Proven scientific weight reduction technique - Move the Dial

This didn't seem to work either

It was the morning after the Leinster House dinner, surely a drop of wine and a seafood platter, ok, and a fruit pavlova dessert to be sociable, can’t set me back on the detox diet?

The trick is to weigh yourself first thing in the morning, before you drink any water. So up I got on the digital scales, where every percentage pound counts. It can't be. There must be something wrong with it. Not a single nano pound less. I try getting on slowly, then I try balancing against the doorframe, no change.  WTF?

I left it out in the arctic weather for neighbour, Kerry, my detox buddy to pick it up from my porch. We think that might be the cause of the problem, because she got six different readings, none of which amused her. Deflated doesn’t even nearly describe how we feel. And I wish it did describe one’s waistline.

I shared the disappointment with the sportsman of the house, cc#2, who just scoffed at our angst. 

‘Your body has been holding on to your fat, that's obvious,’ he said, ‘it went into hunger. You have to eat fat now, and it will start burning it up.’

It made absolutely no sense, but that night after college, I had a feast of cheese and crackers.

Two days later, the scales showed a 5lb reduction. So there you go, the scientific way to lose a few pounds, and no running around the block!

As this blog is about landlady life, not a proper health blog the way other people do it, I’m putting in a disclaimer.This works: Starve on three days of juice (must be delivered because you will never buy enough fruit and veg and make it every day). 

Then you will feel faint, lose concentration, look better, so without exercise, personal trainer, boxing partner, treadmill and dumb bells or pulley gadgets you can lose 5lbs in five days.

Keeping them off, well that’s a work in progress. It's a week later, I want to throw the scales in a skip.They seem to be counting upwards again.

I saw an old-fashioned set in a hardware store. Supporting my local business and in the interest of further scientific research I bought them and felt sure this was all we needed. A needle that pointed to the correct weight at last.

I took it out of the box, carefully calibrated the needle, gingerly stepped on and discovered they’re only in kilos! Back to the shop tomorrow, and we better get the right answer soon.

Amid all this effort, Daft.ie lodger no 4 (I think) has moved in. It looks like the male-rule rules here. They can be exceedingly quiet if you get a good one.  They only want to watch Top Gear and at a push a rugby international, though I’ve recommended the local pub for that, good to mix with the locals. 

So far so good, from Essex ‘e is. Doesn’t boil chickens anyway, so we’re off to a good start, as for a name, Wyndham, will do.

The Dail Dawn Chorus

Could've been in the back garden with a good book

I drove back to Dublin from the midlands on Wednesday thinking I’d never been as hot at mid-day in Italy. Having *filed my copy* to the Indo (so love saying that) I made my way into the Dail for what was to be the night of #lapgate and the #Daildawnchorus. 

When I arrived in Kildare Street the sitting was adjourned for two hours and, damn, I had nobody to meet, it was way too sunny to go inside so I found myself engrossed in watching the protesters from a safe distance. It wasn’t very comfortable to be honest, seeing these two factions being kept in line by the Gardai, shouting Father Ted slogans at each other. This is supposed to be about dignity for women, not a side show. A crowd gathered around my side of the street, the army was mobilising from the well-funded, expensively t-shirted campaign group. It was time to retreat to the dark depths of Buswells and have a *healthy* salad and chips. What on earth was I doing in the city centre on a sunny Wednesday evening alone in Buswells? There is a back garden and a good book as an option, Mad Ted. I realised I was in deep; and deeply committed to changing something if I can. Changing a man-made law that would ease the trauma on women and men of a double tragedy.

The vote on the Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill was supposed to be decided by 10pm, it was extended until 2am and while I sat in the gallery, I heard a furore from the benches and a bluster from Gerry Adams. The doors opened, all and sundry piled in, most interesting was the press gallery, the narrow overhang filled to the brim, 21 journo’s jammed in a row. The doyenne, Miriam Lord, took her seat, delightful Lise Hand beside her. The silver glint of David McCullagh’s hair flashed in the harsh light. David Davin Power nestled between the smart glossy locked girls from the other papers.

The majority decided to extend the vote until 5am. There was a quick exodus, I checked my Dublin Bus App and went home. I assumed they were all having late committee meetings elsewhere, perhaps a nap on a trolley in the corridor, provided by Minister Reilly. They could hardly be drinking in the bar with such a serious issue going on? Drinking at work?

Back home, with the magic of Twitter I discovered the live link to the chamber, much to my amazement I actually watched until 5am. I looked outside, shocked, I haven’t been up ‘til that hour without revellers in my house trying to find the stash of duty free sambuca or whatever remained from the old days, me hoping they wouldn’t wake the sleeping children, who by now were revelling somewhere themselves. Plus ca change.

Well, at least I’d enough to write about for the Irish Times next day and, surprisingly, a radio interview with the lovely Matt Cooper. On Friday evening, I sat in FM104 with an ice bucket of cool beers and baskets of tortilla chips in view, times have changed since I worked in a *real office*. As I waited to go into studio I stuck my tongue in my broken tooth, chipped during the Dail Chorus by a diversionary caramel, for once, I wished I was in a dentist’s waiting room. It’s awful having to recall a very unhappy time, again and again. 

In between Druids and Dail Debates, I'm interviewing new tenants for landladyhouse. Stalwart gentleman lodger #1 is still with me, just trying to find someone to match him.

In Praise of Men...

Huck Finn

My article in the Irish Times a couple of weeks ago referred to the 'mainly men' in the Oireachtas Hearings and media to whom I had to listen through the mid-curve of the Fatal Foetal Abnormality debate. My words came in for a bit of criticism but in fact the statistics bear it out, it was a mainly male presence, some were extraordinarily succinct and made sense, like Eamonn Moloney Labour TD (a quick google revealed that he is the only TD that didn’t claim expenses in 2011, while others claimed over 50k). Senator David Norris spoke of buffoonery and chastened the assembly to show compassion for women and not least amongst the calming voices was the chairman himself, Jerry Buttimer.

The men to whom I referred will be familiar to many who watch Prime Time or Vincent Brown or read any newspaper, for example, Peter Mathews, William Binchy, Gerry Whyte, Mattie McGrath, David Quinn (Iona Institute), John Waters et al.

Paradoxically, the hundreds of messages of support and comments on line I've received are mainly from men. The personal messages from male friends and colleagues that I haven't seen for years are particularly moving; it has been a way of showing emotion about a subject that has many shades and FFA is one that they can readily comprehend.

Last Thursday I had the pleasure of eating in the fancy dining room at Leinster House. I say fancy, but it has all the hallmarks of an Office of Public Works intervention. There are no windows, it was over-air-conditioned, the lighting was on the garish side and other than the very genial host, it lacked any atmosphere. I somehow doubt you’d find anything like it in the House of Commons.

There’s Leinster House, the finest townhouse in all of Dublin and London, and it doesn’t have a gracious dining hall fit for a Duke and Duchess. Maybe that’s why they bring the Troika over to Doheny’s and Guilbaud when they’re in town.

Anyway the male FG TD who was my host, was exceedingly supportive of my cause and profoundly wise on the subject, so much so that he confirmed the issue will not be included as an amendment in the forthcoming Protection of Life during Pregnancy Bill. I could have guessed that. Enda has enough on his plate with vigils and archbishops and whatnot.

I’ve waited eleven years, another one won’t kill me. But this will not go off the table.

On Friday afternoon the sun was still shining and the ‘let’s clean the garden after four years’ impulse had kicked in. I took over the deck painting from CC#2 and wondered what all the fuss was about; there he was, got up like some Hezbollah, insisting the fumes were making him sick.

Tom Sawyer

I painted along to the strains of Lodger #1 singing with Jesse Jay, ah yes. And with that inimitable satisfaction you get from a painting job, even an unfinished one, I decided it was time to get out of landladygarden and meet Racquel for an après work cocktail, within walking distance. There is a hostelry between us with the best sunny seated area in Dublin, Ashtons. It was like the old days, I mean the eighties. Everybody was just that little more creased. But the sun was still shining, so they were smiling too.

Within minutes, a man I know from sailing came over to me and congratulated me on my interviews, then another and another. And another. One in particular kept saying ‘full of admiration’, these are men I’ve hardly spoken to in years. It was touching in the extreme, because it is a scary place to be, head above the parapet. I don’t have an army of American funded supporters behind me, or a bottomless pit of money to fund placards, balloons, leaflets, vigils.

But I do have two fine sons, who totally support what I’ve done and more importantly, CC#1 has taken a brush in hand today and is moving on to the shed, the fence and chairs, he must outdo younger brother at all costs.

Shattered by the Bookseller of New York

I’m not one for conspiracy theories. But the copy of Alan Shatter’s book, Laura, a story you’ll never forget, was supposed to be shipped on Wednesday according to the ever efficient Amazon.com, only I got an email yesterday from the bookseller to say they were out of stock, promptly followed by a refund email. What can I say, were they being greedy and thought they’d make a hundred dollars more? It went up from 1 cent in the UK last week to thirty dollars (what I paid) as of today it’s 165 pounds and, I kid you not, three copies are 999 dollars each in USA.

I’ve found one on Donedeal with a lady on the North Side for 50 euro, but oh, dear, that is such a lot of food I could buy instead, unless of course I can read it, review it quickly (I feel that won’t be a problem) and re-sell it. I have another trick up my sleeve but saying nothing until I have it in my hand.

Enough bibliophile undercover activities, I wrote a post about the Surreal Moment in Leinster House last Thursday, not realising the effort would take the stuffing out of me when I got home. Though the stories from the group of women in Termination for Medical Reasons brought my own experience back to me and caused a flood of tears, it was the weight of emotion in the room and the compassion from all but two of the audience (the two that left rather obviously before the end, Peter Mathews and Fidelma Healy-Eames) that overcame me at home. It was the kind of evening to be wrapped in a blanket and watch trash TV with chocolate and red wine. Which is exactly why I record Revenge and enjoy my guilty pleasure all the more, can’t wait to see what Laura and her guilty pleasures are all about.

Surreal Moment at Leinster House

This is not a baby

I sat in the AV room at Leinster House with eight women and one man in front of me, a full audience of TDs and Senators behind. Richard Boyd Barrett introduced the topic and revealed that he and his former partner had the experience of fatal foetal abnormality, he certainly empathised with the issue.

Ruth had only begun her story and I was crying. Thankfully I had the canteen serviettes in my bag, because there were eight more stories to go and I don’t think I could have remained sitting.

You see, even though I went through the trauma of fatal foetal abnormality eleven years ago, I have never known anyone I could talk to, or with whom I could share the experience. Even though I wrote about it, and took the first human rights case against Ireland, I still felt alienated as if this was something only I had to go through. 

So today was quite a milestone. I had no intention of speaking because I find it very difficult to repeat my story but I realised I could remember all the legal nuances from my ECHR case and the Heads of Bill.

I stood and said I was Deirdre de Barra who wrote the letter in 2002. I am normally very nervous speaking in public, but the facts were so well known to me and the wrongdoing so clear, that it wasn't an effort, the point was to remind these legislators how to enable the amendment to the Bill. 

It was funny and kind of David Norris to say to me afterwards that he kept my letter. Indeed it was very moving to hear each and every one who spoke in response, that they would support legislation in this situation.

Catherine Murphy Kildare North TD said it all when she described the listening experience as surreal, stating that briefings in the AV Room were generally full of engagement, questions and explanations, but in this case there was no need, it was so clear that change was needed.

I firmly believe there is scope to amend the proposed bill, we have cross party support and I believe that support will grow. It was unfortunate that Peter Mathews had to leave mid presentation, the briefing was only for an hour, if he couldn’t stay he shouldn’t have come in. Because he missed what I had to say to him. Don’t compare a flower with a fatally abnormal foetus.