Is there such a thing as a happy weight?

That might not be a question you've ever considered. If you haven't, I'll assume you don't read women's magazines. 'How I found my happy weight' sounds to me like a vom-inducing coverline ready to be splashed across a pic of a peppy starlet on a glossy.

And yet, with all the latest news about the ongoing UK obesity crisis, it's something I think about. Everyone's talking about fat people and how to stop them growing (both literally and in number) and  many people I know are on diets - well, we are only 39 days into the new year - but not me. I don't need one.

Before you think I'm just saying this to be smug, I'm not. For as long as I remember my weight has always fluctuated. I’ve been thin (heartbreak is my favourite recipe for becoming hip-juttingly skinny with minimum effort) and I’ve been fat (drinking too much or prowling the kitchen, binge-eating to squash down the feelings of loneliness, underachievement or relationship misery that I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with in a more positive way). But all that has changed now I’m in the right mindset.

I have found my happy weight. That's a weight that I'm happy with and that also makes me happy – because it's the happiness part that's actually important, not the figure on the scales. I'm 5ft 4in and my happy weight is somewhere under 9st. It's not Kate Moss 'nothing tastes as good as thin feels' skinny but it's slim and natural. And you know what? It's not that hard to find. You just need to follow a few simple rules. Like these:

 

STOP WORRYING ABOUT YOUR WEIGHT

As a child I spent years feeling fat. I wasn't, but neither was I one of those beanpoles with skinny little limbs and visible ribs. I could sense that I had chunky thighs but if I ever questioned my weight, Mum would say. 'You're not fat. You're just well-covered.' It didn't really help.

In adulthood, you gain the power to control what goes into your body. I've had such a lack of control that I've been heavy, and such strict control that I've been thin. The more I worried about it, the more I would restrict my intake of food, only to binge at a later date thus undoing all my good work and messing with my metabolism.

I did detoxes and crazy diets (I still do, but for health reasons more than weightloss these days) as I embraced strict regimes to help me lose that magic half (OK, one and a half) stone. Hence the fluctuation in my weight.

Ironically though, it was only when I was just too exhausted by the process that I suddenly lost some weight. A more balanced attitude to my body shape lead to more balance on the scales. I don't even own scales any more - which also helped - and I just judge myself by how I look and how my clothes fit. I've been a size 10 for about three years now.

ONLY EAT WHEN YOU'RE HUNGRY
It's far too easy not to do this. I used to eat because I fancied it, because I wanted the taste of something. If I was on a train journey, any sandwiches/snacks that I'd brought with me would be begging to be eaten within two minutes of the doors closing. If someone was eating in the office, that would spark me off. Or if it was deemed the right time to eat, I'd dutifully stuff my face regardless of whether I needed to. And all that is a recipe for carrying extra weight.


Now I really listen to my hunger. I don't do 'just in case' eating and I don't panic about where my next meal is coming from. I don't keep lots of food in my desk at work - even the healthy snacks are calorific when you're grazing all day long. I also allow myself to get hungry, whereas I used to fear it and stave it off at any given opportunity. Then, when I am hungry, and reasonably so, I eat. Usually whatever I like.


EAT WHAT YOU WANT...
Ever noticed how as soon as you're on a diet or 'being good' you're haunted by everything you can't have? Personally, that denial becomes an all-consuming obsession that I'd rather do without. One day I realised that if I wanted Brie and crackers followed by chocolate mousse for dinner, but I ate a salad first, I'd only go and eat the cheese and chocolate afterwards. Double the calories.


So now, if I want cheese and biscuits for dinner, that's what I have. Not every night (although my husband believes that when he's away, that's literally all I live on) but occasionally. If I want cake, I'll eat cake. We have butter, wholemilk yoghurt, olive oil, full fat cheese, avocados, all the good stuff and  I do try to eat a balanced diet, with plenty of fresh fruit and veg. I just try not to deny myself. 


BUT STOP WHEN YOU'RE FULL
Simple but effective. Do I really need to explain this? High fat foods are actually helpful here as they send signals to your brain faster (or something like that) so you need less of them to fill you up. So pull up a chair, spread that toasted tea cake with Anchor and if you only want half of it, that's fine. I'll share with you.


So these are the basics. I could go on and on and on about this stuff. There are loads more simple tricks I have for eating well and staying happy but I think you've read enough for now.

Ironically, I'm writing this from bed where I've been with a nasty cold for the past three days. I haven't been able to taste anything since Thursday, which is very helpful for not overeating. I wouldn't recommend it though. Boring as hell

Step-by-step: home manicure

Anyone who knew me as a child would find it as hilarious as I do that I'm posting a make-up how-to. My childhood was spent in trousers, climbing trees, playing football, messing around on my BMX... anything boyish. I was never one for dolls or dresses. Although my penchant for male sports and home-made tracksuits has mercifully passed, for years there was a tomboyish streak to my style that continued long past primary school.

Then every changed. Maybe it was hitting 30. Perhaps it's since I've become more senior in my job. It could even have been getting married. Whatever the reason, in the last couple of years I've grown-up. Into a girl. A proper girl. A few times a week you'll see me in high heels. Or a dress. Sometimes both together *gasp*. Plus I've got increasingly long hair and a surprising, but inexplicably deep, love for Chanel blusher.

I also do a mean home manicure.

Yeah, so you probably know how to paint your nails. You've probably all been doing it since your teens. But it's been a long few months of trial and error for me.

In case there are some other late adopters (or teenagers) reading, this is my guide to getting the same shine and long-lasting finish as you do from a professional mani.

Here's what you need:
Nail polish remover 
A towel
Bowl of hot soapy water
Nail clippers/nail scissors
Orange sticks
Nail file
Cuticle trimmers
Hand cream
Base and top coats
Nail colour
Set aside around an hour to do this, so it's a good in-front-of-the TV job, making you feel like you've done something useful as well as watching Glee.

BE PREPARED
This is the stage I always used to skip. As with many things in my life. I'm not one for putting in the groundwork. If I can turn up and just wing it with minimum prep, that's great. However, again, like many things in life, the more you put in, the more you get out.

Start by removing any old chipped nail polish. I find it best to stick to acetone-free removers. I'm using a Sally Hansen one at the moment but I prefer Cutex. Anything stronger and it kills my nails for months.

Then do any clipping or filing before you give hands a good long soak - well, about five minutes - in the warm soapy water.

This is to soften the cuticles so you can push them back and trim them. That doesn't sound very sexy but it makes real difference to the finish, so don't be squeamish.

Once everything is nice and soft, take the orange stick and gently push back your cuticles. Depending on how often you do this, there may be some flappy bits to trim off (sorry), or they may be fine just tidied up. You can run the orange stick under your nails for an extra clean too.

Trim off any excess skin with the cuticle cutters, but be careful not to break the skin. And don't do this too often as it can cause infections.

Slather on some lovely handcream (my current favourite is by Balance Me. It's rich and nourishing, while its lavender, bergamot and patchouli scent satisfies my inner hippy). And you're ready to get painting.

Start with some base coat (I'm currently using Revlon base and top coats, which seem fine). Give it a minute or two to dry then apply a thin first coat of nail colour. I've gone for Barry M mushroom today.

You can't beat a bit of Barry M in my opinion. Over 50 fashion-forward colours and a £2.99 price tag. What's not to like? I can be a bit heavy handed so they tend to go on a bit thick and come out a darker shade than in the bottle, but they have great staying power so I can't complain.

So two coats of your chosen nail colour can be applied in fairly quick succession. Paint carefully and in as few strokes as possible for the best finish. Give that a couple of minutes and then put on a layer of top coat. This is the stage I really can't emphasise enough. Not only will it help your nails dry quickly, it also protects them and gives them that shine that professional manicures have.

All that's left now is to sit back, relax, and make your boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/housemates take care of you for the next hour. Your nails will be touch dry rapidly thanks to the top coat, but they don't need to know that....

I've finally nailed the manicure

One of my current passions is nail varnish. Look inside my bedside drawer and there is a cluster of bottles containing everything from black (edgy) to red (vintagey) to a Chanel-esque Jade shade (faddy).

Nights in front of the television are spent anesthetising my husband with the fumes of nail polish, potent remover and those odd-smelling drops that help it all dry quickly. And, until I discovered the benefits of top coat, a long wait until it was all dry. Often mixed with a frustrating smudging incident.

But finally, at the age of 33, I consider myself a competent nail painter. Not bad, considering that beyond the odd attempt, I only really started painting my nails a year or so ago.

You see, I inherited my dad's hands - short chunky fingers, with square nails that look far from feminine when they're short, but unbearably gross when they're long.

The last thing I wanted to do was to draw attention to them. But when I got engaged in October 2009, suddenly I found myself desperately trying to make my hands look nicer. Less like an old man's, anyway. You know what, it actually turns out my squat, square nails look better painted. So, like an enthusiastic teen, I set myself to work learning to do a proper home manicure.  And now the time has come to impart my wisdom to you....

I have never

I was watching the Graham Norton show the other Friday. Yes, it's a primetime a show. No, I don't get out much these days. Thanks, for pointing that out.

Yeah, so I'm not hugely proud to admit such a screen habit, but I get home late after my shaking class on Fridays (will explain that particular activity in another post) and it's good easy-watch telly to eat dinner and zone out to. Anyway, I'm protesting too much. let's just move on.

The guests were Keanu Reeves, Marcus Brigstocke and Emilia Fox and at one point they played 'I have never'. For which Emilia's answer was, 'I have never cooked a meal'. She just doesn't cook apparently. Apart from the three-course dinner complete with recipes and glossy photoshoot that I saw in a certain women's mag a while back, presumably. I felt a little betrayed (and very irrationally so) that she may not be the poussin-rustling-up domestic goddess that she came across as in those very pretty pictures. Mainly because I work for said magazine but, again, let's move on.

Am now worried that I'll be sacked in some breach of contract for bringing my media company bosses into disrepute for suggesting something we printed wasn't 100 per cent accurate. I've probably made it ten times worse by flagging it up here too. Thank god for no one reading this blog.

MOVING ON.

It got me thinking though. As a late adopter there are *many* things I have never done. Obvious ones like climbing Everest or finding a cure for cancer don't really count. It's the more mundane, run-of-the-mill ones that I'm a talking about. Like...

I have never:
* Eaten a Big Mac, or indeed anything on the McDonald's menu that isn't a cheeseburger or quarter pounder with cheese. And since I have no idea when I last ate a McDonald's (the 90s?) I don't think this is likely to change anytime soon.
* Ridden a racing bike
* Owned an iPod (don't think a first-generation nano counts - especially as I bought that when they were about to be discontinued)
* Seen countless classic films: The Godfather (any of them), Titanic, Taxi Driver, Withnail and I
* Read any Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, DH Lawrence, Oscar Wilde
* Passed (or taken) a driving test

Am thinking that I may need to devise a definite list and start late-adopting some of these. Not the Big Mac. Or Titanic.

But I think perhaps I'll get a more comprehensive list together and start ticking things off it. Goal setting. I like it

I am a master baker

Oh yes. This weekend I managed to turn this selection of sugars, treacles, lemons, flour, ginger, hazelnuts and chocolate into a fine selection of tasty treats.

It's a friend's birthday and she asked me to bake something chocolately, something lemony, a ginger cake and some cupcakes for a party.


This is what I came up with:

Lemon Drizzle cake from Tea With Mrs Simkins

Cupcakes of my own devising

Nigella's nutella cake from How to be a Domestic Goddess

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's ginger cake, from River Cottage Everyday

What took you so long?

Much as I'd like to believe the whole blogisphere has been asking this question, mulling over the puzzle of my as-yet missing web presence or sparking heated forum debates on 'Just When Will Simmo Start Blogging?' I'm not stupid. No one has been asking this question. No one, that is, except me.

Why someone who considers herself a writer can't bring herself to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard if you want to get all 21st century about it) has been a mystery to me for a while now. And of late, it's been bugging me so much that it's actually spurred me into action. About three years behind the rest of the masses.

Why? Well, if you've read the blog title and I still have to explain it, then maybe this isn't the read for you. But in the interests of not alienating new readers, I will elaborate.

Late should be my middle name. It's actually Marie, which (thanks Mum) is possibly less desirable, in my mind at least.

From day one I've been late. Before that even. I was conceived late in my parents' marriage, I was born late, and I've lived my life on completely the wrong side of early ever since.

It's apparent in very superficial ways. Birthday cards repeatedly get sent late, even if I've bought them early. And my present giving is even tardier. Most people are closer to their next birthday than the one I've missed by the time my gift gets to them.

Lately I've realised that lateness characterises my life in much more subtle ways. I am cautious, unadventurous, I research and I wait, and I wait some more and do more research and in the end I spend so long searching for perfection that by the time I commit, everyone's moved onto something new.

Some people, like my friend Wil, are early adopters. According to Wikipedia 'An early adopter or lighthouse customer is an early customer of a given company, product, or technology; in politics, fashion, art, and other fields, this person would be referred to as a trendsetter.'

A trendsetter! How I'd love to be one of those. A leader. A pioneer! But, alas, I am the polar opposite. I know about the trends and the new stuff (it's hard not to, living in London and working for a women's magazine) but I am a late adopter. Of trends, technology, adult behaviour, sensible moves like giving up smoking, having babies (silence, my deafening 30-something biological clock). You name it.

But, I guess I have to stop focusing on this and embrace the fact that I'm here now. Better late then never, eh?

I will post soon...

...but I'm running a bit late