eat drink and be fat

One of the very many things I’m not good at is eating healthily. I have been extremely lucky that all my life I could eat whatsoever I pleased and stayed the same size. As I stuffed in cream cakes and chocolate by the ton, my fellow workers would comment on the fact that one day it would all catch up with me. And indeed they were right. It has. It’s a shame really that I’m not in touch with any of them or they could now gloat. An under-rated emotion that would give them some real pleasure, the miserable bunch of tossers.

Over the last very few years I have steadily increased in girth at a slow but steady rate from an English size 8 to more than a size 10. I have more curves and wobbly bits than are strictly necessary and worse still they are all much more susceptible to the earth’s gravitational pull than is fair or called for. I can only consider going on top with the light off nowadays.

So I finally decided that pre honeymoon (starts Sunday) I must tone up and slim down. I have been being good (ish) now (except for the London Tapas bit) for about 3 weeks (it’s the least fun I’ve ever had on voluntary basis) and have lost a miserly 5lbs (the maths way – ask Kaz). I expect I can make that up in the first 5 minutes. Himself thinks I’m mad and has continued to eat and drink copious amounts in front of me and encouraged me, nay forced me, to eat a bag of Maltesers the other evening.

So today, in honour of St Val, he bought me a large box of chocolates, 3 bars of fruit and nut, some toffee popcorn and the DVD of Atonement so he can ogle that thin actress.

Is this true love?

Snowdrops at the bottom of my garden, no fairies.