REGULAR correspondent Joy James, of Colwick Park Close, Colwick Village, ushers in the New Year with memories and verse:
First-footing is an ancient British tradition whereby one encourages someone tall dark and handsome to set foot over your doorstep on the stroke of midnight.
He must not have flat feet, cross eyes, warts on his nose or eyebrows that meet in the middle and definitely not be blond as only Vikings were blond and they never bought good luck! Oh and the first footer had to bring a gift of a small piece of coal and this tradition has always kept the miners in full time work!
Due to the war, when I was a little girl in St Ann's, men on our street were rather scarce, so our dad used to first foot everyone on our street.
He was tall and dark but there the tradition broke down as our dad had a squint which probably accounts for the bad luck we all grew up with!
On December 31 we all take a look back at our closing year with despair for the past and trepidation for the future and so set out a list of New Year resolutions with which we slip into January 1.
Invariably we attack our vices and vow not to smoke for instance; I gave that up 17 years ago; or not to drink – I never have! So I am almost vice free, except for sex!
So last year I resolved to get in shape and lose weight. So, at a cost of £240, I joined a proper gym and approached this exercise regime with enthusiasm! On day one, I was signed in by a tall 17-year-old beauty who had the girth of an undernourished child!
After 10 minutes, I was seriously out of breath and limped out past that sniggering Miss size zero! I consoled myself with the thought that if she ate an apple she'd look pregnant!
Then I had a day off and began again. I might just have made 11 minutes the second time I went and then I had a week off... then another week... and another...
So I gave myself a stern talking-to and, after reaffirming my new year's vows on February 1, I set off and walked the two miles to the gym, where I set the machine to a fast steep uphill jogging programme for 20 minutes.
Then ditto on the rowing machine and the bike and gritted my teeth through another 20 minutes on the weightlifting bench and, having worked off 200 calories – roughly about two biscuits' worth – I crawled all the way home, threw myself on the bed and slept for six solid hours.
I could have achieved this exact same state by exercising my arm back home raising a glass of red... but I don't drink! I never did go back to the gym again but I did write this:
I'm getting older by the day, but not without a fight!
I slap on anti-wrinkle cream every single night!
My foundation is expensive, packed with youthful serum,
That's meant to keep the years at bay at least that is the theorem!
I take vitamins and minerals, give my body what it lacks
Plaster on anti peptides that fill in all the cracks.
My hair is thick and glossy, especially this on my chin!
And my face is so thickly botoxed, I can hardly raise a grin!
I'm a little over weight, oh alright then I'm damned fat!
But as I'm considered 'nearly there', what's so wrong with that?
From all this daily ageing I try hard to escape,
My body looks OK to me, well, isn't 'round' a shape?
I admit I have filled out some, especially on the rump
But I don't consider I'm unsightly, merely pleasantly plump!
There are some compensations now my body's such a wreck
When I remove my bra, all the wrinkles drop out of my neck!
I have tried exercising but it only makes me swear!
Don't I weight lift several times a day, just rising from my chair?
My doctor says; 'Lose some lard, be careful what you eat,
stop moving your greedy jaw when you know you are replete!'
"You need a balanced diet, salad and fruit are ideal"
I told him, to me a cream cake in each hand, IS a balanced meal!
I watch yoga on my telly but who am I trying to please?
If God wants me to touch me toes, He shoulda purrem on me knees!
