A basted butterball

I have spent the week feeling cautiously optimistic - I'm a firm believer that not all diets work for all people, but maybe, just maybe, this one would work for me. I know that a 3lb loss was never going to be a weekly event but a steady 1-2lbs would do me - I'm not uniformly greedy! And it made it a little easier to say no to things that would slow or stop weight loss this past week. I even started dreaming about buying a new dress for a family party next month - although when I realised what I was doing, I tried to stop. I didn't even have a sneaky peak at the SoD this week but I did what I did last week to good effect and I kept the faith.

But I won't be renaming those scales any time soon. Today they sneered at me that I'd put ON a lb. I couldn't quite believe it. I tried again several times - it was consistent up until it decided to say I'd put on 2lbs when I shot off like a scalded Easter bunny and shoved them back under the bed. Where they lie malevolently, out of sight but not out of mind.

I know I have to keep going but it's made harder by inexplicable disappointments like this. Hand on heart, I do not deserve this. So, with a feeling of weariness I set my face to another week - a week with Easter and a lunch out. What else can I do? Of course there comes a point when I have to stop if it seems like I'm flogging a dead fat horse but I need to give it a good bash first.

The next WI will also include an episode which almost drove me to tears of rage and frustration. In all virtuousness I arranged to meet a friend at Tower Hill and walk along the Thames path to Canary Wharf for supper. I'm still having problems with the side of my thigh which, sure enough, started to ache after about a mile and left me hobbling by the evening and gave me a restless night. We went to Carluccio's as I knew I could have their very plain but tasty pasta with mushrooms for little or no syns. Except when it came it was - literally - swimming in butter. I shook as much off as I could and then, when I'd finished my side salad, I poured the butter away and into the bowl. It was a good inch of butter. I felt panic, rage and impotence bubble up in me. I'd done the best I could and I was hungry so I ate it but it didn't give me any pleasure and afterwards my throat felt slimy with its liberal coating of butter. I took some good advice which amounted to 'forget it and move on - life will throw these curveballs at you from time to time' but, before my disasterous encounter with SoD this week, I was already worrying about the ramifications for next week's WI. It's one thing to carefully chose a treat and count it in and enjoy it - it's utterly different to have something like this foisted on you by an idiot chef with butterfingers.

My challenge for the next few days is not to allow this disappointment and setback drive me headfirst into a clutch of chocolate Easter eggs. Severely tempting though that is.