Well, I seem to be bouncing on and off that wagon with such regularity that I ought to be one big bruise - perhaps it's showing up on my soul. I was back to being 'good' last week and then I used the fact that I knew I was going out for lunch with bf's parents and to a christening reception as an excuse to eat spectacularly off-piste on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. And today a 45 min journey to work took 2 hours so I bought a cookie (was over-cooked so not even that nice) and have munched all day since then (albeit on fruit and an extra nairn biscuit pack allowed on diet). I really have to get this all or nothing bonkers mentality out of my system.
I became a godmother on Sunday. I am really quite anti-religious so I'm something of a hypocrite. But I see myself as very much of the fairy godmother school - if a stupidly heavyweight version - fun, frivolity and absolutely no dreary moralising, duty or sucking of teeth.
It was a double christening and we went back to the other child's house for something to eat and drink - it was a lovely day and the garden was filled with perfect Boden-esque families and I had that strange feeling again where I asked myself where the turning in my life was that meant that I'll never have this. I think actually I was never on that road - beats wondering and wondering anyway. It's not even as if I think I want children but I would have liked a solicitous and charming husband and family house - especially a big house in the country with a golden retriever! So I went back to our small flat and ate a creme egg! I may not be living the dream but I can at least batton down the feelings with sickly fondant for 50p - yum.
I keep having flashbacks to all those tall, handsome men and their elegant confident wives - I guess I would never fit! I'm short, tubby, under-confident and usually badly dressed. I stood out - in a bad way. They all had understated graceful outfits on, appropriate for church and the solemnity of the occasion, and I had a kneelength cord skirt with ribbons round it from ebay (that didn't fit anyway), lacy tights and knee length heeled boots. I looked like a scruffy scrubber. I hasten to add, not so much like a scrubber that I didn't have a top on - I had a cotton camisole type top with a knitted cardi-style top which tied at the bust and had a gauze flounce around the edges and wrists. I was so badly dressed that I still feel that hot flush of shame when I think of it. Not surprisingly, none of the elegant couples talked to me except my friend, her husband and parents and the other child's parents. And bf of course - who, in a suit, of course looked fine.
We may be going to friends for dinner next Saturday but I'm resolved to not use that as an excuse to gorge all weekend. Perhaps I'd have the right things to wear, and look better in them, if I didn't eat rubbish. Must try and remember that.