Robbie Savage-from Zero to Hero
All my footie friends knows that when he was a player I detested Robbie Savage. I won’t go into the reasons as it’s all history now, but suffice to say I used to tell everyone that if I won the lottery, I’d buy Robbie Savage and confine him to the bench and make sure he’d never play again.
In fact, such were the heated debates at work that some bright spark managed to change the photograph on my national staff profile to one of Savage much to their hilarity and my despair!
I took an instant dislike to him on Radio 5-Live 606 and it made my day when he was hit in the face by a ball whilst reporting near the touch-line at Villa Park. I even applauded Dion Dublin off the Park for head-butting him in a particularly bad-tempered match against Birmingham City.
But things started to change when he stopped playing. I watched him bring his dad onto the pitch at his last game and cried my eyes out. His exploits on Strictly Come Dancing were heroic and hilarious and typically OTT and I now listen to 606 laughing my head off. Whatever you think about Robbie, he’s good entertainment and actually speaks a lot of sense. Tonight however was brilliant. He told a story about watching his young son play in a football match this weekend and it went like this;
Robbie: ” I was watching my son play football today and his team were winning 3-0. (Proudly) My son had just scored a goal. Just then his mum rang and asked how he was getting on. I told her that the team was winning and he’d scored a goal”
Mum: “Ask him what he wants for dinner”
Down to earth with a bump.
Mrs Savage sounds my kind of woman!
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6 months clean
No anti-depressants, no counselling, no psychotherapy, no sleeping tablets, no set-backs, no devastating “lows” and equally, no manic-high energy phases either. No dibilitating exhaustion, no persistent nagging expectation. In short, no depression.
Instead a calmer, more philospohical approach to day-to-day living, accepting slight swings in mood as perfectly normal and nothing to panic about. Final realisation that I’m not Superwoman and never have been (only in my head) and I can only do my best. If my best isn’t good enough, I’m destined for other things but actually, my best isnt that bad.
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Portion control-Iranian style
Diet saboteur technique number 2
I don’t think that Feri has quite got the hang of the portion control concept.
Here is tonight’s evening meal prepared lovingly for 2 (TWO) persons.
Oh, and that’s not including the dill rice and Iranian flatbread.
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Beware the saboteur…..
Losing weight is hard enough, but to have a saboteur waiting in the wings is rather galling. Especially when it’s my husband who has promised his support in my quest to be a little slimmer.
Mmmmm….it didn’t last long.
Inspired by my Facebook friend who will soon be half the woman she was by the time I next meet her for lunch, I forced myself to change into my new (bigger) running shorts and trainers and headed for the treadmill in the garage armed with bottle of water and sweat towel. (It made me feel good even if I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do much first time out.)
I struggled to remember where the “on” switch is 
but managed to sort myself out with a suitable speed (not very fast) and incline (not very steep) and a quiz programme to watch on the TV so I could get going.
I had only walked for 2 minutes when I realised that hubby, bless him, had come into the garage and lit up a cigarette! I don’t like smoke at the best of times, but after psyching myself up to start exercising, I didn’t need to be running through a fog of nicotine and my clothes to smell of smoke. So, I stopped. And I swore. And I shouted. And I stormed off in a sulk.
I’m still sulking but sanguine. Hubby’s still hiding in the Doghouse (local pub).
Tomorrow’s another day.
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Here we go again!
Portion control, planning, plenty of water and Pro-Points. It can only be WEIGHTWATCHERS!
The time has come to knuckle down and shift some of this excess blubber. It has to happen before it’s too late and becomes a permanent fixture into my dotage. I almost started my latest weight-loss journey yesterday, but an attack of the shakes travelling home on the train (low blood sugar) scuppered my valiant attempt and desperately searching through my handbag I miraculously found a bar of Cadbury’s Dairy Milk!
Now I could have got away with that (I get 49 points a week to spend on misdemeanours) if I hadn’t then heard the news that Alex McCleish had been sacked by Aston Villa. Celebration was a must and so we stopped off at the pub on the way home for a couple of “pints on Alex”! More misdemeanours and points running short in supply.
This morning however, a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she has just lost 3 stones, and is starting out on ditching stone number 4. WOW! What an achievement and so inspirational just at the right time for me. Back on track and a successful day. I need lots more successful days.
Determination, discipline and dedication.
It must be WEIGHTWATCHERS.
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The colourful ladies of Abyaneh
I am by nature an early riser but it has to be something pretty special to coax me out of my bed at 4.00am and I was hoping that today wouldn’t disappoint as I rolled out of bed and into the shower this morning. We were off to Abyaneh, a famous Iranian “historic village” then skirting the central desert via Natanz to Kashan. I was not to be disappointed.
Abyaneh is a remote settlement nestled high in the Karkas mountains and it’s red. The houses are built from the red-ochre coloured mud which gives them their distinct appearance and they butt into the steep slopes so that there are no back gardens and the emphasis is very much on the house fronts. We didn’t get to see inside a house but apparently there are no stairs becuase they use the natural slope of the mountain to climb between stories.
Most of the original carved wooden doors remain intact and when you look closely you will see that most doors have two knockers-one for men the other for women. This enables the person indoors to tell by the knock whether the visitor is a man or a woman (rarely is the “wrong” knocker used).
Unusually for an Islamic community, women enjoy equal rights with men and traditionally this has meant that many have not married until they are at least thrity and no more than three children are born to a family. Perhaps this emancipation is why the ladies of Abyaneh are famous for their bright coloured clothes an unusual feature for Islamic women and something which the colourful ladies of Abyaneh have resisted despite several attempts by the government to change this.
Sadly most of the houses are deserted now and the younger villagers have moved away, many abroad. Tourists flock in droves to see the village and its remaining residents, especially the colourful ladies and whilst when we arrived at 7.30am there were few other visitors by the time we left at 10.30am hundreds more had arrived and there was nowhere to park. It was clearly good planning to get up at 4.00am and I was pleased that we had done so.
Some of the ladies are more willing to be photographed than others and I always asked before taking a photo respecting those who did not want to be. I fully understand their reluctance. At best it’s a nuisance, but it can be invasive and inappropriate so asking first is a must even if you don’t like the answer. One particularly bright and bubbly lady happily posed for photographs and even insisted that we join her on some of our pictures. Her enthusiasm became clear when she asked if we could send the pictures by email to her daughter who lives in Europe! I had to laugh but gladly we wrote down the email address and tonight I will be sending her pictures to someone, somewhere in Italy!
Other attractions in the village include the Congregational Mosque with a fabulous inlaid door. Sadly the mosque was closed so I was unable to see the painted ceiling which I had read about. The mausoleum ( “Holly Shrine” per the road sign) is also worth a visit if only for the views across the mountains from the verandah and its blue mosaic cone roof also shines out amongst the mass of red.
Abyaneh is an interesting place to while away a few hours and I was surprised to learn that we had been there for three hours. I was sad to leave without seeing more of the buildings further up the hill but it was getting very busy and we had places to go and things to see in Kashan.
Fin Gardens.
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We have our mountains back!
The past two days have been marked by the gorgeous blue skies and ever-increasing temperatures to the extent that by 10.00am yesterday morning it was too hot to be outdoors and we abandoned all thoughts of planting our flower beds as intended and retreated inside.
By midday the tiles were scorching hot and without shoes it was like walking on burning coals.
After the heat however came the rain storm, although we were clearly on the edge with only one clap of thunder, and it proceeded to rain like I have never seen here. Massive puddles formed quickly on the roads and we could hear the water pounding on the roof as we ate dinner. It was strangely comforting though as it reminded me very much of home and being on holiday in England.
This morning the clouds have disappeared and have been replaced by clear blue skies once more. Not only did the rain water all the plants but it also settled the dust which has plagued us all week.
We have our mountains back.
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Paradise in the Nightingale’s garden
On a beautifully warm and sunny mid-morning Feri and I walked along the Chahar Bagh (Persian: “Four Gardens”) and into a park. What struck me immediately was how very green everywhere was. The trees and the grass were a vivid and verdant green which only comes from copious watering. Gardeners bearing hosepipes make sure that the Bagh-e-Bolbol (“Garden of the Nightingale”) is kept well-watered and the lawns and flower beds full of smiling pansies in full bloom were immaculate.
A marble pool filled with crystal clear water sits in front of the Hasht Behesht ( “Eight Paradises”) palace and the fountains spout cascades of water all the time whilst gentlemen abandon their bicycles and sit round on benches telling stories all the time rolling strings of prayer beads in the palms of their hands.
It is a peaceful and calming place and just as beautiful as the Hasht Behest pavillion which opens onto the gardens and draws visitors into its rooms.
Sadly, the upper story is closed due to restoration work but there is enough beauty to admire in the ground floor octagonal rooms without having to climb upstairs and it will be something to look forward to when we return.
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Pir Bakran’s Shrine
After an interesting visit to the old Jewish Synagogue and Cemetery we made our way to the shrine of Pir Bakran, a Sufi saint and mystic who died in 1303 and after which this small town is named. On arrival the gates were locked, but the phone number of the guardian was posted on the inside gates. We called the number and within 5 minutes the guardian arrived on his motorbike.
The shrine is noted for the stucco work which is particularly ornate and it’s amazing to think how long ago these carvings were done. The mihrab and entrance doors are fine examples of the famous stucco and I hate to think how long it took for the craftsmen to complete them. The shrine is also famous for the surviving Kufic script which, when written in blocks as it is here, looks very much like a maze.
As Pir Bakran’s fame spread, so the building in which he preached was extended to accommodate the increasing number of followers who came to listen to him and several rooms were added. From the outside the shrine looks like it is a 4-story building but in fact it is only 2 storys high which is reminiscent of the Ali Qapu Palace in Esfahan which appears to be 7 storys high but is only 4. This is no coincidence as the architect and project manager of the Ali Qapu Palace was inspired by Pir Bakran’s shrine design and carvings 200 years later and some of the designs are reproduced in the royal Palace.
One of the rooms has a circular area carved out of the floor where apparently Pir Bakran used to sit and meditate for up to 40 days at a time eating and drinking nothing and surviving only by touching sacred stones which provided him with the sustenance he needed to see him through these lonely periods.
In an adjacent room Pir Bakran’s tomb, together with that of the shrine’s architect Mohammad Naghash rest side by side covered in green cloth.
The guardian was extremely helpful and very knowledgeable and again, this site is well worth a visit if history, Persian culture, architecture and design are what interest you. Unless you speak Farsi however, it is advisable to travel with a Farsi speaker who is able to ring the guardian and ensure that you get the most out of your visit. You won’t be disappointed.
