I had another appointment at the “work programme” on monday. They seem like a fairly disorganised bunch, giving out random and sporadic times to go and see them. The girl who works in there does possess one of life’s most precious gifts though: the ability to talk for twenty minutes without saying anything at all. She didn’t so much prattle on about a load of gobshite that a lot of women (and a fair few men) do, more that what she said was very serious, completely useless and I couldn’t tell you what it exactly what it was about. I walked out with 20 copies of my own fucking CV (despite me saying that yes, I had a printer) and went back home. She did tell me that I’d be seeing another person from now on, seems that I didn’t get a job quick enough and fucked with her commission. Almost worth it to be honest.
Really slowed progress on losing the beef, only a pound gone this week. But it’s something so I’m not worried about it. Have to watch what I’m having for my dinner, which I’ve been treating as my main meal and just taking whatever’s on offer. The stuffed-crust pepperoni pizza was awesome, but after checking the box and realising that it holds more than a day’s worth of fat it’ll need to be a very occasional treat from now on. Having chicken in various ways is still a great dinner having said that, and some pasta to fill it out a bit. Exercise wise I need to get to the gym. I’ve nowhere to do circuits properly, no space for free weights and with the weather getting worse I wouldn’t mind training indoors a bit more often. There’s one nearby to where I live run by the council, so I may get money off for being on the dole. My dad has his card for it through work, I may see about using his. And if it’s still too expensive, and as it is run by a public body, I could try being cheeky and going to the doctor to get prescribed gym sessions. Needs must when you’re skint.
And now I’m going to tell you that while I can’t spare any money for the gym, I can for drinking at the weekend! It’s Halloween after all, when the girls are out in outfits officially starting with “naughty” and “dirty” and a man can hide his face behind makeup and pretend that the belly is all padding, and I’ll prove it back at your’s hen… I’ll be at Scotland’s premier rock club on Saturday, avoiding as much of the rock as possible and hunting for any hint of bass. The one thing I don’t have is a costume, so I’ve decided that I’ll shave my head into a mohawk, cover it all in white face paint, and black up a funky skeleton / voodoo design. Perhaps a Baron Samedi? Clothes-wise I don’t know, I’ll probably just throw any old shit together. Riggers and a G-string. I could pull it off.
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