Do you know those days where you just feel so bleurgh about yourself? I call them Ugly Days - you feel a bit fat, it's a Bad Hair Day, every item of clothing you try on just looks wrong. Well, I've been having one of those days for, oooo, about a year now.
Now I am... gulp... 32, I think it is time for drastic action. I fear I will soon be one of those flabby, pasty mums who has given up hope, buys everything from Next in beige and has back hamsters. Even if it's just so Gwen doesn't feel embarassed by me, I need to sort myself out.
I need Dr Gillian McKeith, I need Trinny and Susannah, I need Mr Motivator, I need that woman off 10 Years Younger... and I need them all before it's too late.
And so, a new list: Things to sort out, starting from the head and working down.
Oh where to start with this barnet of mine? It's very dry from thrice weekly swimming. It's neither blonde nor brown. I never brush the back of it (Mr Meep has been known to follow me around the house with a hair brush, as did my mother before him). And I hate, hate, hate going to the hairdressers and spending time or money on it. I keep thinking I'll grow out the blonde and go red, then back out at the last minute.
Action: Fight the frugality, invest some money in going to a proper hairdresser.
I used to glow from daily juicing, tons of water and loads of fruit and veg. The glow, however, has gone. And now, I just look a bit pale, despite a summer of daily walks. OK, so I haven't had a proper night's sleep since May 24th (eek!), but still, even the Touche Eclat isn't helping.
Action: A month of intense juicing and packing in the veggies should do it.
Ironically, just three months after having a baby, I am the same weight I was when I was 17. Goodness knows what miracle has caused this, but I put it down to lots of exercise while pregnant, and breastfeeding literally eating up fat and calories. However, the stomach is in a bad, bad way. The muscles have gone, literally disappeared. Even if I try to tense them, they are just not there. Then there's the arms which, despite the thrice-weekly swimming, are getting more like the limbs of a bingo-fan by the day.
Action: Daily sit-ups and weekly 'Fab Abs' class. Lift tins of beans 60 times, or some other snoresome armercise.
I have never been good at clothes. I just don't know what to buy, what suits me or what to wear. I was happiest in my indie kid days, when the uniform was DMs, stripey tights and a Wonderstuff t-shirt and I didn't have to worry about fashion, because I looked so damn cool (well, I thought so at the time). Now, I live in jeans and hoodies. I still have a cardigan I bought when I was 19. When I was pregnant, I just wore hand-me-downs from friends of varying shapes and sizes. I am, in short, a fashion disaster. It's a bit of an anti-consumerist thing, but 90% of me just not having a clue. Even my mother despairs of me - she even gave me money for my birthday to buy some nice new clothes, so I no longer have an excuse.
Action: Find someone to go shopping with me. Do not come home with more jeans, hoodies and trainers.
I'll report back in a month.