I’d like to begin today's blog entry by offering my sincerest apologies to the commuters on the 10:11 East Mids Train service to Bedford. Calling at Wellingborough, Kettering, Steph’s Booty and Bedford. And to satisfy any curiosity you may have, this is what I look like from the front. ——>

Had you had the opportunity to actually identify my face you would have witnessed the horror that I attempted to disguise as nonchalance, but my blushes would have given the game away. It was indecent, I know, and I am so sorry. However the exposure of my arse is an extremely infrequent occurrence and I can assure you all that it will *not be happening again. 

If it might be of any consolation to you, I’d like you to know that, my bottom, contrary to the eyeful you got this morning, was once one of my worthiest assets.

Indeed twas in fact the bearer of one of the most prestigious awards I’ve ever won. You see, ladies and gents, what you saw this morning, that sort of resembled a Belgium bun, was actually once awarded the title of Brannigans Bar’s ‘Rear of the Year!’ (in 2002 I think?! Either way it was a million moons ago. Ooops, pardon the pun!)

Yup! So really, if you think about it, you’re kinda lucky you got a quick flash for free. ;-)

Of course it isn’t often that my derriere gets to see the light of day. Not since it tried to battle gravity and sort of lost a bit. But today it seemed that my trusty butt fancied a cheeky glimpse of the outside world, so it took it’s chances, waited for a bit of wind, (not THAT kind of wind!) and escaped out of my flappy shorts.

Unfortunately, at that precise moment in time I had found myself trying to negotiate my way out of a mud puddle, (gimme a pair of heels and I can strut across the globe any-day, but put me in flats and I’m pretty much useless.)

My trainers squelching, my arms stretched out for balance and my face raspberry-red and sweaty. And that’s when the wind blew. And that’s when the train passed. And that’s when I decided to buy some nicer pants. (Oh and ensure I always, always include my bottom when slapping on the fake tan from now on.)

I’m not sure about weight, but I always manage to lose my dignity whenever I exercise.

Alas I have little choice at the moment. Not since it became very apparent that I have been carting evidence of some of my passions on my hips. I’m not kidding. It’s all there. All that sugar from when I replaced my nicotine habit with chocolate instead, all the yummy bread from my bread-making escapades, the extra wobbly bits from spending too long sat writing my book, the baby weight from my delicious babies (I didn’t eat them, you understand! (Though babies were about the only thing I didn’t eat whilst carrying my children.)) And now, much like Shakira’s, my hips are most definitely not lying.

And so, modesty intact or not, I’m on a mission to find that inner goddess (I didn’t eat her either, in case you were wondering,) and bring my sexy back. Yeah. (Did I mention, by the way, that Justin Timberlake is actually my other husband?! Yep. It’s true. Just thought that you should know.)

Of course the exposure of my arse isn’t the only tale I have to share with you on the topic of my new fitness regime, I have lots and lots to tell. But you’re gonna have to wait, because my bottom and I have already spent far too long sitting at the laptop for one night. ;-)

Steph x

* Unless under the influence of lots of alcohol / being paid ridiculous amounts of money / becomming so skinny that my trousers accidentally fall down lots.  
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