Pulp Fiction.

Thank god the first full week back is over.  It’s been a corker and the outlook is similarly corky.  I’m absolutely shattered and the urge to hibernate is almost overwhelming.  And there's plenty more January left.
 
For me, hibernation is essentially holing up and reading.  And when I say reading, I don’t mean the sort of thing where you can say (with a smug flick of your hair) “Oh YAH, I was so impressed with the existential handling and the gritty and unflinching grasp of the characters and their flaws –(s)he absolutely deserved that Booker prize”*.  In fact, if a book has won a prize – or even was shortlisted – my natural inclination is to shun it.  I have quite enough grit and flinching in my real life, ta very much.  No, I indulge in the sort of tripe that is (gasp) entertaining.  I know it’s a dirty word and I should be challenging myself or improving myself (and god knows, there’s plenty to improve) but actually, I just want some escapism.  I want to read the sort of thing that makes me miss my stop on my commute (this has happened on several occasions).  Although I draw the line at ‘clogs and shawls’ and ‘sex and shopping’ genres – or anything with very shiny lettering on the - usually black – cover (who says you can’t judge a book by its cover?!)  The seam that I’m currently mining is called Young Adult.  Which makes me feel like I should be peering over my half-moon specs as I say it.  YA fiction doesn’t seem trammelled by the same constraints that make adult fiction feel that it has to be realistic and gritty, which makes for unabashed entertainment.  I am literally gorging on this at the moment and will be sad to return to the Old Adult world when my seam runs dry.  It should take a while because although I can woof it down, P thinks it’s anti-social to read for the length of time I would – and let’s face it, he’s right. 
 
Talking of gorging.  I’ve been very good on my diet – essentially 3 days ‘starvation’, 2 days moderate (low carb) and 2 days somewhere in the middle (frugal low carb).  It’s a starvation day today and I am indeed starving.  But my clothes feel no different and clearly I’ve been far too chicken to brave the Scales of Doom.  P – who I would say is being less strict than me although still being v good – has already noticed more comfortable waistbands.  I’d always thought the only things to envy men for were peeing standing up and the speed at which you can get ready, but now I’m adding rapid response to dieting to that list. 
 
Transferring all my dates to my new diaries I came across a very depressing set of stats; I had recorded my weights for the last 2 years there.  Admittedly I don’t think I came across a weight reading before the end of February but the evidence is stark and there to see:
2011
Heaviest – Porky.11, lightest - Porky.5
2012
Heaviest – Porky.13, lightest - Porky.4
That means with 2 years of pretty consistent and focussed dieting, I have achieved.... well, practically nothing.  As I said, I suspect that I have shot through the entire range of Porky into Fat and quite possibly into Very Fat.  It’s difficult to feel that there will be the reward I’m looking for from all this effort, based on my experience to date.  But I would very much like to be proven wrong.
 
 

* I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about natch.