Well LARPing happened, but judging by the hundreds of photos of me looking like a vibrant blue teepee in my surgical scrubs, I’ll be better off making the tea in future. Running, check. Falling on rocks, check. Ambling through the forest with the grace of a wheezing, landed manatee, oh fuck yeah, check.

I’m now so fat my shoulders are wider than my head – sideways. How the hell did this happen? I mean sure, I’ve spent the last twelve months eating pizza and watching increasingly banal TV, but four stone? Are you serious? I can now cradle my lap flab in my arms. If there was one part of my body which was always ok-ish, it was my stomach. Nowadays I could piss in a PCs helmet and he’d never know it was because I was too fat to lope to a bog. Unless he had a Clearblue on him, but I reckon it would rattle about in the cosh holder too much. God, I hope the gym tomorrow isn’t full of Smug Thins who’ll laugh at my Tesco exercise pants and Nintendo T-shirt. Yes, it really has taken me a whole month to actually motivate myself into going. At this rate I might get up a really good head of steam and attempt more than ten push-ups in time to witness the end of the universe. Actually, with a speck of perspective, a flat stomach sort of pales in comparison. Nah, I’d die if David Tennant turned up in the TARDIS (note uber-nerd capitalisation there. Athangyew) and witnessed me flobbering into the fall-out shelter. Even worse, he could be splattered with three stone of gelatinous breast tissue as I am vaporized into the ether once and for all.

How cheerful.

Still, despite the fact that this weekend has opened my eyes to the possibility that I might actually have surpassed the old “curvy” delusion, and taken a stalling u-turn into what is almost surely clinical obesity, I had a nice, if occasionally terrifying, humiliating and utterly intimidating weekend. I honestly did not think it would be so nasty being surrounded by four grown men wielding rubber spears and realising that I have absolutely no idea how to fight back. Obviously, being me, my first reaction was to twat them with the business end of a nearby branch, but this was a game, and somehow I struggled with the concept of waving my own (tiny) rubber weapon at them and shouting “MAJOR, MAJOR, CRITICAL”. I believe that this is very common amongst noobs, and perhaps with practice I would improve, but I’ve been honest, and the most honest assessment I can make is that I was actually cripplingly shy throughout the whole thing. It’s not a customary emotion for me to experience, brazening most awkwardness out with stupid faces as I normally do, but I just felt so inexperienced and well, fat all weekend, that I was rubbish, frankly. I do forget that I haven’t acted for at least ten years, and that when cornered I more likely to offer apologies for things than run screaming at people, and I really shouldn’t. I would like to therefore state once and for all, that at any given moment of pressure, I am probably operating on 67% bullshit factor and in reality wetting my massive pants and wishing that I was at home with a copy of Vurt, the cat and a special pizza.

Cheer up Arnold, you miserable cow, it’s almost Saturday.

Almost.

Laters

xx