Tuesday, 18 September 2012


I have about 10 days off now.  I need a break; P needs a break.  It's a good thing.  We are going to stay in an amazing hotel in Devon for two nights (seriously, booking took ages as they consulted me to the minutest detail on our preference for bedding and pillow fillings) and then to the lovely B&B we stay in each May for three nights.  Then a few days in Suffolk as P has leave he needs to use and I need to be with him and away from the office.

I booked the hotel as a birthday present for P; we're eating there on both evenings.  In fact, we know the hotel because we've eaten there twice but have never stayed.  The food is very good but it's the experience that's amazing.  On his actual birthday we're having a seven course tasting menu with matched wines.  It's all amazing and I'm looking forward to it.


I am always scared of the impact that having a life will have on my lardiness.  We'll be eating out pretty much every evening (we may have a room picnic at the B&B one evening), there will be wonderful breakfasts, a cream tea for sure, wine and who knows what other wonderful, terrifying things.  I owe it to P to enjoy it fully with him - he's very patient about the fact we rarely eat together - but I owe it to me to make the best choices I can.  Is it possible to do all this at the same time?

We'll be doing some very hilly hiking too but I'm not naive enough to think that will do much to the balance sheet.  If the weather's like this though, it should be lovely.  At least one pleasure that doesn't come with a side order of fear.

Friday, 14 September 2012

Eyes down

So, it appears that you can't swallow down sadness with food.  Nor can you take the bitter taste of disappointment away with sweet things.  That's right, dear Reader, I didn't get the job that I wanted so badly.  I heard this morning by email.  I suppose I knew it was unlikely but the rebellious bit of my mind that wouldn't quite give up on the dream had constructed whole alternative universes with me working there, away from the vileness of my office and somewhere where people are nice and I could have been enthusiastic about the work. 

It doesn't help that this knock back comes hard on the heels of my six monthly check up with the mad Prof about my weight.  I absolutely know going in there that it won't change anything (other than it's nice to see him) but when I leave, having recounted the failures of the last six month and having agreed together that there's no drug on the horizon and I'm doing the right things so maybe at some point my metabolism will perk up (or show some signs of existance - perhaps I need the Higgs Bosun guys), I want to cry and cry and cry.  Being terribly English I just sit quietly for a day or so and will away the frequent surge of tears when they threaten to take over and try and count my blessings (which are of course plentiful).  At least I managed not to cry in his office this time; that's progress.  My voice went a bit squeaky and wobbly but we politely had an unspoken pact to ignore it.  He's very English too.  Insists on calling me Miss ....

They say that nothing tastes as good as being slim feels.  'They' clearly aren't getting out much but nothing tasted right tonight. It's pointless grazing all evening of nothing of nutritional value, let alone diet compliant, but just at the moment I don't have the mental resilience to stick to the diet.  So that's been my Friday night. That and watching an indifferent chick flick featuring the absurdly beautiful Nathalie Portman.  I even bought a bottle of wine to drink solo (P is out) which is incredibly rare.  But I had to force down my solitary glass in the end (pretty stupid in itself).  It could have been indifferent wine of course but nothing seems to take the taste of disappointment in myself away and I suspect that's the problem. 

I worry that I've inherited my father's bodge gene (along with his mean little eyes) - if there are two courses of action, he unerringly picks the wrong one; bad luck seems to dog him and it's not entirely of his own making.  Although he has a spirited and unceasing attemt to botch up his life comprehensively.  Maybe I have that trait?  The one that makes me clumsy and mistake-ridden and unlucky?  Count blessings, count blessings....  Anyway, I've practically had a heart attack every time my mobile has rung this week (uncharacteristically frequently) so at least I needn't be so on edge now that I know that the man from Del Monte say no.

I had the call to say my wedding dress has arrived (one of the ones that precipitate my heart to a gallop).  The boutique owner told me what to bring for my fitting and included Spanx adding politely if mendaciously "not that you need it".  I joked that they hadn't yet invented Spanx that could contain me and that they'd need to be made of a stronger substance than kryptonite to stand the merest chance.  But at least I had started work on my bingo wings before I had this call.  It gives me the illusion that I might make some progress in de-wobbling myself.  Okay, it's unlikely in about a month and a half but worth a shot.  I've been doing some weights at home - three sets of targeted exercises, three sets of reps of 15, four times a week.  My arms feel hot and achy and I hope that this will at some point frighten the fat away.  Sometimes it seems that the only fearless part of me is my fat because it toughes it out whatever I throw at it (a hungry and hard week of intermittent fasting achieved a very disappointing loss of 3/4lb this week).

Perhaps I'll win the lottery tomorrow and then I won't need to worry about work at least.  Assuming I win the big prize that is, I don't think £10 will emancipate me from my life of wage-slavery.

Thursday, 6 September 2012

Life in the fast(ing) lane

So, Blogger has decided that I can’t blog from my work computer. No, not even not in work hours. Who would have thought that a virtual entity could make such strict moral judgements? It’s going to make life trickier, that’s for sure. I can see my blog but I can’t log in and post. Apparently it’s sniffy about the creakiness of my ‘platform’. So, happy to make those sort of moral judgements then...

I finally braved Scales of Doom yesterday; I had put on 3lbs. It’s been 2 weeks and long weekend of hedonism since my last WI. But also 4 days of ‘fasting’. I am, of course, hacked off but I did eat a lot of bread products. Sadly the memory of that is fading fast whilst the fresh wound caused by results on the scales is seared into my psyche. I thought I had better slot in an extra ‘fast’ day today. So please excuse any grumpiness....

I’m actually going to change my routine to make it more literally ‘intermittent fasting’ so that I’m (mostly) doing this Monday, Wednesday and (you guessed it) Friday. It means changing WI to a Tuesday I think (since I’m at my mum’s on a Thursday morning mostly) and that’s not ideal. But I’ll give it a go. Okay, the BBC man only did it twice a week but I do not have a normal metabolism to contend with. And I’d really like to lose a stone before the wedding. Okay, a stone and a half but I know that’s not possible.  Let's leave aside the elephant in the room here (no, not me, a metaphorical one) of whether it's possible to lose a stone and concentrate on going forward.

The key to this diet seems to be not treating the non-fasting days as a free-for-all – tempting though that undoubtedly is. I see it as a 3 phaser: phase 1 – very restricted calories, phase 2 – a normal dieting day and phase 3 weekends when I allow myself to have a glass of wine or two and maybe, just maybe, the odd treat.  Occasionally. In actual fact, there isn’t a massive difference between phases 1 and 2 – compare and contrast the last two days as an example:

Phase 1
B: Large latte
L: Tub cottage cheese, head chicory or a few cherry tomatoes.  Nectarine
D: Vegetable stir fry.  Fruit yoghurt
Phase 2

B: Greek yoghurt with a few raspberries and some nuts/seeds
L: Chicken salad.  Nectarine, 4 greengages
D: Marinated squid and salad.  4 greengages.  2 dark chocolates

Essentially the difference is more fruit and a bit of chocolate. And I don't put up with being so hungry either, I guess.  At weekends I might have a different breakfast – a cheese and tomato omelette or smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and some wine with a more substantial (but carb free) evening meal.

This weekend we back down to Suffolk. And, dear Reader, you remember the 22 bike ride that nearly killed us? Yep, we’re doing that again. Possibly with a bit more of a rest built in. I seem to remember that it had no effect on weight loss but I can’t help but think that it ought to. And that this time, it might. Yeah, yeah, I know – definition of idiot is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. So bite me.  (Unless you're fasting too.)