Pic caption: Roller blades, a completely pointless purchase.


A whole week of opportunity stretches ahead as I sip on my first coffee of the morning and contemplate my next move in the great chess game of life.
I have decided, against my better judgement, not to go to my Weight Watchers meeting. This is possibly one of the worst things you can do as a member, as that small step leads to the dark side and obese oblivion.
But I will only upset myself if I go. I would rather crack on with being good to myself this week as I've had a funny few days which have involved increased consumption of utter crap.
The life of a freelance hack in the middle of a deep recession isn't exactly as busy or productive as it could be, and I have found myself on occasion with more time on my hands than was good for me.
I also found myself battling some hunger demons and I am afraid to say I've given in to temptation more than once.
There is a weird twilight zone part of the day, about 3.30 to 5pm, when lunch is a distant memory and dinner is still some way off. Energy levels are running low so motivation to do any work is rock bottom, and I just cannot for the life of me see how to get through the next few hours to dinner.
I can't stop thinking about how hungry I am, and that if I only had a little snack to get me through to dinner I could probably do a lot more work as well.
When I have been good, I have at this point reached for the Special K or some other similar low fat cereal. But lately I've been reaching for the French loaf, packet of ham, cheese and bag of Kettle Chips to make a Homer Simpson-style snack, rather than a Weight Watchers inspired low cal morsel.
And then I would also be telling myself that a large portion of pasta for dinner is a good thing because I will be running it off the next day, so I need to draw on the energy.
Well, I did go running last week, but that was three miles round the Downs on Monday morning. Not sure I've burned off the energy consumed on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday just yet.
I think the problem is my attention span, I get bored of something so quickly. My life seems to be littered with the skeletons of half-baked ideas or projects that never really got off the ground.
I recently got rid of a load of stuff at a charity shop after moving, and I realised what a load of useless things I have been hoarding which were bought at the time with the utter conviction that I really needed them.
For example while on holiday four years ago in France I bought a pair of roller blades, thinking that they would be a great new way of keeping fit. I had probably read somewhere that it was a great alternative to running, building fitness and toning muscles without the impact on your knees that running gives you.
I thought that living near the Downs was perfect and I had visions of how I would glide along with the grace and elegance of Torvill and Dean, yes both of them, transforming the Downs in Bristol into a California street scene at sunset.
Anyway, the reality was that I strapped them to my feet not long after getting home, and ventured out into the streets.
I managed to get a decent head of speed going and memories of the roller disco I used to go to at the local leisure centre when I was about ten flooded back. I could really skate back then, about 20 years ago, surely I'd lost none of the old magic?
But after rolling down hill on the pavement, waving my arms around like a duck that's forgotten how to fly, I suddenly panicked as I approached a junction and how no idea how to get round the corner to stay on the pavement, and felt shooting across it without stopping may have been detrimental to any ideas I had of having a long and fulfilling life.
So I had to stop pretty quick and did something I really only thought happened in Benny Hill shows and I grabbed onto a lamppost before I shot past it. By this point some people had been observing my progress and I think having a bit of a chortle, so I gave them a right laugh when having grabbed the lamppost the tank-like momentum I had built up meant I actually swung around it a couple of times, just like in the cartoons, before finally coming to a standstill about six feet from the junction.
I'm sure I clocked a passing driver chuckling as he went past.
I decided I should probably practise somewhere less dangerous, took off the boots and tiptoed through the mean streets of Clifton in my shoeless feet back home.
The roller blades went into a corner from whence they never moved again, until their final journey to the charity shop a few weeks ago. Pointless.
The only other time I threatened to break the dust off of them was a couple of years ago while recuperating from my heart valve replacement operation.
This is an operation which involves sawing open the sternum and breaking a couple of ribs so that the unbelievably talented and very clever surgical team can get at the old ticker.
The resulting injuries to your chest and ribs are pretty much the same as if you were in a car crash. A few weeks into my recovery I thought it would be a good idea to slip on the old roller blades and head up to the Downs, not really considering the consequences of falling over and how it might shatter my already frail chest and rib cage.
Thankfully by this point I had met Amy, who suggested it would probably not be the best idea I'd ever had, and gave me a couple extra pain killers just to make sure I didn't have any more daft ideas.
Similar items have included an Irish boron drum, which I needed to start my travelling troubadour career, a couple of cake and muffin tins for my flirtation with home baking (too much time at home), a yoga mat, two pairs of light dumbbell weights, a gym ball and a boxing ball on a sprung pole, which I got rid of once, then bought again, and both times failed to break into the blubber weight boxing scene. There was also a knackered old record player that I had to buy as I was going to restore it to its former glory, but of course never did and just threw it out.
One of the greatest unfulfilled ideas I ever had though was shortly after finishing university I found myself living back at home in Dorset, unable to find a job despite my hard-earned third class degree in ancient Greek and classical studies (weird that), so I decided to draw on years of experience in treading the boards and start my own youth theatre company. I felt that what the disaffected youth of North Dorset really craved was the chance to meet up in a drafty church hall in the middle of nowhere and be taught the finer points of Stanislavski and Brechtian theatre style, while rehearsing for a radical interpretation of an obscure Christopher Marlowe play, which would be all of them to anybody who hasn't studied A Level English.
Fortunately it didn't even get that far as I thankfully managed to get a job before I could inflict my dire theories on any young innocents - and then promptly forgot any ideas of becoming the next Peter Hall.
But, I am determined that this weight loss and marathon running project does not go the way of the roller blades etc, and that I complete it. I just need to get my head back into it, which I will now it's Monday and I've got plenty to do to keep me busy and stop me thinking about food all the time. Such as finding a job!