Before I begin, allow me to moan and whinge for a minute. Oh my word, giving up smoking is hard. I still have the body of a smoker. My mouth still tastes of old 50-pence coins, I can’t smell much and I feel all stuffed up. Giving up smoking is like having a crying baby in your arms. You know that the only way to shut the baby up is to have a cigarette, but that if you have a cigarette, you’ll only set the baby off again in a few minutes till you have another. Aargh! I need my baby to shut up! Hopefully, my cigarette-free day will lead to a night of sound sleep and a bushy-tailed morning.
I still haven’t found a men’s beauty contest to enter next year. Mr World is an ‘annual’ contest that has run five times in the last twelve years. Mr Universe is a body-building contest. I need a male version of the Rose of Tralee – the Elmtree of Enniscorthy? This is a valid idea, which I should enter in the Your Country – Your Call contest (I don’t fully understand this competition, but I think you get a few hundred thousand euros from the President of Ireland or the Irish Rugby Team [the distinctions are blurred] for a good business idea.) This is my call, for my country – a men’s beauty contest – there’s a clear niche.
Anyway, eating’s been good today, pedometer’s been rubbish. I’m going to do a few lower body exercises and get into bed.