This is not a blog…

This not a blog.

It’s not a blog because, as my agent’s fingernails are only too aware, I am locked in my office FINISHING MY BOOK!!! and not being distracted even for a nanosecond by the time-devouring business of blogging. Or thinking about blogging. Or writing articles. Or Tweeting. Or eating cake.

Which is why I’m not blogging.
At all.

For all the rest of you (who must read this furtively under your duvet, so Mlle Agent doesn’t find out) here’s a small update on the leg situation.
If I were a pianist this writing would class as my essential warm-up scales and arpeggios. As a writer it’s called procrastination. SO unfair.

Basically the leg situation is that nothing has changed. Nothing!

You know those antibiotics they put me on to possibly zap the possible infection due to the possible insect bite? Well, whaddayaknow, it turns out that I’m possibly allergic to them. As well as being probably allergic to Penicillin and Erythromycin (see if you missed this News Flash…), and definitely allergic to shoddy journalism.

So that’s that then. I’m possibly the most useless patient on earth, and will probably die the next time someone coughs on me in the Post Office. It’s all good.

In the absence of medical treatment I’ve being ticking all the other Fucked-Up Leg boxes, like a good girl:
ice, elevation, rest (OK, I have been going to the gym to do weights and a bit of cycling/cross training, but that’s to prevent insanity. A sore leg is bad, but insanity is worse. I know. I’ve been there. Many times.) anti-inflamatories, pain killers, weeping, looking woeful, and refraining from all sexual activity with spouse.

I have to take this seriously, you know.

And what’s happened? Nada, that’s what.

Oh hang on, actually something has happened: since going to the gym and using those fabulously sexy cross-training machines whose repetitive action and lack of changing scenery lull you into a state of boredom that’s as close to being dead as it’s possible to be while still sweating like ripe fruit in a hot plastic bag and watching pop videos of almost naked women dry-humping both a microphone and each other, I’ve been far hungrier than normal.
Ravenous in fact.

Last night at 2am I was so hungry I got up and ate a banana, some Shreddies and a whole hog roast. And a cheesecake. And a giant Toblerone, even though I hate Toblerone because it’s chocolate but with hard, sticky bits in it that break your teeth.

This morning I woke up starving again. I had a big breakfast an hour ago but I’m already starting to feel peckish, and I give it ten minutes before I need my next three-course meal.

As a once-scientist, I feel compelled to draw some kind of conclusion from these data. So…
Conclusion A: my body is working so hard at fixing my leg that I’m burning 5000 calories a day more than usual.

Conclusion B: watching mildly pornographic pop videos of Beyoncé causes a threefold hike in a person’s metabolic rate.

Conclusion C: Ibuprofen burns calories like billy-o.

Conclusion D: Painkillers make a hole in your stomach, so all the food falls out.

Conclusion E: All Men In The World have placed a super-injunction on the news that not having sex with one’s spouse is the best diet ever.

Conclusion F: I’m turning into a greedy fat-ass.

Conclusion G: Dangerously boring as they may be, these exercise machines kick ARSE where it comes to shifting the pounds.

I hate to say it, but my money’s on F. Oh, wouldn’t life be SO much better if it were B??! But then of course nobody would get anything done, and we’d all go blind.

So that’s it folks. The leg remains bad, and I’m off to the doctor this very moment to see if I can get a cortisone injection to reduce the swelling in my ankle.

This was GOING to be a blog about why it’s important to teach our kids how to cook, and then it was going to be a blog about the importance of teaching children a foreign language at primary school, and then it was going to be a rant about how bloody IRRITATING it is to be quoted out of context, as anyone who follows my tweets will already know (you’re not following me on Twitter?? @lizfraser1 is very disappointed…)

But in the end, as is so often the way, it turned out to be a blog about chocolate, pain and sex. Just don’t ever say I’m inconsistent.

More on the Leg Situation anon….stay glued to the edge of your seats, won’t you? 😉

4 thoughts on “This is not a blog…

  1. lizfraser Post author

    It’s OK…I pack in the writing every few days, convinced that I Am Totally Shit At Writing And Indeed Everything Else In Life.
    And then I go back to it. I read your blog this morning – good stuff!!
    If you quit, I quit, OK??

  2. Marisa Birns

    If all else fails, I’ll come over with a hacksaw to help make your leg feel better.

    Cortisone injection will help, really.

    I’m eating almond cake at the moment. After a big ole omelet. I’d get the Krazy Glue but then couldn’t go to the kitchen to forage for more…

  3. lizfraser Post author

    I was a peculiar sight this morning, heading into my office: laptop bag, keys, phone, chainsaw, bag of frozen peas, six bottles of pills, hammer.
    Just another day at work with a swollen FUCKING LEG!!!

    Keep off the Krazy Glue. Foraging is VITAL.



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