the tabloids used to at the Grand National because I do believe that if you think you look good then you should rock it! BUT NOT AT GRADUATION! Your parents (most likely) have just paid a whopping £100 for one photo of you in your way over priced cap and gown with the pretend degree scroll they give you and I will bet you a lottery win that looking back you’ll be mortified that you dressed like it was 11pm on a Friday night…..and not 4pm on a Thursday afternoon with your Nan smiling proudly by your side!

Do me (and future you) a favour and get yourself down to TopShop for a jumpsuit and brogues.

‘We could’ve been anything that we wanted to be’

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