Formication And Fleas

I can’t stop itching!

I believe that the correct medical term is formication (as opposed to fornication, which is something altogether different.) I awoke the other night, convinced that the cat’s fleas had infiltrated the bed and were making a feast of my tender and not so tender parts. I was sorely tempted to use the last sachet of the cat’s Frontline on myself. However, I was relieved to find out that it is a condition I share with my best friend, who is also slowly making her itchy fat way towards the menopause. Some time ago, my friend was convinced that her itching was caused by a food allergy and decided to consult a Chinese herbalist who promptly sold her some very expensive weird looking twigs and dried leaves out of which to make a special and particularly foul herbal brew. It would have done the witches in MacBeth proud. A year or so down the line and it would appear that the real cause of the itching was the onset of the peri-menopause. One little tip I have learned though, if you pardon the pun, is that forks make very good back scratchers.

Despite all the raging symptoms of PMT, the stubborn period has still not yet arrived and I fear that I may have another empty space for September on the period chart. I wouldn’t necessarily mind, but it’s the undignified shilly-shallying, as Blackadder would say, that is so irritating. Why don’t periods just stop? One day you have them and the next they’re gone, but I suppose it’s a bit like a grandfather clock that is winding down – it’s a gradual drying up of the hormones. Sounds disgusting! There is no sudden transformation from goddess to crone, just a slow and embarrassing seepage (and I wasn’t referring to the bladder, although it is a moot point.) Not that I was ever in the goddess category mind you, but I’m sure as hell heading rapidly for crone territory. I’m still undecided as to whether to chance a crack at Botox again but what I really need, if I’m perfectly honest, is a full face life or, at the very least, a brow lift, so if anyone has a spare £3,500 to donate, I’d be eternally grateful, especially if you also happen to be a plastic surgeon.

Needless to say, the exercise bike still sits there mocking me because it knows I am not man (or woman) enough to take up the challenge. I’m sure it is in cahoots with the weighing scales, which utterly refuse to budge from the 10 stone mark and I’m rapidly getting fed up with the green tea, cayenne pepper and Helix Slim trick which, to date, appears to have yielded sod all. It’s at times like this, when HRT seems like a very tempting prospect, but I shall continue to refrain for as long as humanly possible.

Get thee behind me, Satan!

Ten For That? You Must Be Mad!

Has a whole week flown by already since I last contributed to this blog, or is it a case of menopausal amnesia?

The news so far, since my last missive, is that I managed to secure three days temporary employment last week, working for an insurance company, coding and posting invoices onto the SAGE accounting system. I had actually requested not to be offered accountancy work because I happen to loathe it. However, I was assured that it was really “data entry”, so agreed to accept and I suppose it was really, as it was not exactly taxing, although highly repetitive. Still, it would mean an additional £150 in the coffers and would keep my husband off my back for a short while. If I had been more savvy, I could have strung the work out and earned myself a bit more money, but my brain doesn't work that way. I went in to do the best job I could and, unfortunately, managed to clear the backlog too quickly and work myself out of a job. The agency said they were hopeful of securing me more work at the company in the near future, but I've had no phone call today and my husband is already on my case. At least it proves that I'm not considered over the hill for temping.

The good news is that yesterday’s second attempt at the “washout” car boot sale went very well. The weather was perfect, for a change and we managed to make another £54 profit for the cause. Car boot sales are wonderful places for “people watching”, as you get all sorts mooching, browsing and rummaging. It never ceases to amaze me how people want something for nothing these days. A prime example is a woman who was interested in buying the brand new, still in the box, hammock we were selling for £5. Not an unreasonable amount to ask for, or so we thought. However, she proceeded to tell us that she really only wanted the frame, as she already had the hammock part, so didn’t want to pay £5. After making it clear that we would not sell the frame without the hammock, we finally agreed on £4. I mean, who buys a hammock without a frame, or vice versa for that matter? I was sorely tempted to act out the haggling scene from the Life of Brian - "Ten for that? You must be mad!"

The dismal news on the green tea, cayenne pepper and Helix Slim diet is that I am still 10 stone and the period is still trying to make up its mind whether to bother to put in an appearance or not. One of our customers at the car boot sale said that she had lost a lot of weight by separating carbohydrates and proteins in her diet. She had also given up bread and didn’t drink much alcohol. It sounded an easy thing to do until I realised that I would have to sit and watch my husband tuck into roast beef and roast potatoes while I sat there with a plate of veg and no meat…… Nah! I can’t be doing with that one, besides the young lady in question was exactly that. Young. She was not a peri-menopausal woman of 51 and was therefore not fighting her hormones like us. Nice idea, but I couldn’t go without bread and wine and certainly couldn’t give up eating meat with potatoes. My fellow peri-menopausal car boot companion and I were trying to think of enjoyable forms of exercise (steady!) that we would actually stick to and I finally decided that I would have to apply for a position on Strictly Come Dancing. After all, if Jodie Kidd can lose lots of weight during training, then it's certainly worth a try.

It takes two to tango Brucie and, as us car booters would say………

“Come On Down - The Price Is Right!”

Dieting And Trolley Rage

It’s Monday morning again and I’m feeling cheesed off. After my initial optimism regarding the green tea, cayenne pepper and Helix Slim “diet”, I got on the scales last night and, low and behold, I’m still 10 stone. I was sure I had lost a bit of weight. I felt slimmer, but obviously I was just deluding myself. My only faint bit of hope is that the period which threatens to arrive, does so and I can then blame my lack of weight loss on pre-menstrual fluid retention.

The job front is equally depressing, as the temporary contract I thought I was going to get did not materialise due, in part, to the fact that I was in a noisy restaurant Friday afternoon and thus missed the agency’s calls. This has not gone down too well with the husband who is getting more and more anxious about my lack of employment by the day. There’s nothing suitable on the permanent front either so, at this precise point in time, I’m buggered. It’s not as if we desperately need the money, as we could live quite comfortably on my husband’s salary alone. However, he is a stickler for fair play and feels that if he has to go out to work then so do I, despite the fact that I am now doing all the shopping, housework, washing, ironing, cooking, etc, etc., I’ve come to the conclusion that men just want it all ways.

Speaking of shopping, I’ve just got back from Tesco where I was overcome by trolley rage. Why, oh why, do people abandon trolleys in the middle of the aisle whilst aimlessly perusing the shelves for things they don’t need? Or suddenly stop in the middle of the aisle, totally oblivious to the fact that they are about to be run down by a heavily loaded trolley that won’t take “stop” for an answer? Or, stand blocking the aisle whilst they catch up on the latest episode of their next door neighbour’s life story and the fact that Mrs Smith at No.19 has a particularly nasty boil on her arse? Is it just me, or are these people on another planet? I mean, don’t they have anything more pressing to do than spend the whole day swanning around Tesco?

I’m not sure whether it’s the menopause, PMT or Irritable Person Syndrome that’s getting to me, but something has to give soon or I may just have to borrow St. John’s wart.

M&S And Simon Cowell's Trousers

I awoke this morning to the sound of pouring rain. How depressing! Perhaps I should have a quick swig of the St John’s Wort, but I’ve just checked the use by date and it says “Best Before January 2002”, so perhaps not then.

Despite the depressing weather, there is a little glimmer of hope on the horizon, as I had a call from an employment agency yesterday, asking me to go in and register, as they may have some temp work for me. That was when the panic set in. What the hell was I going to wear when nothing fitted me apart from saggy tracky bottoms and sloppy Joe’s? Mercifully, I managed to find an old trouser suit lurking in the back of the wardrobe which was still quite respectable, but would I be able to squeeze my Size 14 bum into the Size 12 trousers? The answer was “just about.” In fact, once the full ensemble of trouser suit, crisp white shirt and smart boots was put together, I didn’t look half bad, even though I say it myself. To cut a long story short, the meeting went very well and I came away feeling quite buoyed up. So much so, that I took myself off into town and hit M&S (or S&M as some people refer to it) bigtime. I actually managed to find a decent non-frumpy pair of no frills, side zip, slim legged trousers which were flattering and they weren’t so low slung that half my arse was hanging out of the back. That look, together with wide-legged styles, does not suit short, overweight menopausal women. Come to think of it, I’m not sure it suits slim young trendy women either. Oh please somebody bring back the high-waisted “Simon Cowell” style trousers of the ‘70’s. At least you didn’t risk a dose of pneumonia or kidney problems wearing them.

Whilst in town, I thought I may as well pop into the health shop to see what they could offer me in the way of natural metabolism boosters. The first question the sales person quite rightly asked was whether I was already on any form of medication, to which I replied that I was on pills for high blood pressure and high cholesterol. After a bit of research, she informed me that the most suitable thing for me was something called “Helix Slim” by A. Vogel, so I duly bought a bottle of the tincture and returned home with my wares. Upon reading the literature, I found that Helix Slim is more of a natural appetite suppressant, so was a bit disappointed, however, I’ll give it a go, along with the green tea, cayenne pepper, almonds, soya and anything else of that ilk.

In fact, I was so buoyed up that I even did a little stint on the exercise bike, “little” being the operative word. More like 2 minutes wavering between the “Fat Lazy Bastard” zone and the “Welcome To The Human Race – You Are A Normal Healthy Person” zone. Still can’t get anywhere near the “Nauseatingly Fit Show Off” zone. Oh well, I can always Die Another Day.

Colanders and Incontinence

The good news is that I’ve finally got off my fat backside and have, at long last, dyed my hair. I’ve also painted my toenails – Hurrah! The bad news is I’ve gone up a size in trousers and I’ve still got no job – Hurrooh! On the weight front, I’ve been trawling through the internet and have decided to adopt the cayenne pepper and green tea trick in order to try and jump start my menopausal metabolism. I’ve also bought a lot of metabolism boosting foods in the vain hope that I may shed a few pounds. However, I don’t think I can totally ignore the exercise bike forever, as food (or lack of it) alone is not going to work. I still intend to visit the health shop to seek their advice on herbal boosters, but just haven’t got around to it yet. St John’s Wort is supposed to be very good for boosting one’s mood. Personally, I didn’t know that St John had a wart. :-)

I started this blog update on Thursday and it is now Monday. How time flies when you’re having fun. Got on the scales last night and am wavering just under 10 stone. Could the endless cups of green tea, coffee and sprinklings of cayenne pepper be finally paying off, or is it just normal daily fluctuation? The jury is still out on that one, but I’ll keep you posted.

Sunday was an interesting day, as my best friend and I decided to have another crack at the car boot sale I had to abandon last weekend due to bad weather. Unfortunately, the gods were against us once more and, having set up a rather impressive looking stall, comprising three wallpaper tables pushed end to end and stacked with goodies, plus plenty underneath, the heavens opened and we got a thorough drenching. After unceremoniously chucking everything back into the cars, we proceeded to count up the hour’s takings. After deduction of entry fees (£9 per car), we had made the princely sum of £5! Better luck next time, eh.

However, we did have enormous fun while it lasted, including spotting a tall Indian man walking around with what looked like a silver colander on his head. One assumes he was trying to keep out the rain. My friend, witty and quick as ever, opened the car window and shouted out “’ere mate, do you want some spuds?” It was at that precise moment I could fully appreciate the usefulness of incontinence pants.

Join me again for my next update, including progress on the green tea and cayenne pepper diet.

Same time, same place, same channel!

Spring Onions And Nosy Neighbours

Have you ever felt the desire to beat someone to death with a bunch of spring onions? Well I have – in our local supermarket – yesterday. All I wanted was a bunch of spring onions for a Chinese we were going to cook that evening and had just arrived at the chuckout at the same time as a young lady who had a basket brim full of items. Naturally, I assumed that she would suggest I go first, seeing as I only had one item, but no. The cashier proceeded to ring the basket full of items up while I waited “patiently” in the queue and then, to add insult to injury, just when I thought she was finished and was about to sod off, she asked for three scratch cards from the cabinet at the other end of the shop. As I needed my spring onions for the recipe, I refrained from indulging in a spot of veggie bashing. Do you think I could be suffering from “Menopause Rage?”

I am now into my third week of being a temporary lady of leisure and have, thus far, managed to avoid a nosy neighbour who would otherwise give me the third degree as to why I have been lounging around at home in recent weeks. My husband’s philosophy is just to be rude on the premise that they will get the message and back off, however, I hate confrontation of any kind and will, therefore, go to great lengths in order to execute a plan of avoidance. I have now honed to a fine art the ability to run the equivalent of the four minute mile to the dustbin and back without being caught. However, it is only a matter of time before he creeps up behind me and catches me unawares (oooeeerr missus!)

We’ve just had one of our rabbits castrated. This is firstly so that he and our other male rabbit can then run together without fighting and, secondly, because he is an aggressively territorial little blighter who thinks nothing of attacking me when I enter his pen. I just hope it succeeds in making him more placid. However, it does seem rather ironic that his hormones will now be dying down at the same time as my own. Thank goodness no-one has invented HRT for rabbits!

Mr Spock And Elasticated Waists

They do say that the menopause causes your metabolism to slow down, hence all the unwanted fat that’s now lounging around my body. Of course, another consequence of slower metabolism is that food does not work its way through your body as quickly, hence the onset of irregular bowel habits. Not a particularly nice subject for discussion but, nevertheless, it is a fact of menopausal life and a most inconvenient one, if you get my drift. Having been a “regular” person for most of my adult life, i.e. a cup of tea, piece of toast and a quick purge, I now find that I need the loo at all sorts of strange times of day. I find it highly irritating that what was once a first thing in the morning ritual – over and done with by 8.00 a.m., can now delay itself until I suddenly feel the need when I’ve just arrived at the chuckout in Tesco. Or perhaps I’m being a bit too anal here.

I consider my diet to be reasonably high in fibre, which is supposed to help with weight loss (and regular bowel movements), but my metabolism has other ideas. I’ve surfed the internet to see what natural foods would speed up my metabolism, but do they really work? Of course, exercise is supposed to help, but that brings me back to the bicycle again. Or, I could get one of those keep fit DVD’s that are currently all the rage, but I don’t somehow see myself in a pink lycra leotard, bouncing around the living room like an overstuffed Day-Glo sausage. Besides, it would frighten the cat.

Some experts advise that you should just accept your new shape and weight, as it is a normal part of aging. That is all well and good when you don’t have a wardrobe full of decent clothes which no longer fit. Elasticated waists are a godsend, but they shriek of “old bag who is over the hill.” They’re the female equivalent of men’s Daks slacks. It is very depressing when you can no longer fit into your usual size trousers. Everything in you strongly resists the urge to give in and buy the next size up.

I suppose there’s always liposuction, but that is rather an expensive and extreme measure. Knowing my luck it would turn out to be as disappointing as the Botox injections I once had. I don’t know about “before” and “after” photos, but mine were more like “before” and “before” photos. Am I the only person in the world for whom Botox was a complete failure? All I managed to achieve was one frozen eyebrow and the ability to do a very good impersonation of Mr Spock.

Live Long And Prosper!

A Humorous View Of the Menopausal Years

Why the heck do middle-aged women make such a fuss about the menopause, I used to think, from my vantage point as a 35 year old with a still enviably slim figure. After all, it can’t be that bad, can it? Well, yes and no, is the honest answer I would give to my 35 year old self if I could travel back in time like Alex Drake in Ashes to Ashes. Mind you, Gene Hunt would certainly be worth going back in time for – Oooerr missus, there’s still some hormones left in the old dog yet! I feel another hot flush coming on at the mere thought!

Actually, I was jogging along quite nicely until I hit 48. I’ve always had a high metabolism, “highly strung” I was called as a child and I’m sure there were many times when my big sister would have liked to have put that into practice. I had become quite complacent about my trim figure, having never had to do an hour’s exercise in my life. So you can understand how surprised I was when the pounds gradually started to creep on. I was eating and drinking the same as I always had and had never done much exercise, apart from a bit of walking at the weekends, weather permitting. To be honest, I was mystified by it all until a sneaky thought crept into my head – could I be on the cusp of the menopause, technically called the peri-menopause. Within 2 years, I had gone from 8st 7lbs to my current weight of 10st - a total gain of 1½ stone! Whilst the weight gain is fairly evenly distributed, the most shocking part is that I now actually have a “spare tyre” whereas, 2 years ago, I still had a flat washboard stomach. The only feasible way of shifting this unwanted fat is to resort to the Dysentery Diet , but it seems a bit of a drastic measure and would cost a fortune in toilet paper. I once saw Dave Allen live at the Theatre Royal in Brighton and he did a gag about “unwanted fat.” He wanted to know where it all went and did people just shove it in cupboards and drawers upstairs. Sounds like a pretty good idea to me, if only I could work out how to do it.

More of this and embarrassing facial hair in my next post….. coming soon……..