40 goals for 2016

After my last post unveiling things that happened in 2015, here’s a bunch more shit that I’d like to achieve in 2016:

1. Stop assuming every twinge in my body is the beginning of my journey to death
2. Eat more grapefruit
3. Stop snoozing my alarm
4. Devise a shorter response to the question, “so what are you doing now?” to avoid trapping people by having to journey back to “so I met this Australian guy” circa 2013
5. Moan about Taylor Swift less
6. Never play beer pong when Captain Morgan is being added to the shit mix
7. Try a different club on Chapel St that isn’t Revellers
8. Moan about Metro Trains less
9. Actually decide whether or not to stick to soy milk
10. Stop buying specific individual items that I’ll never wear, just to recreate an outfit I saw on Pinterest
11. Stop thinking I like baking
12. Stop spending days baking and then throwing a tantrum that I can’t eat the cakes because I’m fat
13. Accept that Shapes aren’t a healthy snack
14. Remember that Kiwi fruits are a natural laxative before going into work
15. Learn when not to make jokes
16. Remember to buy my passion pop in advance of wanting it so I bag it for the reasonable fee of $4.90 and avoid the tantrum in the local bottle shop upon seeing that they’re charging $10 for it
17. Throw less tantrums – a newly added item after writing this list and realising I have them too often for a 24 year old
18. Don’t try on new clothes after a big dinner and then cry about being a pig and storm off to the gym
19. Join a gym with air con
20. Actually do my posture exercises and try to sit up straighter to get off the road to being a hunchback
21. Try to accept that just because I have a headache, the chances are it’s not a brain tumour
22. Stop telling people the story about how David Lloyd wouldn’t let me join the gym over Christmas
23. Accept that Starbucks in Australia tasted like crap and stop buying it
24. Decide whether or not to buy an iPad
25. Decide what type of writer I want to be
26. Take a digital marketing and SEO course
27. Stop thinking that my financial management elective and my AS level in accounting is enough, and just get an accountant
28. Either stop telling people I can speak Spanish better than I actually can, or learn it properly
29. Stop insulting Australians
30. Accept that I’ll never be able to pull off “sick” as an adjective
31. Find something new to be cynical about now that Downton Abbey is over
32. Get more manicures
33. Stop comparing how much things cost in the UK
34. Tell more people about how cork hats were designed to keep flies out your face
35. Skype friends more
36. Mention my boyfriend’s dad in more blogs because as it turns out he bloody loves it
37. Actually use insect repellent
38. Stop offering to bring a dessert to family dinners and then end up in tears after failed tart number four slides shamelessly into the bin
39. Understand that it’s really not the right time to get a Corgi yet
40. Stop boring people with talk about what visa I’m applying for

I hope you all had a fabulous Christmas and are still yelping in physical pain on your sofa at the sheer volume of food you ate. Good job. New Year is coming, so drink to a brilliant end to 2015 and a year ahead of health and happiness to all.

Love always,

Coco xx

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Another Year Over…

Hey there. So here we are, at the end of another year, ready to raise our glasses, stuff our faces, and fester neck deep in turkey and Quality Street for a solid week – before vowing to lose weight and hit the gym in 2016, of course. And by 2016, we mean from the first Monday of 2016, because the few days preceding one’s return to work are nothing if not buffer days to delay the new and improved selves we vow to muster.

My transition into from 2015 to 2016 is going to go a little something like this. For the next few days I’ll be sailing through a limbo period of my healthy eating and gym routine, where I’ll more than likely rise feeling great, make my usual brekkie of oats or fruit, hit the gym, grab a coffee, and come home and write (often interspersed with a brief social encounter). Then, almost as the laptop closes, the lid to the biscuit tin magically lifts itself from grip, clinks down on the table, and those chocolate dipped beauties that we get graced with but once per year will fly into my mouth with little hesitation. Before I know it, Christmas Day and Boxing Day will roll around, also known as THE DIETER’S HALL PASS. That’s right. The gym is closed. CLOSED. I’m not allowed in. The sign on the door may as well say “bathe in turkey” because quite frankly, the six letter word they opt for translates as such in just about any tongue I have ever known. Yuhuh. I plan to eat what ever I can cram into my mouth, barely stopping for breath for the entire 48 hours, before I crawl back to the gym on the 27th with my tail between legs, ready for the meat sweats.

Anyway, enough about my – albeit somewhat problematic – eating habits. Once the colossal feast is over, I’ll be packing my suitcase and dragging my poor mother off to Heathrow AGAIN to drop me off for a tasty 9am flight. 9am you hear? Not bad, right? Weeellllll, when you live two hours from the airport and overestimate the timing of everything, a 9am flight is actually code for “hey Mum, I think we should leave at 3am”. Oh, and don’t forget those magic four words – JUST TO BE SAFE. Leaving 6 hours before your flight, at a time of day when traffic is incredibly unlikely, is absurd. But. I’ll be doing it anyway.

I’ll be rocking into Melbourne at the even tastier hour of 1.55am (so my poor Mum isn’t alone in the awkward airport drop off/pick up time warp). That’s right, boyfriend. Come on down.

As a sufferer of intense jet leg (the kind where you wake up at 4am, lay in bed restless and then race out to the kitchen the second you hear movement because the prospect of eating toast with your boyfriend’s Dad is simply SOMETHING TO DO), the prospect of landing in Melbourne on New Years Eve fills me with dread. Fly in for New Year they said. It’ll be fun they said. FALL ASLEEP AT THE PARTY THEY SAID. Let’s face it, it’s going to happen.

So post pyjama party (not everyone else, just me), the reality of 2016 will set in. Both my mum and boyfriend are cracking on with brand spanking new jobs, so they’re both killing the classic ‘new year, new start’ mantra that drives multimillion pound marketing campaign for the entire globe every year. But here I am, heading back to Melbourne, to an incomplete life. After having to leave my main contract job due to visa restrictions, I’m somewhat of a nomad again. Roaming free with little purpose, I’m already beginning to get flashbacks of when I first arrived in Melbourne – though granted it’s much less of a culture shock as many aspects will have remained constant while I soaked up the balmy fifteen degree ‘heatwave’ England had on offer.

So, I decided to make myself a killer New Years Resolution. Well, my main one is to be able to do ten push ups. Proper boy ones. It may sound like nothing to some people but my upper body and core strength is nowhere where near what it needs to be (partially due to an old injury, partially due to me just having the natural strength of a artichoke). But a better one. A fun one. One that’s actually a bit backwards. Yeah sure, I’m taking 2016 as my second chance to keep my fitness up while I’m overseas, but I wanted a fun resolution, too. Over my 8 months in Melbourne I slowly piled almost a stone back on of what I had lost in 2014 – and lost A LOT of muscle, but I’ve been working hard to kick 8lbs of that in the past 6 weeks and I intend to keep it that way. By the way, those of you who nailed the “What? What weight? You look the same to me” charade – your Oscars are in the mail. Top drawer.

ANYWAY GET TO THE RESOLUTION. You’re all thinking it.

Drink. More. Champagne.

Yep, drink more champagne. And prosecco. And bellinis. Basically anything bubbly in a flute. Why, you ask? Why is this weirdo vowing to drink more champagne in the same breath as vowing to keep her fitness up?

I’ll tell you why. Champagne, in the literal sense is utterly divine (and I do whole heartedly intend to actually consume more of the bubbly stuff, in moderation, of course) it’s more of a metaphor for the celebrating I intend to do. I’ve realised I’ve got a hell of a lot to celebrate, and I don’t glug the proverbial champagne as much as I should. Everything’s pretty damn good, so for 2016 I intend to raise my glass to everything I love more often. Sure, sometimes that glass will be full to the brim of Moet & Chandon, sometimes it’ll be filled with Passion Pop; sometimes it’ll be an empty hand fist pumping to mark the end of a great run, and sometimes it’ll be a high five for completing a killer piece of writing. Either way, the champagne – however real – will be consumed.

Here’s to a great 2016. Enjoy the last few days of the “It’s Christmas” excuse, make resolutions you want to keep, and don’t put too much pressure on yourself to change next year. Quite often, it’s the things you’re doing right that deserve some recognition.

Over and out.

Coco xx

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