Thursday, 22 October 2015

The Cut – Week 11: To birthday or not to birthday?



This week sees my day of birth. Once an occasion of heavy drinking, epic eats and general fun times. Ahhh prep. I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be holding back on my usual un-tame celebration. Once again we face the issue of life taking a back seat. But, that doesn’t mean anything in my world. I work hard. Very hard. I mean, I take hard to the next level. We’re talking some kind of unbreakable steal, set in concrete with Vinnie Jones as it’s very own bodyguard. Shit that’s hard… Sorry. Can’t help the tangent talk sometimes. Where was I? So, my point, I work hard, and want to still enjoy my life. So prep wasn’t gonna stop me…§

This week saw the monster sass come out in force. Just like last week, practice is first on my list. My stage presence isn’t just important to get noticed by the judges, but it genuinely illustrates who I am. My passion and dedication to showing myself at my best. My flare. My alter ego. I like to call her “Stage Slut”. And I don’t use the word slut negatively. In fact, as Mamma has taught me, the more you make the judges want you… I mean, want to watch you, the more you’ll be seen. I don’t want them taking their eyes off me. So any spare time means the heels are on, the clothes are off and the eyes are in full on slut mode. It’s quite a sight. I’m not scared to eye bang any one of ya’ll.

Ab checks all round. With the boss away, I’ve been a little on edge not seeing the scales move. Regardless of what I say to my clients, when it’s you, you can never take your own advice (what’s with that? I’m good at my job, why won’t I listen?). So, encouragement by seeing the slabs pop more and more each day is what I’ve been living off. Queue ab check:


Back to the birthday plans. The plan was to go into London with a group of my bestest girls, enjoy some scrummy coffee and tea whilst sitting in a kisch café pretending I’m a normal girl in normal clothes… even though I still slapped out the tupperwear and filled the place with a stench of brussel sprouts (#sorryNOTsorry).




The day couldn’t have been better. The girls all know how committed I am to my dream, so they all supported me by eating beautiful cakes and drinking deliciously nommy cocktails. Yep. Cheers girls…

But on a serious note, people often ask me how I do it. And you know what I say? I can’t allow it to bother me. And I don’t. It’s my choice to restrict my indulgence. And making other people suffer just isn’t my bag. Go for it. Stuff yourself silly. Drink my favourite cocktails and eat all the cake… Just one thing. DON’T EAT PEANUT BUTTER in front of or around me. The consequences will not be pretty. Trust me. We’re talking at least a broken nose. Just as an FYI.

It was then time to make the decision. With the boss away (I’m aware I keep mentioning this, but it isn’t bothering me at all. Not AT all. Nah, I don’t care. Couldn’t care less. Not concerned… erm. Boss? HURRY UP AND COME HOME, YOU SELFISH, LARGE HUNK OF A MAN… Wow. Sorry. Didn’t mean it… Maybe) it was time to decide whether without permission, I was going to go off plan. But before I knew it, it was done. My belly was full of sweet potato fries and I didn’t give a damn. And, to rub it in a little more, the following day saw a glass of champagne get gobbled. Oops… #sorryDEFINITELYnotsorry. 

And the best thing? Not only did I get approval from the boss on Monday morning – 

“… compared to how disciplined you have been and how high your activity level is –
it’s like throwing a ping pong at a lorry lol.”

I woke up feeling tighter and leaner and completely smug. Happy freakin’ birthday Meish 



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