WITH the wedding fast approaching and an unforgiving satin bridesmaid's dress waiting for me to squeeze my butt into, a health kick was seriously required. After the Vibroplate incident, which cost me €100 and was used twice, I have been banned from doing anything that costs money. Initially I thought I could get all lovely and toned and firm a la Amanda Byram by just not eating bread and a half a pound of Kerrygold each day.
That only lasted two days, when I started suffering from withdrawal and was taking the butter out of the fridge and sniffing it with longing. Four rounds of toast smothered in butter later and I was back to square one again.
Then I decided I'd start eating loads of salads which would be bound to be good for me and turn me into a svelte, athletic goddess. But the only way I'll eat salad is if it has loads of cheese, mayonnaise, nuts and dressing on it. So that kind of defeated the purpose of that exercise.
My next attempt at recreating myself in the shape of Elle Mcphearson involved walking the dog, which actually was quite good exercise because our dog is a thug and seems to think it only proper that he attack every poor little labradoodle and bichon fries that comes his way. Therefore I spent most of the 40-minute walk hauling him back from savaging cute balls of fluff. I'm sure my right arm is decidedly more toned since.
The problem with walking the dog, especially now that it's bright in the evenings, is that he was making a holy show of me. Half the town was laughing at my attempts to control him and what do you say to someone whose miniature Jack Russell is being savaged by a tangled terrier delinquent who refuses to obey any orders whatsoever?
The dog-walking was subsequently knocked on the head and I arrived at my bridesmaid dress fitting filled with dread and a pair of magic knickers in my bag in case of emergencies. The dress was lovely on the hanger all elegant and demure. I went into the bathroom to fit it on and came out to look in the mirror.
The top half was fine, the dog-walking definitely paid off! But the bottom half – well, the only word that springs to mind is ' hefty'. All that Kerrygold seems to have made its way to one place – my backside. The dressmaker, God love her, did her best, she tweaked and pulled but it made no difference. I am now the owner of a fat ass.
Still, as someone said to me the other night, it doesn't really matter what I look like, because the day is not about me, it's about the bride. And, as I said right back, 'Sorry now, it might be all about the bride and groom, but I'm not walking down aisle in front of her like jabba the hutt.'
I've six weeks left to D-day to shake some fat off my booty, although that does includes two weeks in France so we'll have to cancel those out... baguettes here I come!
In the mean time it looks like I'm back to dogwalking and suffering public embarrassment at the paws of our mutt.
Beauty knows no pain, as my mother always says!