Guilty As Charged.

My crime: Christmas over indulgence. 

Verdict: Guilty. 

It has been a little while since I last posted and to be perfectly honest it was simply because there was no fighting the fat. Not even a small amount of fighting to make up one post - I couldn't lie to you. I completely and utterly succumbed to the festivities in every sense of the meaning. I ate too much, drank too much, spent too much and throughly enjoyed it. Sorry... but I'm not sorry. Christmas is a time for happiness and indulgence and nothing makes me happier than indulging in roast potatoes and chocolate yule log. 

So inevitably it came to New Year's Eve and that looming question of 'what are your resolutions for 2013 going to be?' That dreaded bloody question...nosy buggers just focus on your own failed resolutions stop asking about mine! I think it has been my resolution to lose weigh since 1994 and it seems I have been rather ineffective (might I add, like most of the population) at ever attaining these resolutions. So I decided to not make a resolution about losing weight this year. Instead it is simply going to be inherent in my life. I started off well last Summer when I began this glorious blog and managed to drop 2 and a half stones...HOWEVER I then got to shittest job known to man and self diagnosed myself with depression. I may have overreacted with depression, most probable. In my time of need I felt no motivation to hit the gym or eat particularly well and as such I gave up and found the bread. I know bad Billie. Things got a lot better when Entropy arrived in my life and I thought running around a restaurant would definitely burn off all the grazing in the kitchen. It didn't. The reason that plan failed was because I didn't factor in my non existant metabolism and although there were relatively frequent gym sessions, there were also relatively frequent risottos. Oops. 

So the resolution for 2013 was not to loose weight but to be bolder and braver. If I want something to just go for it and not pussyfoot around it like I have been for the past 22 years. Without being cringe my resolution was to have an adventure, for the past couple of decades I've played it pretty safe so I think it is time for a change. My adventure might not be in the African savannah or the rain forests of South America (mainly because I HATE trekking...gross get a Jeep) but it could be finding my perfect school in Paris or finally getting a break in London and entering the rather savage world of fashion. Whatever it be, its going to be my year and my adventure. 

The reason I started this blog was 1) to put off getting a job by persuading BBB that this was very time consuming and important 2) to make sure I kept myself motivated by sharing my rather uninteresting story with people. Neither really happened because I was a lazy fuck. Well 2012 is done and things are looking up.... I am actually getting somewhere with a career (and one that I actually want to pursue, soz law but you can do one) and people actually like my writing! Shock. 

So here is the plan for the foreseeable future, stop fucking around and just get on with it time is passing already and Cancun 2014 is looming in the not so distant future. I have had a very serious chat with the chefs at work and what they have to do I have a break down and come in asking for risotto or breakfast to show me a picture of Rihanna and kindly tell me to sod off. 

Game on 2013...let's see who wins. 

Fatty BB xxx

I Work Out.

The gym is now fully complete with... 600 DVDs to choose from. Fantastic. I had been waiting for the final touches to be complete like a flat screen tv and all the DVDs to be put into alphabetical order. But mostly I was waiting for the blinds to go up so that the weirdos from next door can't see me run like a heifer on the treadmill and inevitably fall off. But I will begrudgingly have to wait for the blinds. (I don't know why but I constantly seem to trip on the conveyor belt - put it down to a manufacturing fault and less my ability to run in an ordinary fashion). But I will begrudgingly have to wait for the blinds, will just have to brave it!

But now the question is what DVD to watch whilst exercising?! Which would give the most motivation? I have narrowed the choices down as I want to make sure that the first session back in the gym is a happy one and not a disastrous occasion whereby I avoid all further attempts of exercise. The options are as follows:

- The Bourne Identity - lots of running could be inspirational. Perhaps pretend I was once a Treadstone operative gone rogue. I'm not convived this would make me run more though. Perhaps if I imagine I was running towards a topless Matt Damon I might be even more inspired.

- Mean Girls - because now Lindsay Lohan is such a wreck 3 months in the gym and I'm bound to look better than she did during her blonde anorexic I love Sam Ronson phase.

- Coyote Ugly - Learn some dance moves to embarrass myself with at the same time, and its basically an all Leanne Rimmes soundtrack that only Emily Walker would appreciate as much as me.

- Taken - Because if I get hot and skinny it could happen to me (I'm not wishing that it does) but I might need to know what to do in such a situation. Although the first time I watched Taken was with BBB a week before I went travelling across America and his response at the end of the film was not how easily I could potentially be abducted into the sex trade and that I should be careful or just not go at all. No, no, no. It was 'Well if that happens to you, I'm not coming to America. Liam Neeson runs faster  than me. But on reflection I think the chances of someone trying to abduct you are slim to none.' Thanks Baz.

- Hairspray- Because the fatty gets the hotty. This however may not lead to much inspiration in the workout field. And will also give me highly unrealistic hopes that Zac Efron will come knocking. Door bell just rang and no joke for a split second I just thought 'could it be?!' Don't be so stupid it was Granddad over for dinner.

- Pride and Prejudice (the BBC version obviously). My reasoning behind this was that because its a 6 part series it will encourage me to go back for the next 5 hours. I also countt myself as an Indian Elizabeth Bennett, well kind of more due the fact that she ends up with someone on £10,000 a year than her witty intellect.  Annie is clearly Jane - pretty and obedient. And Ashwin is Kitty - an outrageous flirt/embarrassment to the family. Which either leaves me with piano playing Mary or dear Lizzie and since I am highly outspoken for a good Indian girl, loose my temper far too often and have dark curly hair I thought it was the most fitting.

Decisions. Decisions.

So, that was yesterday and this is now today and the gym has well and try been conquered. It did take a while to muster the strength to get out of bed and cross the garden to get to the gym but after catching up on MIC and faffing for an hour I managed it. In the end I went with Coyote Ugly. It was an excellent choice. However I think I got a little too carried away...It got to the cowboy dance on the bar scene and I thought to myself 'hey, if I can master the pussycat dolls routine, surely this will be easy.' So I headed over to the matts and got myself prepped to go along with the girls, it was NOT a success. Despite my best efforts to be a cowgirl, my line dancing just doesn't cut it and it ended in overhearing the builder's raucous laughter from next door.

With a failed dance routine in check I headed back to the cross trainer, but I was without a defeatist attitude. I was determined if anything to look at good at Lucy in MIC when she was at the gym and so I stupidly attempted the Coyote hair-flick whilst going full pace on the cross trainer. The result was that my hair flick was so ferocious that I almost winded myself when the cross trainer handle came flying back into my chest. Safe to say I won't ever cut it as a coyote, fat or thin.

I think tomorrow we might try Taken, far fewer dance moves.

I leave you with this parting image, me attempting this routine...

Fatty BB xxx

Time Management.

As you can tell from the way the posts have been progressively slowing down in their publication, time management is a bit of an issue for me. It is not my best asset, we have clearly established over the past couple of months my best assets are my eyebrows. So just for me, when you next see me comment on how bangin they are.

Time management seems to be that skill that people try and drill into you from a young age - teachers, parents, Annie, everyone tried to get me organised. Never happened. (Not BBB though he was too unorganised to organise me). I think it's a middle child thing, we are too laid back to care about time management - or at least this is my excuse. When told to do something my initial reaction is 'yeah ok, in a minute' and in fact if I do end up doing that particular task it will be done hours after initially requested. I don't even realise I am saying this, its like a reflex action, predominantly because I don't really register when people are telling me to do something as I am watching Gossip Girl or Revenge or reading Daily Mail online and frankly I'm not really paying attention to the clothes in the washing machine, or the gardener coming in an hour that I have to open to back gate for. But if someone reminds me to take the food out of the oven, I miraculously remember, so strange.

 So when I had to catch the school bus at 7.15am to get to Loughborough time management was a particular issue, especially when living with Miss Organised-Annie. She would be up early enough to look pristine for school, have breakfast and watch whatever rubbish was played on Trouble Channel at 7am. Me, on the other hand had to be rolled out of bed by Geeta, and I would proceed to roll myself back into bed for that crucial extra 5 minutes. Then attempt to dress myself in the allocated 3 minutes I had given myself, stumble down stairs skirt the wrong way round, shirt buttoned up incorrectly and odd socks on. Grab my now cold toast, because that was way more important than my blazer, fall into the car and be shouted at by Annie because apparently we were always so late we were going to miss the bus (we never once missed the bus). Make it on to the bus and fall straight back to sleep. No wonder I looked such a mess in my formative years - I'm so lucky I was loved enough not to be bullied...at least to my face.

The same kind of thing happened with my work if I was given a month to do a piece of coursework inevitably it was done the night before it was due. And due to my hideous time management nothing in my life seems to get done. Unless its something that I really want to do, like go for 3 hour leisurely lunches or watch back to back Harry Potters.

 If I'm not working, I'm sleeping or complaining that there is nothing to eat at home or TEFLing or job hunting for journalism internships and with all of this combined I am finding it hard to time manage my entire life. Under the presumption that an ipad would actually help my time management I persuaded BBB it was vital to life. In fact it is only vital in aiding my fruit ninja scores. So I need to work on time management so that I now spend the majority of my time IN THE GYM and not complaining that I don't have enough time, because that is what I have been doing lately, naughty Billie. If I cut back on my facebook stalking and watching shit programmes like Revenge there will definitely be time. The gym is now complete and actually looks pretty snazzy (could I expect anything less from BBB - although his input on the gym was the massive tv, leather sofa and 600 dvds, so for him I think its more of a virtual escapism that one fuelled by exercise).

The reality that France is looming is starting to hit home so I need to really crack the whip and sort my life out and start using my time wisely. Tomorrow is Diwali and I have to be a proper Indian for the day. Play the role of the doting daughter, not the disobedient lazy shit. Show all elders dutiful respect and attention which means I will have to hold back on insulting Annie for the day and most of all play nice so that I get a good present. Baz if you're reading...my blackberry is totally bust. Why not have some uniformity and order in my life by buying me and iphone to add to my apple goods?!

Likelihood is that I will sleep in until 11am get bollocked by Geeta for not being productive. Laze around the house write a cover letter (eat some meat because I will forget I am meant to be a veggie for the day) and then at 4:45pm run around the house and pretend like I have been doing things aaalllll day so that when Geeta arrives home at 5pm I will have stepped up to be that good little Indian daughter. Such a shame she can see right through me. The day after Diwali is technically Indian New Year - so here is my pledge: not to be a better Indian, because that really is a lost cause, but to step up the weight loss and MANAGE MY TIME. It will be done.

Fatty BB xxx

Working Girl

I have finally left the hideous engineering company I was working for and told Dragon Lady to kiss my oversized ass. I have got myself a new job which I actually LOVE. Who would have thought I would enjoy serving others?! That's right I am officially Leicester's clumsiest waitress and shittest pint pourer - you either get all froth or none at all, take your pick.

Initially I was concerned - was I not walking straight into the devil's lair by choosing to work at Leicester's finest restaurant (and this isn't just opinion this is actual fact). With homemade loaves being thrown out of the kitchen every few minutes on dinner service and twice cooked chips filling the kitchen with sweet chip aroma. Working for Entropy was going to be tough - not because I knock over most drinks and drop most food down myself but because temptation is quite literally coming at be from all directions. So I came up with a genius plan that I was to have a serious chat with our kitchen and give then strict instruction that they are to only serve me either salad or soup...this serious chat is yet to take place. But having worked there for two weeks now I have yet to spill food down a customer or steal one of their fresh loaves for myself. I have completely jinxed myself now, I'm bound to drop a latte on someone this week.

In fact work has been so good that I have actually forgotten to eat. I know it baffles me too. But when you are the only person on and you there are 20 cappuccinos to make you are focussing more on not setting off the fire alarm steaming the milk than thinking 'ohhhh I need to eat'. And considering it takes me about 5 minutes to make a cappuccino because I like to make nice patterns with the cocoa powder by the time I have finished the hunger has quite miraculously disappeared. But I have to confess there have been a couple of slip ups in the kitchen - but when you are offered next to Michelin starred food who is going to say no?! But these occasions are rare and I promise I do not encourage them, my aim is for people to think I'm basically wonder woman. Like 'omg Billie doesn't ever eat - she must just wear really unflattering clothes that make her look like she's being eating for a lifetime...' (pfftt never going to happen - if I know anything it's how to dress for the fat). However there is another flaw to my 'work so much you forget to eat' strategy my manager's best friend was the runner up in the Great British Bake Off and constantly comes in with baked treats. Life is just so unfair.

So loving life at the restaurant, the people are fab - so much better than Dragon Lady and Bible Boy and I have only managed to make a tit out of myself once so far. When the hot photographer came in to hang his pictures up I was told to take him upstairs to get him some screws to obviously hang the photos. Trying to act all sexy and clearly failing I blurt out, 'Do you want to follow me upstairs for a screw?' Well done Billie. Well done. I didn't take him upstairs, I couldn't even look him in the eye. And if we become Facebook friends I am deleting this post - because he is a babe. Restaurant work is going well for the naturally clumsy: humiliation has only occurred a handful of times, I have eaten shit a smaller handful of times, and I have had pervy middle aged men ask for my number by an even smaller handful of times - once you have been called 'beautiful' by 3 or 4 slurring, balding men the novelty soon wears off.

The gym is nearly done, the job is sweet. Project Rihanna has entered the Winter phase. Please don't let the carby winter warmers find me. Please.

Fatty BB xxx

I Had A Dream...

Not of the Martin Luther King variety, or the Ryan Gosling kind...

The other night I woke up in a cold sweat with tears streaming down my face. The only time this has happened to me recently was when I went cold turkey on carbs and had dreams about bread and then one other time...when I watched Insidious. I hate scary films, I cried in The Ring, can't handle The Others, I was even scared in Scary Movie - that guy had a weird hand. But India forced me to watch Insidious with her and despite cowering under my blanket for the majority of the film I am scarred for life by what I saw. This scarring was only made worse by Rupert being a little shit and scaring me even more. I was harmlessly coming home from a night of boozing and stumbled into the kitchen to attack the remains of my couscous when Rupert appears from the basement holding his laptop over his face with the hideous scarywoman from that stupid film on the screen, safe to say panic attack ensued and I didn't get to eat my couscous. Instead I collapsed against the fridge.

But anyway back to my present nightmare, I was in some kind of strange crystal maze environment being chased by this psychopath.  Long story short I couldn't run fast enough because I'm such a fatty that he caught up to be (he was like SUPER fast though), slit my throat and cut me up into little pieces. I am almost certain it was the 'dream sprinting' more than 100m that brought on the cold sweat but what if this happens in real life?!

I am well aware this is a huge dramatisation and the likelihood of anyone attempting to chase me is slim to none but just in case I need to learn how to run, and how to run fast. Now don't laugh you're meant to be a supportive audience not a judgemental one so no cackles when I tell you I'm not a natural athelete - not surprising really. How can I improve this? Especially when I don't really like running? I avoid the treadmill like the plague - mainly because I'm scared with my clumsy ability I will trip and fall and get an ugly treadmill burn on chin. And NO WAY am I running im public, I refuse to be the cause of any road traffic accidents - when people stop and stare at my incredible beauty and Bolt-like technique....

So my plan for the end of October is to learn how to run, in an efficient and moderately graceful manner. Despite being a heifer I have been told I run quite elegantly, but it was Baz who told me that so I don't know how much truth their was in that statement, he was probs mocking me. When previously running to the ice-cream van or trying to catch a train which I am inevitably late for I do run on the balls of my feet, and get a little spring. But then when I arrive at said ice-cream van or manage to lug myself onto the train it's not a pretty sight.

Thus, October - running will be mastered. I'm not going to lie, I'm not really looking forward to it. But I have further inspiration. Upon on my visit to London, Kate and I took a very (long) leisurely stroll down the river (I did ask which river it was - but we are going to overlook that because I was hungover and distracted by the Kensington Rowing Club). And there were all these gorgeous runners, just enjoying sunshine, getting fit, looking good. I want to one of those people, and then simultaneously pick up one of those people - like the stunner that ran past us twice and I tried to get a picture of his sweaty biceps, but couldn't get my camera to focus quick enough. Such a shame you guys would have really enjoyed it.

Thankfully BBB has come up with a solution to get us both running by building a gym in the back garden. I am actually really excited about this prospect as it will be finished by next week and this means I can attempt to run to my hearts content (quite literally) without anyone watching and laughing. It's like Field of Dreams 'Build it and he will come.' But instead 'Build it and Billie will be thin.' You know what I would love even more though - if James Earl Jones was my personal trainer - Mufassa telling you to run, you would not stop. So that's the plan.

I have also decided when I am ready to run in public I'm going to employ these guys to be my running posse...that way I look the best. Is that egotistical? Either way I don't care.

Fatty BB xxx

The Art of Friend Stealing

Since it has been kindly pointed out to me by more than just a couple of people that this blog tends not to focus so much on fitness but more on just... me, I thought I would continue on this more interesting theme for this particular post. So whilst a considerably smaller portion of the nation has been watching X Factor over the past few weeks I have got to thinking, what am I talented at? And as much as a try I don't think singing will ever be one of them. I can certainly list what talents I am lacking in - namely self-discipline and motivation to not eat carbs. But as far as actual useable talents I am limited. Then my talent hit me...I am a brilliant friend stealer. 

As such this post is dedicated to all those I have stolen, you have made my talent what it is today. (Toby Ross just to clarify this counts as your birthday blog). 

Now Shariat will argue that 'friend stealing' is a negative aspect and seeing as one of her best friends is now one of my best friends (that's you Alice) I get that (well not really but I don't want to be overtly mean). BUT I see it as a positive attribute it means that I have more of you lovely people reading my blog and helping me towards world domination. You might think, what is the success to my superb friend-stealing? I'll tell you...I'm about as threatening as a cuddly toy. Who would ever be intimated by the chubbs, curly haired girl with a clearly confused cultural identity?! 

The answer: absolutely no one. 

The result: The ability to befriend everyone. 

• Girlfriends of fit boyfriends love me because I am zero threat, the most threatening thing that will happen is that I can get by in a conversation about sport and they can't. 
• Boyfriends love me because lets face it I cook what the skinny girlfriends refuse to AND talk about sport.
•  Kids love me because I look like a stuffed animal. 
• Adults love me because I am the walking toy for their children. 

Basically I cannot lose at this game. Looking like the friendliest Hawaiian on the island does have some benefits, I may not bag the Storm model that has come to shoot the new Vilebrequin ad  but he will definitely want to be friends with me. This might sound big headed but when this is the only talent you have to work with, I gotta sell it. 

Plus how do you make new friends these days?! I work with six middle aged men, I don't particularly want to make friends with them. I exercise in my own house (not that I would ever make gym friends - the six packs do not want to be seen with the six rolls). I went ALL OUT at uni and exhausted all those avenues. So you make friends through other friends. It's natural (see Shariat). Gone are the days when  smashed in Mission I could walk up to someone and be like 'Heyyy I know who you are Hannah Yasmin Shariatmadari' (and I only know this through facebook and not real life) and get the reply 'Heyyy I know who you are Kiran Billie Bhatia' (and I only know this through facebook and not real life too) and then one week later be best friends. The last time that happened I ended up with Alice Willmott and she is a drain all my 'Pasta n Sauce' resources. 

Hence my thought that labelling my ability to make friends in a short space of time as 'friend stealing' is slightly harsh, in fact I could be the victim of some kind of secret game which is actually 'make Billie be my friend.' There are bonuses to this situation, I will cook for you and share my Vodka with you but most of all let you laugh at me. So in honour of those I have stolen and are now mine I shall be posting this on your facebook walls (for those I actually think would read this) - LOOK OUT. To those I miss...I am truly sorry, it doesn't mean I didn't enjoy stealing you it just means I can smell dinner being cooked and got distracted. 

Next week it will be back to how depressed I am with eating protein and how much I miss pasta bake. 

Fatty BB xxx

I Can, You Can, DUKAN.

After the disaster that has been Sad September who would have thought that it would be BBB who has re-inspired the whole family. Even Geeta, who in my opinion is practically anorexic with her 'no more than four chips' policy, has decided to join the get fit regime that has swept the Bhatia family. Since being housebound for 3 weeks with syatica and has been unable to go on her daily marches around Oadby, she now considers herself 'doughy'. If she is doughy...I am the entire sodding bakery.

BBB has managed to shed a stone in a week. Puts my 2 stone in 2 months to utter shame. I need to massively up my game. However, whilst I make a song and dance about pretty much everything I do - even writing this blog, BBB started his health kick on the sly - naughty Baz. It wasn't until Wednesday that I realised the fridge had no wine bottles ready and chilling and there were no empty bowls of peanuts by his throne in the lounge. Baz had gone cold turkey. It wasn't until I bravely entered the boy's toilet that I found the source of the inspiration: The Dukan Diet.

Now already labelling myself the carb queen, I am not overly fond of the pure protein. Apparently Nando's isn't pure protein if you get it in the pitta with the chips and perinaise on the side...who knew. In fact I really don't like meat, unless its Waitrose or M&S chicken. I know there is no difference between Waitrose chicken and Sainsbury's chicken except a £4 increase but I just can't do it. It has to be like that. As my housemates will know Geeta was a gem and constantly supplied me with M&S Oakham reared finest for four years, I know no different...it is a problem I need to overcome but whilst they are my local supermarkets I see no reason in changing a perfectly good habit. This chicken snobbery has had some benefits though! When often stumbling/rolling/crawling (despite my pathetic 3 inch heels) I often found myself propped up against the Jaldi Jaldi bar with India ordering everything on the menu and the rest of the girls hot on her heels. Thinking a chicken tikka masala is the best thing for me at 3am I wait until they have poured out my little container with rice and everything to then ask, 'Is this free range organic chicken?' When the Jaldi Jaldi man then looks at me with a face that says, 'who do you think you are?!' I decide the appropriate response is: 'I don't want it then.' A brat to the core, even my drunk food has to adhere to my spoilt ways...unless its battered, then I don't give a shit.

So I am now on Dukan day 4 and feeling thoroughly suicidal. I hate protein. I hate it. I'm trying I really am, I have an egg in the morning - I haven't eaten eggs since I was 4 (unless of course they are beautifully beaten into a cake or a pastry....mmm I want a pecan plait). So I have embraced eggs, I'm not going to lie I do have to have ketchup with it and the grimace across my face looks as though I'm in agony. So Dukan breakfast is very rapidly eaten as not to actually taste the egg. Then comes lunch and I am greeted by a chunk of chicken - fabulous. No salad, no veg (no carbs obvs) not even any Mayo - apparently my argument that Mayo is made of eggs and thus protein is invalid. Cold chicken by itself is grim. The only way I can eat is by cutting it up into the tiniest pieces so that my mind is preoccupied with the task of cutting it and concentrating less on how horrid it is. The whole protein thing does seem to be working I suppose as in 4 days I have lost 4lb, but I really don't know how much longer I can go without some salad and veg. What harm can it really doing having a few veggies?! As if I'm craving greens...who have I become?!

I just have to keep this image in my head and all will be worth it...

Bloody ruins it by saying face in hole. Or maybe its more that my face is pointing in the wrong direction. So ignoring the fact this looks more creepy than sexy...get in line boys ;) 

Fatty BB xxx