A bump to the noggin

Call the nurse, and whip out the Mr.Bump plasters; Calamity Chapman strikes again. Whoever said “no pain no gain” with reference to exercise was right on the button; the cause of the purple and blue egg residing on my head comes from a bet. My friend Becki set us a challenge, “Who could have the best body for Leeds fest,” as we typed she claimed she was doing situps, but I very much doubt it. To relieve boredom of late I have started doing pull-ups on a pull-up bar; this, along with my gym visits is my vein attempt to look more ‘ENCH before summer.

There I was, muscles groaning, fists clenched on pull-up 9, when my whole world came crashing down, literally. The bar tore from the door frame and sent me hurtling backward, flinging upwards the solid metal pole struck me square on the forehead; I sat there dazed and confused to what had just happened, before a great chuckle rumbled through my body. I am sure to add this tale to my comedy reportoire. However my fitness mishap is nothing comapred to this lovely lady trying to keep fit with aerobics:

I spent my evening at the gym, pounding away on the treadmill with the great invention of I-pod shuffle. I couldn’t help but think of the Chewits advert when “I like to move it” came on (proper 90’s kids will know what I mean here, before it was robbed by the 00’s kids for Madagascar). I also find that in the gym you subconsciously try and beat the people around you, your eyes meet in the mirrored wall infront, you clock their speed then automatically increase yours, a race that can NEVER be won! Now I am not one for looking stylish in the gym, baggy crotchless sweatpants from primark, loose fitting stained t-shirt from Topman, I will even own up to wearing a vest in summer months; however to me it can’t be comfortable to run on a treadmill in stone coloured  commando pants, personally my crotch needs the breathing room.

When I returned home from the gym I embarked on my culinary adventure, dabbling with flavours that would turn your stomach. Your intentions start so well, a (healthy) day of exercising, but as soon as you begin to snack, that is the end.The devils food filled my fridge, or was at easy grasp: a hunk of brie, some cereal from the box, a packet of French Fries. The person who invented single portion cereal was on to a winner, it is all too easy to lose yourself in a box of cereal and wake up in a pile of crumbs and frosted flakes wondering what the hell happened. Once I felt the snacks had staved away hunger I began to prepare my feast: Broccoli and Stilton soup, swirled with Philadelphia, served with onion and red pepper bhaji (bowl borrowed from the Jade Fawkes collection). Odd you may think, but I have been forced to start eating up the out of date food, by this point your pallet goes out the windows as you try and save what remains in the fridge, from the gluttonous bin in the corner.

To prevent more ramblings I will make this brief, i’m sat here with one of my many remaining Millie’s Cookies, trying not to spit crumbs down my keys. But  today… I made an import life decision: “I Tom Chapman, being of sound mind and body, shall apply for Coach Trip.” I’m sure this will prevoke the usual response of laughter from my mum, so I won’t tell her. Me and Francine have already been going through the application form with a fine tooth comb, inventing witty answers to grab an audition. My personal favourite was “describe yourself in 5 words,” we took it on ourselves to describe each other; I was “witty charasmatic troublemaking food fanatic,” which made me sound like a jolly fat man, soI retaliated with “neurotic big haired indie fashionista.” Don’t worry, I promise not to abandon my blog if I become famous


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