My muffin top has become a baker's dozen

Went to the beach on the weekend.

Good God.

The last time I wore a swimsuit for any extended period of time was in Crete with the Pond family. We were there for two weeks and I was bikini-clad every day. I walked around in my bikini. I swam in my bikini. I even jogged in it once (to the toilet – was v close to wetting self and refused to just ‘pee in the sea’). I was happy in my bikini. More importantly, I was comfortable. Not so comfortable that I would do any major strolls without a sarong at the ready, and certainly not so comfortable as to wobble my way through a game of beach volleyball, but I felt respectable. Healthy. Reasonably toned.

This weekend I grabbed my favourite bikini which had not seen an outing since Crete and attempted to shoehorn myself into it.

Top half was ok – needed a bit of a jiggle and a wiggle to secure the gals in place, but, once they were trapped, I looked perfectly presentable from the belly button up.

Then came the bikini bottoms.

They are hipster bottoms and they have always been a tad snug, even in Crete . I remember on that very holiday pinching a teeny tiny bit of skin at hip level and complaining about my muffin top.

Well. If THAT was a muffin, I now am the proud owner of a baker’s dozen. There was a distinct ROLL over the top of my bottoms. It need not be pinched – I could actually GRAB a large chunk of myself. (And so could Simon, as he happily demonstrated – helping himself to a hearty handful whilst I was assisting our niece in the digging of a – very impressive - hole. He ended up with a shovel up the side of his head).

This is my own fault. I have spent the summer (grim though it was) in a giddy haze of dinners, bbq’s and carousing. Well, NO MORE! The realisation that my Turkish holiday is only 32 sleeps away has me apoplectic with fear. When I imagine the holiday in my head, I always look fabulous. I picture myself in my new denim skirt (pre-summer purchase - good God, will it still fit me??) and bikini top, looking trim and terrific. If I don’t curb my love affair with cider and cheese pronto, I may well be waddling along the Turkish beaches swathed in a kaftan with my new skirt working outside its remit as, perhaps, a hat.

So I’ve decided I’m not drinking in September. Nor am I indulging in any crap. I’m going to be as pure as the driven snow (not snow that has actually been driven ON, as this tends to be quite disgusting. As pure as the stuff that actually is falling from the sky). I have only 32 days to fit back into my bikini bottoms. I’m too terrified to try my skirt on again.

I have several social engagements this month that I will now be attending sober. Come along and enjoy the ride!

* Join me as I say no to free glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.
* Laugh as I ask for ‘orange juice please’ at the wine bar.
* Delight in my discomfort as I socialise with acquaintances while sipping on a soda water.
* Gag as I eat an egg white omelette for breakfast!

I will keep you in the loop. Perhaps I should post a picture of my baker’s dozen on here? Do I dare????

Stay tuned...