Being an extremely light sleeper, the slightest of sounds will wake me up. If a spider in the bedroom downstairs at the other end of the house even thought about farting, I will awaken.
Despite this, I find the sound of heavy rain battering against the Velux window of my bedroom quite relaxing when drifting off to sleep. Under normal circumstances, driving rain and wind colliding with the front of the house means nothing more than bad weather, and the prospect of another shitty day in our emerald isle. Being Irish, I was born with an instinctive understanding and acceptance of the fact that the weather will be shite in Ireland for eternity, so I’m pretty used to it at this stage.
However, things are far from normal today. Today isn’t your common or garden Monday. Today really is the day. The clock radio I bought second-hand at a jumble sale 14 years ago chimes into life and ruptures my blissful tranqulity with a shriek of high pitched pulses or squeaks " Hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh” in unison with some happy-sounding bollocks reading out the weather forecast I already know. In the second and a half immediately after I awake I automatically think it’s just a regular day. Nothing to worry about here. All is cool. Closed eyed and still dribbling, I reach over to activate the clock’s snooze function. The bright red button is still intact and operational despite years of the clock being bounced off the wall on a winter’s morning, a true testament to the durability of injection moulded plastic, and Chinese child labour. However, the gravity of the situation soon dawns on me when my brain starts to work, reminding me that an extra snooze is not an option today. Instead I lie awake contemplating the mammoth task that lies ahead of me. Knowing that I may fail, like I have done so many times before, thinking about how horrible and uncomfortable I’m going to feel every single day for at least the the next 5 years. Understanding that this is the start of a very, very long term commitment.
Yes. Today is the day I start my exercise regime. Again.
Being a man of considerably ample carriage with as much interest in physical activity or sports as a dose of rickets, I am genuinely terrified of what awaits me, out there, in that big cold wet world. I suffer not from any genetic or hereditary condition, but rather a self-inflicted disorder known as Cantwalkpastapuborrestaurantitis. I try hard to rationalise the situation, and begin thinking up of any excuses I could use for myself. Maybe I could throw myself off the landing and make it look like an accident? Perhaps drink that stuff in the orange bottle that’s stored under the sink in the bathroom? Or hit myself repeatedly over the head with the bedside lamp? I decide against these proposals as all would undoubtedly result in catastrophic injury....
But then all of a sudden: “hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh hawh... Snoozy time was up. Except this time the alarm’s cries produce a sound like " Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee”.
Anxiety then gave way to full blown paranoia. That was it. The fucking clock was laughing at me.
Having dragged myself out of bed and downstairs, I set about preparing my breakfast. The kitchen radio is emitting some kind of horrible throbbing racket known as chart music. From what I can make out, the noise is supposed to be a song containing a sample of The Jackson 5's ABC. This tripe quickly angered me, so I removed the radio and placed it in a drawer. I'd rather listen to paint dry than endure modern pop music. Jesus Christ almighty.
Tito Jackson would be spinning in his grave. If he was dead.
I tentatively roll up the window blind hoping against hope that the weather had alleviated somewhat. It had not. As the minutes roll by I am beginning to remember to my horror more and more about this new active lifestyle that I have reluctantly agreed to (Doctors know when you’re lying, by the way), and that dieting was also a major part of it. My alleged sustenance this morning would consist of what can only be described as a portion of grilled cardboard topped with baby vomit, followed by a thimble full of used cat litter and dehydrated geraniums all washed down with a gallon of boiling water. Yum. I couldn’t wait for lunch. What will it be today? Probably wasn't going to be a big aul juicy shhteak and a lock o' pints. More like a steamed brick wrapped in kale accompanied by half a lick of an OXO cube. I look forward to tucking into that later while watching a drama series about a hardened Women’s prison in Australia.
Always Women, always Australia. Never a cushy detention centre for passive Swiss tax evaders.
25 minutes pass. Back upstairs, I consider eating my tooth brush. Surely it has more nutritional value than what I’ve just forced down at the breakfast table. After completing my morning ablutions, I sombrely make my way to the wardrobe to try on my new sports gear. If you are built like me with a long back and really short legs, nothing in this world will fit you straight off the peg. I don’t think I would feel comfortable going out power walking in a dress, not withstanding the fact it would be extremely liberating and airy, but it may attract a bit of unwanted attention from the Gardai.
So, I settle for trackies and a T -shirt. Its very hard to find a really long T-shirt and really short trackies, so instead I make do with what I’ve got, not the best solution in the world but at least I’m now relatively decent. As I descend the staircase my attention is drawn to a window once again. The rain has stopped. But now there are hailstones falling. Not regular hailstones.
Super-dooper hailstones.
Genetically modified hailstones.
Teenage mutant ninja hailstones.
Chernobyl hailstones.
I walk to the front door, unlock it and open it slowly. I cautiously attempt to make my exit. I only have enough time to expose the tip of my nose and one cheek when BANG!! Mother nature greets me with her full arsenal. Freezing cold, unidirectional hailstones travelling at 150 MPH pound the side of my head. Like being hit in the face with a box of Bachelors Marrowfat Peas.... Before they have been soaked overnight.
With a deep breath, I step forth into the misery. Not knowing if I will ever return again...!!
Peace out.
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