Do You Fallow? Why We All Need The Season Of Rest

October 22, 2015

Do You Fallow? Why We All Need The Season Of Rest

The pumpkin season is upon us – they’ve been in the shops for weeks and these plump orange friends, along with the ghoulish outfits and chocolate eyeballs also on the market shelves, herald the fact that the commercially busy time of Halloween is not far away.

Whether you intend to hunker behind tightly closed curtains to escape the trick or treaters, or you’re likely to embrace the evening with a glass of something warm and alcoholic around the barbeque after taking the kids around the neighbourhood, I think it’s way too easy to miss the real value of the season.

Let me explain.

I’ve always disliked autumn.

Or rather I’ve tried to dislike autumn but despite myself, I’ve always found too much to enjoy: iridescent red/brown trees; leaves falling like snowflakes; hidden fungi and bright shiny conkers like gifts in the grass – all pleasures I have reluctantly and even guiltily fallen in love with.

Conkers — Little shiny gifts in the grass

Now, I really do love summer and I am very open and up front about this. Where do I start? Is it the rosé left to lose its chill on a patio table, or warm sand in between your toes while catching the drips coming down a cornet or the disorientating but quietly pleasing first afternoon of the school holidays? For me, the pleasures of summer are deep seated and long awaited.

And then the year turns and autumn slips in while you’re not looking. New shoes are polished, shirts buttoned and hair pig-tailed for the new term, the warm sunshine always seeming to last a little longer than expected. The green lawn you battled with over the summer has become brown with leaves, the blades of grass stumpy as their growth slows.

Before you know it, October happens, leaves drop in the strengthening winds and one morning you wake to suspect that someone might have tampered with your alarm because suddenly your feet are hitting the floor while it’s pitch black outside.

For me, this is where the wait starts. With every leaf that falls is the latent desire, almost an impatience, for the buds of spring.

That is, until now.

For now I feel I understand a little more of what it’s about and it all started with a conversation about the festival of Samhain.

I will explain at this point that I am not a witch or a Wiccan. I’m pretty happy for most people to go about whatever route to spiritual satisfaction they wish but I’m not one for being persuaded to any particular faith: I’m more of a spiritual tourist, you might say.

A friend of mine mentioned she was having a fire feast for Samhain – which, through many permutations has become what most know as Halloween. I’m no expert, so I’ll offer no comprehensive definitions here (although it is well worth a look up on the web) but what I did glean from our conversation was the notion of fallow: the fire feast being the last of the harvest festivals, the start of a new year and the beginning of a season of rest.

The fire would have served to not only dispose of the by-products of harvest but also to light, celebrate and appease – an opportunity to clear out and hang out after a long period of intense activity and hard work.

This led me to think that we have no sensible concept of rest in our modern 24/7 365 world. Even our sleep has to be discussed, prodded, analysed. Are we getting enough? Is our bed suitable? An article I read the other day asked ‘Have you scheduled down time?’ (Scheduling ‘down time’? Surely a more obvious oxymoron has never existed.)

But fallow season? This denotes a stoppage. The trees will drop their leaves until their branches are bare. The bracken will die back to the earth. Some mammals retreat to their burrows and sleep until spring.

It’s shut down time: the earth has pressed the restart button.

I have decided this is what has always bothered me the most about autumn: the return indoors until spring. During the summer, as long as it is light, I am outside washing the car, the windows or pottering in the garden. I pop out for some shopping or hang washing at four o’clock in the afternoon, safe in the knowledge that it will be dry by ten. I run by the river, ride my bike over to the park with my daughter for a go on the swings before bed or laugh with my friends over wine, while the bees work the flowers in the pub garden.

But up until now I have not understood that the fallow season a necessary rest, not just a reluctant temporary stoppage. That this is not a death: only a sleep and a vital one at that.

It is not a time of inactivity, just a different form of activity.

It is a time to regroup, to learn new skills, to deepen and develop relationships.

Just as, below the ground, the trees will store their nutrients, ready for leaves and fruit the following year, we as human beings need to do the same. I feel like we have lost our concept of rest – light bulbs and televisions illuminating the spaces we used to sleep in during the winter. And as air freight has made it possible to purchase strawberries long beyond autumn, I believe we have lost the concept of harvest and how grateful those who have gone before have been for it.

I’m not suggesting that we go back to the dark ages before electricity and ample food but what I am suggesting is that some of the anxieties we have today (mine being the waste of time retreating indoors presents) arise from our lack of connection with the turning seasons, the cycles of life and the inevitability of death.

We need to remember that we are merely earthly observers and although we have learned to tinker (quite effectively, in some cases) with the outcomes of these turnings, there has to be more than a going with the flow – when it comes to the inevitable changes the year (and indeed life) throws at us, there has to be an active engagement.

So, in a break from what has gone before, I’m going to enjoy the fallow season this year. I’m going to dust off the board games, find my crochet needles scattered around the house and browse awhile my collection of dog-eared food magazines for well-loved recipes.

We’ll pull on walking boots and sweaters to catch the odd, brief, bright day and enjoy the sun’s ingress through the leafless branches.

We’ll laugh as we wipe marmalade muffin crumbs off our hibernation blankets on a Sunday afternoon.

And we’ll talk, reconnect, read, learn and enjoy the fallow season, all rested and ready to re-emerge in spring, ready for a new year.

October 6, 2015

Women And Heart Health – Why We Need To Ignore The Doubters And Just Get Out There

I’m a plus size woman with a really bad running habit. I can’t stop. My shoes call to me from the hallway and I’m worried that I’ll get arrested for indecent exposure if I go out running in the rain one more time (an ample bust, combined with a lack of decent plus size breathable wear have too many times made for an impromptu wet t-shirt contest).

So, when the Daily Mail published an article last week about two running magazines which have chosen plus size women for their covers, I was delighted. US magazine, Running, featured Erica Schenk, a size 18 model, who is well known for her fitness habit and the UK title, Womens’s Running, pictured Lindsey Swift on their November issue. After being heckled by a van driver, Linsday’s open letter detailing why running is more important to her than what people think about the size of her body went viral, being shared over 26,000 times. To say I find her inspiring would be an understatement.

The Mail article was positive and inclusive, everything I like reading about but as usual, I was more interested in the comments section below. This is where it all started to get a bit muddy and a little less positive.

There are many obesity experts out there. Unfortunately, instead of spending their time doing research, pounding the streets or making themselves a salad, they litter perfectly healthy discussion forums with anecdotal, ill-informed soundbites about pie-hole stuffing and sofa surfing.

But what kind of message is this sending out? Should we really be discouraging women from exercising because it’s pointless if it’s not accompanied by a punishing diet and an unhealthy obsession with the tape measure or scales?

Thankfully, the real experts are out there reading books, crunching numbers and writing papers. I find their words far more helpful.

The Mail article lead to me doing a little digging around on the matter of fit but fat and I came across cardiologist C. Noel Bairey-Merz, well known in her field for investigating the differences between the ways that men and women develop and present heart disease. She wanted to explore why after years of research, mortality rates from cardio disease were decreasing in men but increasing in women. For her, this has been a matter of sexual politics as well as medicine.

From what I’ve read of her research, trends of where and how blockages and other operational problems arise in the heart are different between male and female subjects. That in mind, she published a study, examining the BMI, measurements and fitness levels of a sample of women with surprising results: “fitness may be more important than overweight or obesity for CV risk in women”.

Of course, she is only one voice amongst many and cardiovascular disease is only one area of risk reported to be higher for tubby people but it got me thinking. What if we took her research at face value? What if we just acknowledged that getting out and getting going is just good for you, whatever your weight?

The Heart Sisters blog by Carolyn Thomas, journalist and heart attack survivor, is a most excellent place to find out more about prevention, diagnosis and care of female heart disease and has a page dedicated to ‘Improving Your Odds’. I read it and realised that my running habit may be helping me to dodge the family heart disease bullet despite my weight.

Some of the major contributing factors to a higher risk of CV disease in women are:

Stress – running not only helps to readjust hormone levels, it also gets you out of the house from the kids/pets/spouse and allows thinking time or even not thinking time.
Type E-personality or being Everthing to Everyone – a study showed that women often put themselves last after house/kids/pet/spouse. This means that the more subtle symptoms of female heart disease can be easily missed or misdiagnosed. Running puts you first, even if it’s only for thirty minutes or so.
Sleep disorders – whether it’s through beneficial core body temperature changes, improvement in brain function or strengthening of the cardiovascular system (amongst a whole host of associated benefits) moderate exercise has been shown to promote better sleep habits.
Depression – you need only do a cursory search to find out how exercise can help with depression.
Smoking – a big no-no for women who want to keep their hearts healthy and it’s a bit hard to run with a fag in your mouth. I do know a few girls who’ll have a cup of tea and a ciggy after a run but they’re in the minority. At this point, I’ll add that I’ve never smoked – not because I inhabit some kind of moral high ground but because I cough, making me look like a spotty 13 year old behind the bikesheds.
Blood pressure and cholesterol – again, affected by activity levels as well as diet.
High fibre, heart-healthy diet – I have a strong body that responds well to how hard I push it – I just don’t feel like filling it full of rubbish after a run, it would just seem ungrateful. It’s all change when the fridge starts singing to me late in the evening, however, but that’s another blog post in itself.

So, what is my message to the fat but fit naysayers?

Your rhetoric is just too simple. Just as Bairey-Merz has done so much for female heart disease mortality rates just by pushing past what other physicians thought was obvious, I’m also keen to ask questions about whether exercise can inform healthier lifestyle choices, rather than just being something someone gets morally blackmailed into doing to lose weight for losing weight’s sake.

I’m calling for a change in thinking. I’m calling for an uprising of plus size people like me on the streets with their trainers on. I’m calling for a war cry of heart healthy people who are fed up with being labelled as pie-eating sofa surfers.

Let’s wobble away and damn those who’d have us believe we’re not healthy just because we’re heavy.

And now that the rain has stopped, I might just chance a run.

September 15, 2015

A Cornishwoman on retreat – or how to fit Eat Pray Love into five days

Having read the book Eat Pray Love twice and seen the Julia Roberts film too many times to mention, I guess you could say that Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoire about discovery and fulfilment across Italy, India and Indonesia has always struck a resonant chord with me.
And never more so than now. Having left my son in his bed and my daughter on a railway platform with her father, I waved goodbye to my life for five days yesterday, in favour of sitting in an attic room in the Dordogne in front of an open window to finish my novel.

In the week leading up to my departure, while I was busy preparing myself for my trip and the household for its abandonment, something caught my attention: the number of family and friends who approached me and told me, quite independently, how this writers’ retreat would be about far more than finishing my novel. Quite flippantly, I’d smile and ask if they’d like another cup of tea/biscuit/roast potato.

But these words were not entirely lost on me. After the unreality of yesterday’s flight (my first ever) and sitting quietly watching the yellow evening light of the Dordogne basting the turning leaves and bracken before dinner, my old friend insomnia crept into my room in the night to remind me that these days are real and this is my life.

So, sitting in my bed watching the sun come up I’ve decided that what links Gilbert’s introspective tale of eating, meditating and falling in love to my own journey are the themes of trust, amnesia and a space for total immersion.

I don’t have a year and an ashram to explore these things but I did have the most delightful spaghetti dish for dinner last night and draw some comfort from the fact that every other writer here has left their children in the hands of someone they love in order to find the space they need to write.

Will I be able to sum up my trip in three simple words? Will five days be enough to find myself? Will I like what I find?

Who knows. For now, it’s time to find my running shoes and get some Dordogne morning air before settling down at my desk in front of the window.

September 10, 2015September 10, 2015

Dear Nicole Arbour – why I’d love to shake your hand

The internet is awash with your Dear Fat People.

(If anyone else reading this hasn’t already seen Nicole’s six minutes of insightful commentary on obesity, then don’t bother. Make yourself a cracking cup of tea and watch the clouds passing the window instead, you’ll get more from it. If you’ve already fallen over it on social media, like a fluorescent safety cone in a shopping centre, you’ll either feel cross about someone else’s lack of concern for health and safety or the amusement that us bipeds at the upper end of the evolutionary ladder use to cover embarrassing situations.)

I want to thank you, pretty lady because although your message seems young, funky and ‘out there’ (thanks for showing us your Kesha hair, so we know just how hip you are), it is a latecomer to the fatshaming bandwagon: a bandwagon that having already shakily rambled along a long, bumpy lane with three wheels and a broken axel, now sits rotting gently in the corner of a forgotten barn with only pigpoop and a lonely donkey for company. And the fact that your ranting about something this old, tired and unfit for purpose reminds me of how far we’ve come in our conversation about obesity.

I won’t pretend that this conversation started in my lifetime. But I did used to eat my Weetabix to the Green Goddess shaking her thing on breakfast telly in the eighties. I engaged in the low-fat insanity going around at the time, believed wholeheartedly in pasta as my saviour and like millions of fellow tubbies likely picked up an insulin intolerance along the way. Protein came under fire with the food-combining frenzy of the nineties and now the new century is waging war on carbs.

You’ll be happy to know that the myth of the weight control one-size-fits-all silver bullet now seems to be on the wane. Even a shallow search of the internet throws up issues such as:

Is it a matter of calories in vs. calories out any more?
Is the adage ‘just stop eating’ helpful for long term weight loss and health gain?
What role does exercise play and does the hunger it creates outweigh the benefits?
Is it possible to be fat and fit?
Are obese people more prone to getting diabetes or are people already prone to getting diabetes more likely to develop an obesity problem as well?
What role does mental health play in eating and exercising habits?
What of the multi-million dollar, multinational diet industry? Are they doing a Tyler Durden and selling rich women their own fat arses back to them or providing a valuable service?

I can’t say that I have answers to any of the above questions but you don’t seem to either: you present no credible evidence to support your ‘facts’.

D’oh! Of course you don’t. And this isn’t because you’re a blonde explaining simple stuff to people who should know better, it’s because your video is part of your act.

Of course it is, I hear you say, you’re a writer and comedian. But there are moments when the woman behind the mask apologises for the tripe she’s ranting about – a smile, an apology, an awkward caveat: then the one-woman Punch and Judy show starts again.

And so, for the woman operating the puppet, I’d like to propose a vote of thanks.

Thanks for highlighting all the reasons why the futility of fat-shaming is still a relevant issue.
Thanks for making strong, agile but fat arsed people like me run faster, write harder and shout louder.
Thanks for motivating people to search out body positive sites like Callie Thorpe’s From the Corners of the Curve, organisations who can help with real life obesity issues like the charity Hoop and Facebook pages like blogger Debz Aiken’s plus size life/no weight loss chat page which offers an alternative place to talk about feeling good and living life without the constant hum of yet another diet in the background.
Thanks for encouraging all those women who will be sat in a PCOS clinic this morning to turn their backs on the destructive narrative of fat as a defining verb.
Thanks for creating an environment where the fabulousness that is Tess Holliday can blossom, pushing out the senseless, archaic and quite frankly spent ideas we used to have about size and aesthetics.

Fat shaming is just not on trend anymore – and your video is all about fat shaming, whatever label you choose to use.

I mean, putting a pair of boots into an oven won’t make them biscuits.

(Just imagine the last sentence was cut in black and white and said without the backing track – I’m stood looking into a pretend oven, wide eyed in surprise. It helps people to laugh at poorly thought out jokes, apparently.)

And just indulge me for a moment. Did Frankenstein ever walk like a zombie? Perhaps he did on his more morose days but there are also breath taking moments of Shelley’s book when we follow him at break neck speed across the ice in pursuit of his creation.

Oh, hang on, you’re talking about the creation put together by the doctor Frankenstein.

Perhaps you need this simple, fat, brunette to explain that Mary Shelly’s ground breaking text is a dark and wretched exploration of body and acceptance. Ironic to think you had mistakenly referenced it in a video loaded with empty rhetoric and prejudice about what you see as disfigured, broken bodies.

And yes, for the record, I could catch up with you. I enjoy running as much as I enjoy eating cake and surprisingly, I do the former more often than I do the latter.

Seriously though, I’ve read responses to your video that have ranged from the outraged to the tickled pink. There have been those who’ve passed it off as ill-judged humour and those who have seen it as senseless nonsense dripping from the mouth of an attention seeking idiot. For others, it’s been harmful, very harmful and this has once more raised issues of responsibility and censorship on the internet.

But I still think we need to be grateful to you for highlighting just how tired and one-dimensional #fatshaming is these days.

And I could finish up by saying that I hope you enjoy your five minutes of shame because you’re the kind of bottle blonde that’ll be forgotten about in five minutes – but that would be senselessly rude and I’d have to wander across the screen in black and white.

And I can’t. Because you (and everyone else reading this) are exercising your ability to read, not passively soaking up YouTube content.

And Smarties. Thank you for reminding me of how delightful these little capsules of sugary chocolate joy are. I’m going to squish a few in my mouth this afternoon.

xxx

If this has made you think, please share (the buttons are up on the right hand side).

Has fat shaming ever worked for you or someone you know?

Has Nicole Arbour got a point or am I just taking this all too seriously?

Comment away!

And check out more of my views on taking back ownership of your body:

Feeling Uncomfortable About Obesity?

Plus Size Runner and Proud – My Top Ten Tips

And so many other positive blogs about the small things that keep us healthy and enjoying life – check out the archives to the right

July 23, 2015July 23, 2015

The hidden obesity related epidemic that needs to be dealt with

There’s a lot of talk about the UK’s weight issues being bandied about at the moment. What caused the problem? Who’s to blame? What can be done?

I’m an avid reader on the subject – everything from cutting edge scientific papers to tabloid headlines but there were two things that caught my eye this morning – both from one of the social media groups I follow.

One was a story of a woman openly stared and talked about in a gym because of her weight.

And another ridiculous meme about how fat people should just get out there and get thin.

Firstly, who criticises someone for working out at a gym? You’ve got to have a serious self-image problem yourself or a tiny intellect if you think that crushing words or cat-like staring is helping anyone.

Secondly, exercise is all about raising your heart rate and your self esteem – if you’re looking for radical weight loss on exercise alone, you’ll be sorely disappointed. It’s all about the shits n giggles, building mental and physical strength and changing your body shape. It isn’t about pleasing the small minded who’d rather you have a tiny, toned physique because somehow they have a right to dictate what you look like.

So I got thinking. It’s often the absences that say more than what’s actually there – all it takes is a little creativity*:

What lies beneath? Bother to think and you’ll be enlightened

stare too much at my fatsuit and you’ll miss the powerful legs beneath
whisper about the rolls the big girl at the gym is carrying and you might miss the ones she’s managed to lose in the last six months
laugh about the guy with a round belly and you’ll not know that the meds he’s been taking for the past year have kept him out of the psychiatric ward but gained him six stone – he’s now on a low GI diet to shift the weight but it’s tough
ridicule the curvy red head in her crop top and shorts but miss the fact that she’s conquered a childhood of domestic abuse and now supports her young son from the proceeds of an international modelling career
chide the cake eating sofa queen for her laziness and sloth and be completely ignorant of the fact that because of idiots like you she struggled to leave the house to take her toddler to the park yesterday
rant about the availability of the fatkini and how it’s promoting obesity as a lifestyle choice and miss the more intellectually challenging concept that self worth can be a lifestyle choice regardless of your clothes size
look down your nose at me and see me as a disgrace and you’ll be ignorant of how far I’ve come and how many people I’ve helped along the way

Yep, I’ve got a big arse

but there seems to be an epidemic of small-mindedness out there and for the future health of the nation it needs to be dealt with

Do you agree? Take a moment to share using the buttons on the top right and drop me a line.

Not agree? Do the same.

Have you been shamed (for whatever reason) and how helpful was it?

I feel like we can make a positive change one person at a time.

* all true stories

To read more ~~rants~~ discussion on the subject:

Feeling Uncomfortable About Obesity?

This girl bloody well can

What a fat lot of good weight shaming does – an alternative view of the plus size row

July 19, 2015July 19, 2015

A Quick Response on the Matter of Obesity

I’ve got a twenty minute training run to do before lunch today, so I’ll be brief.

This morning Sunday Morning Live on BBC 1 with Sian Williams featured the item Is Obesity a Disability?

Inflammatory titles draw both commentators and viewers, so we’ll chalk that one up to necessity.

Issues raised: exercise doesn’t result in weight loss? Lots of conflicting evidence out there but the one thing that pulling on your trainers and getting out there will do is make you feel a whole lot better about being yourself. If we’re talking about metabolic benefit then Michael Mosely is right in that it doesn’t physically melt weight but if we’re going to get to the bottom of the mental health issues that so often cause obesity in the first place, then exercise is the very best place to start. As I’ve said before:

I know I’d rather be breathing in and out in the sunshine rather than crying into a pot of processed low-fat goo

The programme opened with a great VT of fat runner Julie Creffield (check out The Fat Girl’s Guide to Running) but was not mentioned again. Why? She’s a force for good. The panel member patched in from another studio mentioned that when you get to a certain size, you feel helpless. Instead of promoting what Julie does, as a woman who gets big people feeling strong and vital, the panel continued with the same shit about food in and calories out.

Yawn. Change the record.

Those who know nothing keep spouting the same prejudiced, ignorant garbage and they aren’t helping. The likes of Julie and Lilz (and the HOOP organisation promoted on her t-shirt) are talking from an informed position. Taking away blame-talk leaves space and energy for us fatties to solve our own issues with the help of real science and research.

And then there’s the matter of Mail columnist Peter Hitchens. Well known for getting controversial speech and being a twit confused, his ignorance on the matter of addiction raised a quiet informed smile from experienced and well read broadcaster Michael Mosely sat on the couch opposite. It was a beautiful moment.

So, all in all, more sound bites, more over simplified truths, more ignorance about how people become overweight and how we manage/talk about the problem.

The only constructive voice on the coach was Michael Mosely, a well known advocate of fasting for health but notice how he didn’t feel the need to mention this once. He spoke science, compassion and strategies rather than anecdotes, moral judgement and blame.

That’s the way forward – not just because it’s kinder but also because it’s more likely to work.

Feeling Uncomfortable About Obesity?

Let’s have a conversation about Obesity.

No, I mean a real conversation. Not a let’s poke a judgemental finger at the fat people conversation.

Let’s look at the problem, first. This week alone the news reports:

Fire crews rescue 650 obese people a year using winches and cranes (Mirror)
125 diabetes amputations every week and obesity is blamed for 17% rise in operations (Mail Online)
Poor diet, which is thought to be responsible for 70,000 deaths a year and costing the NHS £6bn annually according to Prof Sheila Hollins, chair of the BMA board of science, has led to a call for the Government to impose a 20% tax on sugary drinks (The Guardian)

Big cost to tax payers, massive cost to individuals, not to mention embarrassment for politicians. Clearly, some tough talking is going to have to take place in order to bring the problem under control.

We all know the adage about how much a picture can say, so this is the kind of image the media choose to accompany articles about the obesity crisis. This gem came from the Guardian:

No head, no voice, no humanity. What do pictures like this really say? — A pie eater? A 24-hour a day carer? Someone who has already lost 4 stone? On his way back from the gym? How could we know?

Now the NHS burden can be placed quite firmly on this chap’s shoulders and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can’t turn around and talk to you about why he’s overweight and even if he could move, his head has been chopped off so he physically has no mouth and therefore no voice.

Well, not on this platform anyway.

Being a morbidly obese vegetarian runner, I’m a regular visitor to on-line forums for the overly podgy and let me tell you about the conversations they’re having:

I’ve run out of points this week and I’m panicking about what to have for dinner because I’ve come off a twelve hour shift and I’m hungry – any suggestions?
It’s weigh in tonight, I’m having pizza afterwards and there’s a whole week to make up for it
My diet isn’t working any more. I’m fat/stupid/lazy/a slob/confused (cue reams of suggestions in reply, some genuinely helpful, some shamefully judgemental)
I haven’t lost enough weight for my wedding/my daughter’s wedding/my holiday
My eating has gone so off track since my mother died. It’s been six months and you would have thought I could have pulled it together by now
Some stranger told me today that fat people shouldn’t travel on trains/have tattoos/wear leggings

All paraphrased but all genuinely posted.

And then I came across a group for plus sized ladies with a complete ban on weight loss chat. What do they talk about?

How does this top look with these leggings? Should I wear heels?
Which chaffing shorts work the best?
Which bikinis fit best?
What I’m wearing to work today
My new hair colour
I’m going swimming today! Something I wouldn’t have done without the support of this group!

That’s not to say the other groups don’t have positive posts – they do. And that’s not to say that the weight loss free group doesn’t have posts about keeping healthy – I regularly seek feedback about running as a plus-sizer.

But the environment is so different, so energising, so self-affirming when the focus on how much weight you’re losing and how you’re doing it is taken away. My size is not the most important thing about me – I can write, sing, cook, draw. I make people laugh, I love my charity work and I’d challenge any overweight 40 year old woman to offroad on a bike like I do.

And this is the nub of the matter for me – everything is just so over-simplified and no wonder: do some digging and the advice is all so confusing. Back in the day, fat was to blame and now it’s sugar. We need to move fast food joints away from schools and teach kids how to cook. Even the school holidays are fattening. Measure these ideas against the material I was reading this morning about how the rise in obesity coincided with the rise in the anti-fat movement and a new study suggesting that a high fat diet can impair the function of a hormone that helps you to feel full. The NHS Eatwell plate still promotes ‘plenty of starchy foods’ in the face of the anti-carb movement.

But from what I’ve read recently, the cure to all our obesity problems apparently lies in:

Taxing sugary drinks and snacks
Closing/moving takeaways
Teaching people to cook
Making fat people go to the gym

Think about this for a moment. I’m overweight, so therefore I’m:

Gluttonous and weak minded
Ignorant about food and cooking
Lazy

Weak minded? Ignorant? Lazy?

Really?

Perhaps I’m a one off? I’ve read enough on-line to know that I’m not but let me tell you one thing I do know: I tend not to see fat people any more – I see survivors: survivors of bereavement, illness, depression, domestic violence and post-traumatic stress disorder. Not always but more often than not. I’m training for a 5k charity run in October, I haven’t eaten meat in nearly twenty years and I knock out a home-made from scratch dinner for four on a budget every night. Oh and I’ve survived years of depression.

Everyone has a back story which no one will get to hear if all they ever see is your headless back.

So I propose we start a real conversation – one that will work. Let’s get to the bottom of why people get fat and what they can actually do to reverse this. I’m not speaking about a silver bullet here – do this diet/take this pill/do this exercise. I’m talking about a proper strategy that uses the ingenuity and strength of the human spirit to overcome adversity and acknowledges that we are all individuals with our own metabolisms, hang-ups and personal circumstances.

The aerobics classes I took in my early twenties to lose weight couldn’t finish soon enough but feeling my strong but fat-suit hidden legs doing Zumba at the weekend made me feel completely different

– because what I was doing was utterly relevant. I’m getting fit for my health, not because being fat makes me somehow unworthy of being part of society or having a voice.

I don’t have diabetes, I don’t have any weight related illnesses but because I’m overweight there is this idea going round that I’m going to be expensive later in life, so the UK taxpayer already owns me along with the right to say what they please about me.

But I refuse to be one of The Obese.

I am not a blob with no head, with my back to the camera.

I am full frontal, full throttle and full volume.

I’m not celebrating or promoting obesity, I’m saying we have to completely re-think the way we talk about it because the conversations that are happening on a public and policy making level are not working.

So, yeah, let’s talk about obesity, it’s clear that it needs to happen – but for it to work, it’s got to be two-way. Because that’s what the word conversation means.

An obese person in trainers - a more helpful image? — An obese person in trainers – a more helpful image?

Do you agree? Have I got it all wrong? How can we make things better? Drop me a line below, let me know. Perhaps I’ve missed something. And drop me a line if you’d like more information about the Facebook groups I visit.

For further rants on fat politics:

The damaging lack of self-control that could sink the NHS

It’s not that there’s a skinny person trying to get out

Plus size runner and proud – my top ten tips

Sausage or sizzle – which is better for weight loss?

How to get the body you want this summer

July 14, 2015

Seven Reasons Why This Cornish Girl Loves London

Going to London was a big deal when I was a kid. I grew up in Cornwall and with a mother like mine, who even now in her sixties loves the noise, the dirt and the constant movement of London, my annual childhood trips are surprisingly pretty gems in my childhood memories. Of course, my mum has her quiet, pretty garden on a hill over looking the Penryn river and her daily beach walks to return to, whereas I now find myself in a self-imposed exile on the outer edge of the London commuter belt.

Getting the Great Western from Truro, over the Tamar bridge and up through Devon and the counties beyond as a kid, we’d start packing up our pencils and juice cartons at Reading. Yep, Reading. We’d get off at Paddington and in my mind, Reading was the stop before London – I had no idea there was more than just railway between the two.

Many years later and I find myself just a trifling fifty minutes away from the city. Coming in on the train is so trivial that on a day like today, I’m meeting a friend for lunch before heading home for the school run. Walking along the Southbank, I decided to pop into the Tate Modern to use the facilities and so here I am now, sat in the Turbine Hall under the vast, high skylights. And it occurs to me, now that London has become a familiar friend, it’s not all that dissimilar to Cornwall.

Before you throw your pasty at me in outrage, listen and I’ll explain.

Public toilets

The view from the public toilets at Swanpool Beach in Falmouth:

Swanpool Beach road — The view from the little room at Swanpool

Compare this with the view from outside the Tate Modern.

Millennium Bridge over the Thames — The Millennium Bridge, not far from the Tate Modern

See? Water, plants (well, there are plants, you just can’t see them in this shot). Not that different. Really.

Open Top Buses

Cornwall has plenty of them – my Mum rode one around the beaches in Falmouth the other day in between doing a bit of shopping in town and having a coffee in Trago’s new coffee shop. I snapped a picture of this one just up the road from St Paul’s only today.

London open top bus — Getting away from me a bit in the traffic but I’ve been on one of these up the North Coast to St Ives loads of times

Full of tourists, snapping pictures of the sights along with the odd curious local who wants to see the familiar stuff from a different angle. You still get wet if you haven’t brought a cagoule.

Beaches

I found this one along the Southbank. Sand, water and even a few ice cream and pizza sellers along the way (but no pasties, we’re not talking about the pasties). And, someone has even put a church nearby, how quaint.

Southbank beach — Sand, a pier, some water. All very familiar.

Boat trips

I’d spent many a Saturday afternoon riding the St Mawes ferry across the Carrick Roads for an ice cream and a nose around the castle. This boat is heading downriver towards the Tower – where you can do pretty much the same.

Pasties

Forgive me but I’m not prepared to talk about the pasties in London.

Tourists with very little on

Waiting for my friend outside the very stylish To A Tea on Farringdon Road, mingling with the lunchtime suits was a hairy backed man in neon surf shorts and very little else. Nothing wrong with that per se, he rocked the look but I couldn’t help wondering where he was headed.

Tea Shops

To A Tea serves the most excellent lunches and rather wonderful teas. No sign of a pot of Rodda’s but with the salads and Earl Grey they were serving up, I’d forgive them anything (the cake was good too).

Oxo

Londoner’s built a tower to celebrate a staple ingredient in many homemade pasties.

But I’m still not going to talk about the pasties in London.

July 3, 2015July 3, 2015

The Small Things Of Summer

Oregano - aromatic when warm, whether by the sun on a hot day or by stringy mozzarella on a hot pizze — Oregano – aromatic when warm, whether by the sun on a hot day or by stringy mozzarella on a hot pizza

I can always tell when my young daughter has been playing in the Oregano bush in our garden. She makes stories with her small collection of toy reptiles and insects amongst the leaves and when she comes back into the house, the fresh, green fragrance that is Oregano wafts in with her. I found the first flower earlier this week which always makes me think back to when I was pregnant with her, my summer baby.

Courgette flowers — Summer squash or yellow courgettes – no matter what you call them, big, beautiful flowers and food on the same plant? It’s all win!

Someone once asked me why my favourite colour is yellow “because it’s the colour of sunshine, butter and cheese” I replied. My summer squash is busy growing big, yellow squashes of loveliness but in the meantime it supplies huge, gorgeous, all to quickly gone flowers every morning.

July 2, 2015July 2, 2015

Confessions of a Complete Spiritual Tourist – When HH The Dalai Lama Came To Aldershot

I know what I like to eat. I like fresh, light flavours like coriander, lime and juicy tomatoes in the summer; warm, rich cinnamon and cumin to enrich the bounty of autumn and deep, indulgent, sustaining textures in winter. That’s what I like. Variety.

I spend much of my time buying and cooking food. I choose combinations to sometimes test, sometimes tease and sometimes simply satisfy the palate – but there’s always variety.

What has all this to do with spirituality?

I thrive on variety, choice and exploration. It’s about using my knowledge, experience and skill to find and prepare interesting dishes and then share them with my family and friends. Please don’t mistake my love of pick and mix for insincerity or lack of commitment – I just can’t imagine what it would be like to have the same meal whizzed up and spoon fed to me every day with the expression of choice or complaint not just frowned upon but punished.

This is the kind of theocratic tyranny that I grew up with and why I left prescribed religion behind me a long time ago.

These days, my spiritual exploration is much like a visit to an art gallery. And I’m not talking here about browsing the halls on the way to the coffee shop, I’m talking about really looking, thinking, leaving, reading, perhaps coming back, thinking some more. It’s about my response to what I’m seeing, how it relates to what I already know and what I’d like to experience more of.

Let me explain. I’m not a Buddhist but I’ve read several books written by the Dalai Lama (The Art of Happiness, is well worth a read if you haven’t already) and so when I caught wind that he was coming to Aldershot to open the new Buddhist community centre, I felt compelled to go see if I could catch a glimpse of him.

HH the Dalai Lama blessing the new Buddhist community centre after which he spoke about Buddhism in the 21st century and called for an end to religious division saying "killing in the name of religion is totally wrong". — HH the Dalai Lama blessing the new Buddhist community centre after which he spoke about Buddhism in the 21st century and called for an end to religious division saying “killing in the name of religion is totally wrong”.

I was very nearly disappointed.

I arrived in town on my very easy-to-park bike and after having been asked directions by a very wealthy looking family in a particularly flash car I found myself in what felt like another world. Next to the football stadium, the once rather drab looking social club was painted and beribboned, with red, yellow and blue flags flying high above the road. Fresh from Glastonbury, HH was due to open the centre, lead prayers for the Nepalese lost in the earthquakes and then teach at the stadium.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see but the cacophony was something I’d not experienced before. On the lower side of the road, a large protest against the Dalai Lama by Shugden tradition Buddhists was in full swing. The usually quite pedestrian barriers running along the footpath were festooned with banners declaring their message. Behind this, monks of all nationalities used loud hailers and voices to make as much noise as possible.

I saw one monk amongst the crowd, settled on the pavement in front of a sign for tyres and exhausts, deep in meditation. Behind were the coaches they’d arrived on – I couldn’t help wondering what 50 monks wandering around Heston services would look like.

A contingent of Shugden Buddhists protesting - one later chose to sit and meditate outside Mr Clutch. I like that. — A contingent of Shugden Buddhists protesting – one later chose to sit and meditate outside Mr Clutch. I like that.

So much dancing and singing on both sides of the road: both sides of the Shugden debate

The pro-Dalai Lama camp on the stadium side of the road were also in full swing. There were drums, wide flags flying above. People danced in all colours: emeralds, ochres, saffron, azure blues – from the elderly shuffling to the music to the little babies wide eyed at the spectacle.

I locked my bike to a railing and set off to find out whether I could make sense of what was going on.

According to my watch and the timetable I’d read online, the man I’d come to see would be leaving the community centre sometime soon in order to teach at the ticketed event in the stadium next door.

My phone rang.

My friend, the jammiest of all my friends, had secured a space away from the crowds at the back of the community centre. I smiled.

And so, I found myself with a rack of press, my friend and three Nepalese ladies around the rear of the building where the Dalai Lama was praying inside. A pathway carpeted with ornate rugs ran from a small side door to a huge, black waiting car – the kind you might find carting a celebrity to a premiere. Under the bright colours and intricate paintings of the gateway were a swarm of butch looking security in black suits and high vis jackets. A photographer was making a last minute bargain with one of them to get beyond the wire fence barrier we were stood behind. He won and was allowed in, happily taking up a crouching position beside all the other lenses.

Excitement built as thumbs up were sent out between the security suits, and few people piled out of the side door followed finally by two monks blowing horns.

The moment was arriving. I felt like it was all too much. How disappointed would I be if I didn’t catch glimpse of him? What if the men there to protect him denied me of my once in a lifetime chance? The chants from the road were distant but ever present. The line of attendees for the stadium event filed past the bottom of the steps some way away, unaware of me, my friend and the three Nepalese ladies waiting with baited breath. The drums and the singing rang in my ears.

I felt faint.

And then out he came: small, smiley and utterly untouched by the cacophony around him. I’d had my cameraphone poised for the past five minutes but I calmly put it in my back pocket: I felt compelled to see this one event with my own eyes rather than mediated through a lens.

Did he see me? Probably not. Did he hear my quietly offered Namaste? I hope so. He was ushered into the car and whisked away in a moment.

As we turned from the fence and went to walk down the steps back down to the roadway, my friend commented that I looked like I’d been hit in the eye. It would seem my mascara had gone a little astray.

What did I take from the day?

That even though the spiritual so often has to sit within a secular environment for functional or security reasons it doesn’t mean that all is lost. From what I’ve read of his writings, the Dalai Lama himself is a largely down to earth man. His teachings are as applicable, in principle, to an atheist or a Catholic as they are to a practicing Buddhist.

But I couldn’t help wondering whether he would rather be wandering in the public park up the road where the elderly Nepalese residents of our town like to gather and talk. Or how he felt about all the security around him and whether he felt it was interfering with his work. He talks so much about how powerful an opponent to kindness and real understanding fear is.

My friend and I then did what any good tourist would and went to a coffee shop to ruminate on what we’d seen and heard. The Dalai Lama had radiated a smile that I wore all day.

I think I’m still wearing it now.

And so my tour continues – maybe I’ll find somewhere to call home at some point, maybe I won’t – but it’s not the arrival that’s important to me, it’s the journey.