Fatty does.....TV Interview!

So I was taking a leisurely stroll along to my lecture the other day (strolling being my default walk, saves energy!)and I bumped into my friend. We had barely spoken a couple of words before two girls came up to us, kitted out with clipboards and an audio mic. They asked us whether we'd be up for a quick interview which they would use for a short film they were making. I'm bang in the middle of doing a dissertation and have relied on kindness/ inability to say no of others to get me through it. So in good karma fashion I said yes. Then I noticed they were aiming the question more at my blonder, thinner and generally all-round prettier friend of mine. Hmmph!
But, apparently being blonde, thin and pretty does not always equal confidence and she scuttled away before you could say make-up. That left the interviewers with just me and like most students, they'll take what they can get. So I was shuttled off to a secluded spot on campus with a good view, sat on a wall and told I'd be asked ten or so questions on camera. It is days like this when you...A) wished you'd wore something nicer, B) brushed you hair a bit better and C) continued that diet you started in January... But thank God for widescreen!
Now whilst they set up they're equipment and I thought I'd fill the silence and ask a few questions. Just the usual; what's this for (dissertation), where will it be shown (possible at Glastonbury!), what is it about....(2012 Olympics). Oh f**k! Did you say the olympics? Suddenly I forgive them for aiming the invite to my friend. I mean, I'm hardly the poster child for such a prestigious sporting event am I? I'm now looking for the quickest escape route but suddenly the camera is on and I'm in the spotlight.
(Question 1) So, how do you think London will cope with the 2012 event?
Ok this is good, I'm from London so I actually had something to say. I start going on how cars are useless in London due to traffic and public transport is the way to go, or walk (though not to far otherwise chub rub is coming your way!)
(Question 2)Is it a glorified event for the elite few and not worth the tax payer's money?
Now here is where I go from on the fence to full out supportive! To be fair I'm not that fussed for the most part but I'd just spent the last few days obsessively watching the Bolero performance Torvill and Dean did to win gold in the Olympics way back along (and just to be straight the incentive behind this strange behavior was to perve over Christopher Dean's bum in tight trousers!) But whatever the source material, I am now full out raving about how great the Olympics are.
(Question 3) Do you think Boris Johnson's approach of making the event "low key" is correct?
Much to the surprise of the interviewers (who obviously assumed I wouldn't care, clearly not being of the sport build)I am now jumping on my high horse (figuratively speaking- I don't jump of course). I start babbling on using words like "privilege" and "importance of sport" and "we can do better than a bunch of fireworks".
And thus endeth the shoot. I smile and head off to finally to that lecture, having stunned the interviewers and myself a bit too. Just goes to show you should never judge the filling by the donuts appearance!

Fatty on a treadmill!

So despite having more tyres than the Michelin Man, Fatty does actually own a gym membership! The other day I decided to stop using it as an ice scraper for the car and actually go. So I donned my ever so sexy, clings to all the wrong places tracksuit and hit the gym floor. Now it is true; the gym is for everyone (anyone who’s got £40 quid a month to dribble out of their purses). However certain areas of the gym are only for the elite fitties: the weight room, the class room, the sauna, the steam room, any area where there is a mirror present and above all the lounge area where the snack machines are (because Lord almighty dare a fatty be seen to be eating!) So the shy, the fat and the ugly are limited to the main floor and cowering in the toilets shamefully.
I head straight for the cross trainer, wanting an overall workout (and to watch eastenders on the mini TV they handily attach to it). Whoever invented this machine is a genius; it burns off calories much faster than most other gym torture devices, is fairly kind to out of shape bodies and even at a leisurely pace it looks like your doing a lot. I stay on long enough to ease my guilt over paying a small fortune for something I hardly use and this turns out to be about 20 minutes. I’m all ready to do my traditional glance at the activities board (as if I will ever do a class?!) and then dip in the pool (which is much more floating than swimming for me). But a strange thing happens; the cheesy motivating music hits me, my pace slows as I notice an old fart on a treadmill next to me and I suddenly think “I can do better than him!”. Suddenly I’m on the treadmill with no one to stop me and I’m away! Well, I say away, I’m actually meandering at the pace of a geriatric dog with arthritis but I accidently hit the speed button and I have to power walk (turn out this just means walking fast enough to go all red and puffy like a lobster). After a few minutes where I thought my legs may roll from under me I get the hang of it. Minutes go past, I’m am picturing that summer bikini.... Then I notice the old fart who got me on this thing is now jogging! Bumfluff! I must out do him! I hit the seed button again and suddenly am clinging to the handle bars as I attempt to do something I don’t even do for a bus these days: run! The adrenaline kicks it and I’m stunned I can even run, which keeps me at it. I think this must be what its like for a prepubescent boy discovering his willy; I keep up the motion to see what will happen. Well turns out after a few minutes I nearly collapse from lack of oxygen and dire worry of being the idiot who fell over on the treadmill. Plus, thankfully, the old fart has buggered off to shame some other overweight twenty something into doing a bit more than she’d like. I really should have bought him a drink thank him...

Welcome to Fatty does...

So what do you do when you’ve the childish enthusiasm of a three year old on speed but trapped inside the body of Nelly the elephant? Well the answer is you carry on anyway! And then shamelessly flaunt the comedy value of the moment when size really does matter. Welcome to the blog of “fatty does...”, a true life account of those cringe worthy moments when the mind is willing but the body is barely able. So here is proof of the pudding (mmmm pudding) that no matter what your shape, you should never let the jelly stop you jingling!