I'm going to Stodge City

I look forward to Christmas with mixed feelings. Knowing, for instance, that more than one of my bete noirs, e.g. mashed potato (I'm not going to list them all, there are so many of them, but look at my profile for some hints), is bound to be present and that I will not be able to resist scooping them down my throat in vast quantities; but also knowing that FF2 and I will be running, er, every day to make up for it.

Again, on the positive side, I have been sitting on a fit ball/Swiss ball while I type on the computer at home, and I could have sworn it has made a difference, infinitesimal though it may be, to my abs. But on the other hand I've been at too many Christmas drinks events over the last few weeks and have drunk far more than is good for me. Which, pace FF2 (and I think this is unspeakably admirable), would be nothing at all.

CRazy?

This makes for most interesting reading. Let me know what you all think.

Link to organisation's website.

And...compare and contrast. Perhaps CR doesn't make you live longer - following the recipes just makes it feel like it.

Personal services

Two words: Matt Holland. Matt is an ex-marine and marathon runner who trains other runners for marathons and has competed in triathlons for Britain. He was 10 stone at the time - one stone lighter than he is now and two stone lighter than my current weight. He is doing wonders for my body; what he's doing would be even more wonderful if I cut down the calories and did more exercise. I have a pact with Matt that I try to do as much cardio work as possible during the week so that in our sessions we can concentrate on strength and core stability. We've also started doing work on the rowing machine - my favourite piece of gym equipment. Anyway, all this is a roundabout way of saying that I would highly recommend finding someone like Matt to give you the kick up the ass you need - or at least I needed - to exercise more. Not only are you paying a lot of money, which I find concentrates the mind, but you have something to aim for every week.

A blimp in the proceedings...

Sigh.

It was all going so well, too well, probably.

Since the end of the summer recess, I think it's safe to say that I have not been doing too well. Without wishing to justify myself too much, I will say that I have not been well lately. Two chest infections and two separate weeks off work since 1 September have knocked me all to cock.

I was doing well on Weight Loss Resources, but eating quite a lot of crap too. So I allowed myself to get distracted (not for the first time) by MadWoman McKeith and joyous dreams of tables laden with Mother Earth's greenest food being turned into filling, hot, nutritious meals that would strip the lumps from me faster than you could say "aduki bean stew". The fact that I can't cook at all does not intrude into these daydreams.

Needless to say, Ms McKeith's lofty ideals glow a little less brightly when you stumble in from work at 7.45pm, it's p*ssing rain and blowing a gale and all you want to eat is cheesy pasta.

Still, in the past week, things have taken a bit of a turn. I have come to some quite big decisions about other things in my life and am in the process of sloughing off some detritus that I no longer need. As a result I am getting a bit more sleep and things are seeming brighter. FF2 pointed this out to me, and I availed myself of both books. Yes, they are good books, funny and to-the-point. And there are some very good points. Whether they will help me to lose this weight remains to be seen.

And then this cheered me immensely:

Kirstie Alley on Oprah.

She claims to have done it through the Jenny Craig programme. Now, I've done a bit of investigating on the net and it looks to me as if this is a programme where you eat food that's not really food. They will actually post it to you. There's also a support thing... I got bored, I must admit. I don't care how she did it. The fact is, she's 55 and I would! (I'm very straight - ask FF2).

I don't know why other people's success buoys me up as it does, but it does. I am now going to the Tesco site to order lots of sugar-free, protein-laden scran.

Rye observation

Hey guys! I'm here to promote my new product (shurely "new discovery" - Ed). From Ryvita comes a tasty range of cereal bars with no added sugar and only 61 calories per bar. It's called the Ryvita Goodness Bar, and is available in three delicious flavours. Perfect for those comfort-eating moments!

Fat's entertainment

All right, all right - it's been an uneven kind of month, and I'm not just talking about the uneven rolls of fat that - but that's enough about me!

I signed up for Weight Loss Resources, but have signally failed for the last few weeks to make any note of what I am eating - suddenly it all seemed too time-consuming. It takes real effort and dedication to do this properly.

However, I feel some renewed inspiration now it's getting colder: I can run outside again (in Hong Kong it's too hot to run outdoors for much of the year) and I have vowed to start going to the gym again. I seem somehow to have begun to be able to lapse without killing myself with guilt because I either ate something I shouldn't have, or didn't exercise, or both. I know I can still make a difference and so I'm not giving up. This might be a temporary state of affairs but it feels quite good while it lasts.

So, tomorrow is another day! And it doesn't hurt having, with Fatfighter5, signed up for a marathon 1.5 hour paddle on Thursday morning for which we have to get up at 5.30 am. I just know I will feel good afterwards and I am basking in as-yet-unearned virtue already.

Where have those 3kg gone?!

FF1 knows this already as I texted her in excitment on Friday evening.
Somehow, with no conscious effort and just a couple of manageable lifestyle changes I've managed to lose 3kg in about a month. Wahey! I'm following a combo of the french woman/newly single/much happier/very busy diet plan. The crucial elements seem to be:

1. eat fruit for breakfast. Swapping a pret almond croissant for a fruit salad saves about 400 calories a throw and actually makes you feel in gerenal much healthier.

2. don't down a bottle of wine in the evening with the partner you can no longer talk to. Saves approximately 1200 calories, and a lot of heartache.

3. make sure the sports you take up mean that you can't eat at the same time. I highly recommend outrigging - yesterday spent most of my time on a boat being so sea sick that I actually lost calories (yes, was throwing up over the side for most of the afternoon....)

4. Snog younger men. Makes you suck your stomach in. good for core stability or something...

So there you have it. Will write it up into a best selling diet pack toute de suite!

Happy dieting

x

Goldilocks and the Three Bowls of Porridge

Once upon a time, there was a 39 year old with blonde highlights who liked eating porridge. She liked it so much that she didn't let the three famous, porridge-eating bears have any, and they took to eating shoots and leaves. She liked her porridge made with milk, and she liked to think of the blackhouse dwellers of the Outer Hebrides turning in their graves. She liked it with milk and she liked it with stewed fruit and then - sacrilege! - she liked it with a dollop of half-fat crème fraîche and maple syrup on top. And lo, it was yummy, and she wished that Scotland was cold all year round so she could eat it every day.

Lentement, s'il vous plaît

I'm on my fourth day of eating à la manière française. It is surprisingly difficult to eat without distractions - I find my eyes flicking around for things to read; even book titles will do - but the quantity I'm consuming has definitely decreased.

I've been having porridge and maple syrup for breakfast, but far less than I would usually have. Later, at work, I have coffee and a banana, then I go up to Boots for a wrap, and get a smoothie and a snack (of which there are many healthy options) too. That and an apple or orange gets me through till dinner time. I've been drinking lots more water during the day, and the walk to Boots constitutes a good half hour of exercise.

Soup has been a good way to start off my evening meal because it's filling and warming. Sometimes all I've had after that is cheese, fruit, oatcakes and a yogurt (Ms Guiliano is a big fan of yogurt). Evenings are traditionally my weakest time, food-wise, but I've managed to confine treats to hot chocolate made with skimmed milk. I haven't weighed myself, but I feel like there may be a little less of me than a week ago. En avant et en montant!*

*No idea whether that expression exists in French.

French impression

Not content with stopping drinking, I have turned to the French for inspiration in my quest for A Flat Stomach™. The French - allegedly, and I have little trouble believing this generally to be true - have a far less complicated relationship to food than, say, the British or Americans. To them, it is less a fuel than a cause for celebration, or ritual even. Inspired by the first couple of chapters I've read of Mireille Guiliano's French Women Don't Get Fat, I went to John Lewis today and bought a tablecloth, napkins and placemats. She recommends eating without any distractions, such as music, telly or newspapers. This is going to be challenging for me, because I never eat without one or more of those. Her approach to food is that it is there for pleasure and nothing is off limits. The problem, she says, is that we eat mindlessly, and are therefore inclined to stuff our faces beyond the point of satisfying hunger. We need to "recast" our relationship with food, so that we eat mindfully, and from a greater variety of foods. First, though, she suggests keeping a food diary for three weeks, noting what, when and where food is consumed. I started mine at the weekend, and will post again on progress when the three weeks is up. Vive la bagatelle!

Jumbo Jetsetter

There's something about being cooped up in a metal tube at 40, 000 feet that takes all normal restraint away, don't you think?

I'm recently back from a business trip and it's frankly all gone to pot. I expected that being back home for 4 days would can any diet/exercise plans and so was not too fussed about this. What I wasn't prepared for was getting back home on Saturday to find that my flat had been occupied whilst I was away.

Reader, I freaked. I found a note on my table from someone I didn't know, thanking me for the loan. My stuff had been moved around, wine drunk and flat generally used. I did the only thing I could think of, and phoned all the friends I knew. Before long, one was round with a restorative bottle of wine....

Now, turns out, through piecing together various bits of info, that what had happened here was the ex (see previous post) had had a friend in town who needed somewhere to stay, and was sure that he'd let me know about it (despite no email received, much less replied to by me). Although contrite about this I'm not sure what to believe. Anyway - back to the dieting stuff, problem was that next day I had to be at the same social as him, and in order to avoid having a stand up scene, decided to get gently pissed and avoid him. Simple, immature yet surprisingly effective. But, as we all know, a calorific disaster of immense proportions......

So now, it's back to the Allen Carr book, back to some sort of exercise regime, and back to trying to cut that horrible link between emotion and food.....

New Kid on the Blog.....

Hello.
My name is Fatfighter 5.
I would like to lose about a stone in weight (heard that one before??)
Unfortunately a toxic combo of work (lots of travel), client entertainment (always easier with a drink in one hand) and flagging motivation means that my attempts normally last about a week and then stop.
Over summer however, I did manange to lose 85kg in one go - by ending a very stressful relationship.......
And then I signed up for Weightwatchers - but gave up demoralised when it became clear that my main source of calories was fine wine....
Ah well....

Less of me

A colleague said that to me on my first day back at work after the summer. "Is there less of you?" Well, haha, yes there is. 13lbs less of me. Almost as much less of me as my boycat Harley weighs (he's a lump).

Natch, there's so much more of me to go that it's really hardly noticeable. My jeans require constant attention to keep them up, but that's about it.

Weight Loss Resources has been a huge help so far. Obsessively weighing everything on my brand-new electronic kitchen scales and putting it all down might not be the way of the long-term future, but it seems to be the method that suits me.

As the Fatfighters seem to be embarking on a period of Lenten sacrifice, what shall I give up? I am tempted to say that I will give up my Fridays off. Fridays usually commence to start with a sausage butty and continue with fish, chips and beans. By which time there's no point in denying myself for the rest of the day is there? And then it's the weekend and who needs to deny themselves on the weekend? (Can you see the pattern?)

So shall it be that?

One that got away

In a similar vein to the previous post, I have given up drinking. For good. It's all down to Allen Carr, who in his book Easy Way to Control Alcohol, applies the same approach to drinking as he does to smoking. Rather than making you think you're missing out on something, he makes drinking seem like some kind of prison from which you're lucky to escape.

If not ruining my life, drinking was making it hard for me to face up to certain truths about my life, for example how little time I spent with my sons and how little energy I had for doing anything other than, well, drinking. I was tired and dehydrated almost all the time, and had forgotten what it felt like to get up in the morning full of energy and enthusiasm. I had even forgotten what it felt like to go to bed sober, and lie there for a while waiting to go to sleep.

I feel a great deal better now. Carr says, near the end of the book, that you must never, ever question your decision to stop drinking. Inevitably, the thought occurs to me often that perhaps I've made the wrong decision. Those thoughts I nip in the bud as quickly as I can. But there are far, far more occasions when I think myself lucky to have escaped from something that was draining the life out of me, not to mention costing me about £100 a month. Stopping drinking isn't for everyone, I know, but for me there are so many other great things in life that I really don't feel I'm missing out.

Abstinence makes the heart grow stronger

I have now been off the booze for... [counts] twenty days. In that time I have been up close to glasses of wine, have been offered them, have seen people all around me everywhere merrily drinking. To my astonishment, however, in all that time, and even at the weekends, I have not felt the urge to break my resolution to myself. It's surprisingly easy, and it becomes easier the longer you do it, because you're building up a pattern of something that becomes harder to break. The longer I resist, the more shameful a lapse would be ... Until I get to October 5 (my birthday) and can drink again.

The other evening though, leaving the gym after work and traveling up the escalator, looking out at the bars clustered alongside at Staunton Street packed with shrieking revellers, I suddenly though that a nice, cool glass of Sauvignon Blanc would be perfect. I went home and had a cup of tea (Scottish Blend).

I realize also how often we drink out of boredom, or to cover up nerves in social situations; and keep on drinking beyond the point of enjoyment. These are all lazy excuses to pour nothingness down your throat.

Chocs away!

This is the kind of news I like: Real Age. Now, I wonder whether I can stretch it to Lindt Lindor?

Madrid as a hatter

Madrid fashion week - or, rather, the people responsible for MFW- has banned models with a BMI of less than 18. Good for them, I say, although I'll only really be happy when women of an average size are allowed to grace the catwalk. Some of the comments on the BBC website make frightening reading. What are we up against in our quest for normalcy?

Fat chance

I freely admit, August has been a wicked month. Truly terrible in so many ways that I can only be described as a Fatembracer, not a Fatfighter. The only running I've been doing is in the opposite direction from anything healthy.

I therefore vow (and not for the first time) to do better from now on. For a kick-off, I am giving up alcohol for September.

Anyone care to join me?

Treadnought

Better uses for a treadmill than running on it.

Virtuality

I LOVE the internet. You can do anything on the internet. I give you (tada) My Virtual Model.

And I give you me as I am now (although I have a feeling that the simulators only go up to a certain weight, so it's approximate). Note the short hair! In fact, it's quite spookily like me...



And me as I will be this time next year. Probably.



Can't wait.

Addendum: My Tae Bo DVD arrived yesterday. I watched the introductory steps bit with a fag in one hand and kedgeree in the other. I will be very pleased with myself if I can get to the end of the warm-up without crying...

Pie-eater chart

From The Onion

Work it out

One day, not long after I turned 30, I finally woke up to the fact that I needed to do some exercise. Other than yoga, and a desultory bit of running which I never managed to get into, I really had not done any exercise since I was at primary school. I got away with it for a few years, but after 30, as everyone knows, your metabolism slows and you start to balloon if you continue to eat too much and exercise too little.

The first step I took towards getting fit was to buy a fitness video. Somewhat shamefaced (because after all there is something a bit sad about exercising at home alone, in front of your TV, following orders from a complete stranger), I browsed in HMV until I found a video that didn’t look too bad. It was Tae Bo.

It sounds a bit daft but I would credit Billy Blanks, Tae Bo’s energetic protagonist, and his hard-faced sidekick, Shelley, with giving me the impetus to start exercising and with showing me the benefits of regular exercise. Packed with motivational catchphrases (From the sublime: “You gotta wanna work at it, baby. You gotta wanna DO IT!” to the ridiculous: “Walk by faith, not by sight”), the videos show a group of (mainly) women exercising vigorously to a thumping soundtrack. The moves are easy to follow and involve kicks, punches, jumps and squats, adding up to about 30 minutes of exercise and stretches.

After a bit of wheezing and cursing, and stopping half way through, gradually I started to be able to do the whole programme straight through and I realized that getting through the whole thing made me feel really good about myself.

You can’t help wondering about who these people are, and I was particularly intrigued by Shelley, who had abs of steel, and rarely smiled. You can’t help warming to Billy too. He means so well, and he tried so hard, and he cares about his people. Let’s face it, this is no soap opera, but the diversity of participants (big and small) makes this an exercise video that’s truly democratic. And it worked for me.

Promises promises

Day 1 was meant to be the first day of recess. Ha. Anyway, today I have started. I am making no promises because people never believe my promises to myself because I never keep them, so fair enough.

I have registered with this website Weight Loss Resources and I encourage my fellow fatfighters to have a look at it. Basic calorie-counting, but there are many little tools and tricks, such as the wee pie chart that you can click on that shows you the proportions of fat, carb, protein in what you've et. Fascinating, I hear you cry. Well, yes, but it has fairly opened my eyes to what a fatty diet I was on without realising it!

And on the exercise side? Well, I have also just found this site mapmyrun. No, I don't intend to run anywheres (not yet anyhoo), but have a look at it - it's got a wee facility thingie that will tell you what you've done and how many cals you've used doing it. I intend to walk.

Last night's exercise was bringing my abdomeniser thingie down from off the top of the wardrobe. It needs dusted, which will be tonight's exercise. Harley Cat is most distressed because he's been using it as a bed for the past 18 months. I shall post a pic of him with it as soon as I can get him to sit still long enough...

On another subject, has any of my fellow fatfighters had any experience of Tae Bo?

PS Again: Has anyone else noticed how the blogger spellcheck wants to change "fatfighters" to "beautification"?

A feminist issue?

Interesting article about the (largely - no pun intended) US-based movement asserting that fattism is the same as racism.

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/woman/story/0,,1813081,00.html

I can't help feeling that this is a bit self-serving, but perhaps that's just a hallmark of my own prejudice.

So sick

I've been ill, and as the soon-to-be Fatfighter5 says, there's nothing like a good old illness to make the weight drop off. But it's also profoundly dispiriting not having any appetite. Perhaps this might be the key: if you only eat when you really need to, then maybe that will work. The problem is that generally speaking I've lost my sense of when I really need to eat. Only when I'm ill does any of this really fall into place: I am currently eating as much as I can given that I'm not hungry at all, and so I stop even before I'm full because I have nothing invested in eating more than I need.

Who amongst us hasn't rather guiltily envied the anorexic for their self-control? Let's have some thoughts from the other Fatfighters who have been eerily silent of late.

Stuff and nonsense

Don't get uppity, Fatfighter2.

I've been away
But now I'm back
Still got a talent
For eating crap

I've been participating in races, which means chiefly that I've given myself carte blanche to eat anything I fancied. If all the bad stuff I've eaten in the last week were laid end to end it would stretch from here to the nearest cake shop, which is some way away.

I've a feeling we need to rally round here, with some new goals, some new promises which we encourage each other to keep, and new determination to see off the flab between now and, let's not make this too daunting, August 1. What do you say?

Down, but not yet out

OK! OK! I'm still here, honest. It's shame keeping me from blogging. I've been hanging on by the skin of my teeth waiting for recess. And not so much fighting the fat as lying down and letting it kick the cr*p out of me.

It seems that my recess has started early, thanks to a particularly nasty dose of sinusitis. At the moment I can't eat for sneezing, but this morning I had to give up on my toast because of the pain in swallowing. I have things to do tomorrow and this weekend so I am fighting it off with Berocca, honey and two packets of Tim Tams.

I have plans for the next nine weeks but my screen is now convered in sneeze so I shall sign off and retire (after brushing Tim Tam crumbs out of my bed).

Call my buff

This is getting ridiculous...where is everyone? This is going to be my last entry until someone else does one! It's been nearly two weeks since anyone else posted and I've had enough. In any case, apparently blogging comes under the ever-expanding list of things we're not allowed to do on our PCs at work, so I might be doing it less anyway.

So, on to more fatty topics. On Channel 4 this week I watched the first episode of a new show, "How to Look Good Naked". An incredibly annoying presenter (described by the Guardian as "a manic stylist called Gok") - my god how I wanted to tell him to stick his awful glasses where the sun don't shine - aside, it was inspired and inspiring viewing. This week's subject, Sandra, hadn't let her husband see her naked for three years. By the end of the show she was happy to allow her naked body be projected on to the side of a building in the middle of London. A well-fitted bra, a fresh new hairstyle and make-up, and some flattering, curvy new clothes stood in for exercise and calorie-counting. Most refreshing. I can't wait for next week's programme, but Gok has got to go!

Dumpster

In the absence of any proper blog entries (and my fellow bloggers, it would appear) a top tip from the Viz website:

WEIGHTWATCHERS. After reaching your ideal weight, maintain it by weighing yourself before and after a dump. The weight difference is the amount of food you can eat before having another dump.

And another:

SUPERMARKETS. Help promote healthy living by putting your cakes, ice creams, pies etc. in aisles that are too narrow for fatties to fit through.

Virtual weight loss

I've discovered a website that, for a mere £19.99, allows you to upload a recent photo and shaves the pounds off so that you can see yourself at your ideal weight. It's called, self-explanatorily, "Seeyourselfslimmer". Who's going to give it a try first?

Sub-bourbon dreams

Following my paean to the bourbon biscuit, one of Fatfighter2’s colleagues found this awe-inspiring picture of a giant bourbon biscuit (see actual size bourbon biscuit on the left for comparison), a project created by Tom Vigar and featured on http://www.pimpthatsnack.com/ (check out the site for the most mind-boggling confections you’ve ever seen, and vote to bring this grand biscuit gesture back to the number 1 spot where it belongs). (Picture reproduced by kind permission of the artist.)

It’s a miracle!

Biscuit base

I've just had a cup of tea at my desk and one of those most nostalgic of biscuits, a chocolate bourbon cream (not, as it happens, from Tesco, but could I find an image of a single biscuit in Google image search? Could I hell). I was immediately transported back in time (isn't it funny how only tastes and smells and, sometimes, music can do this? Calling all Fatfighters: I suggest a Fatfighter topic based on your most evocative food: what is it, and where does it take you?) to a party, when I was about six. I had eaten too many custard creams, which at the time were my favourite, and was sick. After that I could never touch them again (my loathing for peppermint choc chip ice cream and gin stems from similar experiences, although for the sake of propriety I must say I didn't get the opportunity to go off gin till I was in my 20s) and chocolate bourbons were the only biscuit for me, although I had a lingering fondness for those sickly sweet pink wafer biscuits.

My mum always seemed to stock the biscuit tin with the most unappealing biscuits. Frugality, and the consequent desire to preserve the biscuits by making them unappealing to young children, is the only possible explanation for why there were only ever the likes of fly cemeteries (AKA Garibaldi biscuits - this Wikipedia entry is worth a read, because it introduces the word "dysphemic", which I am rather taken with - is this a Scottish trait, do you think? - although to my surprise I had to add in the phrase "fly cemeteries"), Rich Teas (the "Lord of all biscuits"? You must be joking!) and dry flapjacks in that biscuit tin, and we usually had to wait for parties or visits to other people's houses to get a bourbon biscuit.

Until today I don't think I had eaten a bourbon biscuit for at least 10 years, possibly more, and look what it's made me remember!

The dog ate my diet

Where is everyone? I've been deserted by my Fatfighter friends.

I told Fatfighter 4 that I'd 'fess up about eating cake at work, so here I am, true to my word. Since being ill, I've abandoned all pretence of being on a diet and have been more or less eating whatever I've felt like. The turning point came on Sunday, at a birthday party to celebrate the Peas' fourth birthday. The Peas' dad had just been dumped by someone much younger and - arguably; actually, irrefutably - prettier than him and decided to take off that morning and drive to the south coast, returning the next day after the party was over. I consoled myself with birthday cake. No, no, I wasn't missing him, but it had been meant to be my weekend "off", and I was tired from the tummy bug.

Cake has led on to other things, for example a curry on Monday night, with lovely fluffy naan bread to mop it up; wine, wine and more wine; a sausage and egg bagel from that place beginning with M; and the aforementioned cake. It has been the most incredible, sunny, warm couple of weeks in Scotland - in other words, summer - and by rights I should be eating salads and drinking copious quantities of water. Mañana...

Dire rear and other infernal affairs

Have been off work for past couple of days with pains and gurglings and other, more unmentionable gastric symptoms. Not nice. You know the sketch in Little Britain, in which two Church of England "worthies" visit their local church fete and sample some biscuits made by Mrs Patel (and variations on that theme)? That was how it all started. Quite comical on reflection.

But hey, I'm less than 12 stone now, so something good has come out of it.

I am joking of course. Not about the weight but about the implication that having a stomach bug is a good way of losing weight. It is a way of losing weight though.

True confessions

Sunday's damage: half a bottle of red wine, followed indecently quickly by half a tub of Haagen Dazs cookies-and-cream ice cream. It was all going so well! But red wine softens up your self-control something terrible and suddenly anything is possible, and you live in a world in which everything is wonderful and no one gets fat.

It doesn't help that I live right above a supermarket which seems to be open all hours. It's not a very good supermarket, mind, but it's got a large freezer cabinet full of different types of Haagen Dazs ice cream (including Chinese versions, which don't appear to be fakes, in Aduki Bean and Green Tea flavours).

If the supermarket sold Wotsits, I'd truly be damned.

Turkish delight

I was at two parties on Saturday at which food was on offer, but the two could not have been more different. The first was the birthday party of a colleague, and he and his friend had been cooking all day in preparation, making a selection of delicious North-African/middle-eastern dishes with unpronounceable names. There was an artichoke dip (loads of cream and garlic, and completely yummy), a lamb and almond stew and what looked a bit like falafel but were more like middle-eastern Scotch eggs, with beans and nuts on the outside and minced beef inside.

After I had gorged on those delicacies in a way that my conscience will only now permit me after several stiff G&Ts, two home-made cakes were produced, both of which required to be sampled: a chocolate and honey cake, decorated with hand-made marzipan bees; and a pineapple upside down cake, shaped like a pineapple and with fern fronds picked from the garden for leaves.

I reluctantly left the great food and company to head to the reception for the civil partnership ceremony of two friends. I was glad I had already eaten. A table in a rather fusty function room above a bar was laden with plates of curling sandwiches and almost flourescent chicken legs, most of which looked like they'd barely been touched. Apart from the newly-married couple, who were in demand from all their guests, the only person I knew was the Argentinian cousin of a friend, and I spent an hour or so talking to him until another friend picked me up in a taxi and I happily left the party and its horrid buffet.

Since Saturday, I've been good, despite that lapse threatening to topple all my good intentions. If someone has gone to a lot of trouble to cook delicious food, it is only polite to eat it, whereas Mr Tesco and Messrs Marks and Spencer could hardly care less.

Filo me up

On Sunday night I came face to face with the most devilishly irresistible dessert ever invented. I was at a drinks event in a bar called Cru where they served really tasty finger food like mini crispy duck pancakes and Thai spring rolls, and barbecued prawns with sweet chili sauce, and pocket sized samosas. All fine, and I was ready to eat only in moderation because I had a slice of peanut butter on toast before going out. But then they brought out two platters of the most unbelievable desserts which I would defy anyone, even the most stony-hearted of puritanical dieters, to resist:

1. Brownie fondue: warm chocolate brownies, surrounded by sliced strawberries and blueberries, with a bowl of whipped cream and a bowl of melted chocolate to dip into; and the piece de resistance,
2. Toblerone parcels: Pieces of toblerone wrapped in filo pastry and baked until the top of the parcel is just browned and the chocolate inside just melted, leaving little bits of nutty nougat at the bottom.

What fresh hell is this? I thought to myself as I was forced, compelled, ordered to eat at least four of them.

Cake That

If there were not already a million compelling reasons why exercise is good for you, here's another. When you exercise regularly, you start feeling more circumspect about what you put in your mouth. This works without even thinking about it: you feel better, and look better, and after all that effort, why would you want to spoil it by stuffing your face, thereby undoing all the good work? Plus exercise makes you feel good, and less inclined to slip into whatever self-pitying bad habits were making you eat badly in the first place.

This isn't a foolproof method, of course, but it certainly applies to me - and what's more it works the other way too. I've been travelling on business for the last four days and I am finding it hard to fit in the time to exercise. I'm up early and get back to the hotel too late, and too hungry because it's too late, to go to the gym. Accordingly, I haven't done any exercise all week. A time to rein back on the bad stuff, you'd have thought. But no! I have been more drawn to reckless eating than at any time over the last few months when I have been exercising almost every day.
Why, I've just eaten half a piece of apple cinnamon cheesecake for no better reason than because it was there. The phrase "what the hell?" should definitely be banned from my interior monologue at times when I am standing in the coffee shop about to order an innocent cup of tea.

Don't tell anyone...

...but I bought a diet book on Saturday! (If the amount of money I've spent on diet books reaches £10,000, will I win a prize?)

It looks eminently sensible. No food groups are cut out, the recipes are mouthwatering. And there's none of this "eat as much as you like" tripe. Portion control seems to be the new black in dieting.*

As I read it, I realised how I really knew all this stuff already. The balance of food throughout the day is pretty much what my Granny would have fed me. So I wonder, is this one part of what's gone wrong? Have we got so much choice now that we've forgotten what is good for us and, more importantly, how much of it to eat? For me, food is no longer fuel; it's what I treat myself to. My significant other doesn't understand that; I cannot offer to treat him by cooking him something and, guess what? He's built like a racing split-pin.

* An interesting thing happened today when I was describing the portion control thing to a friend. She said, "How is this news?" How to explain that the first time I read about it, I was almost shocked? But then, she's not spent the past 20 years devouring all the latest "eat all you like and lose all your weight in 30 seconds flat" books. And guess what?...

Chicken lickin'

Years ago, I had a long relationship with a guy whose parents live in the village I grew up in, and while I was at university we fell into a comfortable, predictable routine of going to his folks for dinner most Friday and Saturday nights. Although I didn't really think about it at the time, there was something homely about their house and about the lovely food we ate there that, as a student, made me feel part of a family again. After dinner, if F and I weren't going out, we would often lounge about watching TV and reading the paper, and F's mum would produce bags of sweets.

One memorable meal she used to cook was chicken, boiled potatoes and salad. To this day, that's one of my favourite meals. Not just any salad, mind. It has to combine lettuce or other green leaves, avocado, tomato, red pepper and red onion. There's something about the combination of hot chicken and potatoes and cold salad that is indescribably lovely. It helps if the potatoes are new, and you have some nice salad dressing.

Sadly, that relationship came to an end, but tonight, 10 years later, I cooked the same meal for my ex and my kids, and we polished off the lot. Now all I need to do is calculate the calories. Oh, how the mighty are fallen.

What a tart

I was just sitting innocently at my desk, on the phone to a client, when a member of my team crept into my office with a box of still-warm egg tarts and offered me one.

It's a classic dilemma, not unlike the office cake conundrum described below by Fatfighter2. I say dilemma, but in reality it took me a nano-second to decide to have one.

Egg tarts... mmm. Crispy, flaky, delicate pastry encasing a warm sweet egg custard. Even though these tarts were just from a local bakery and somewhat inferior to the original Portuguese version from which they are cribbed, they are still wonderful, especially at 5.30pm on a Friday.

I first had them at the Lisboa Patisserie in London, but the best I've ever tasted were from Lord Stow's Bakery in Coloane, Macau. It's an unassuming little shop off the village square with trays and trays of warm tarts. We bought six, planning to take some away, but they were so delicious we ate the lot, sitting on a bench in the afternoon heat right outside the bakery.

I guess I have to add egg tarts to my list of things I shouldn't be eating. Sigh. As Gwyneth Paltrow's mother apparently advised her when she asked how to lose weight: "Don't eat anything that tastes nice".

Mind over matter

Just read an interesting article on the BBC news website about a new study into how different individuals control their appetite - which mentions the drug addict parallel again.

Nuts in May

I've stocked up on a veritable feast (albeit a somewhat bleak one, on account of how healthy it all is), of items to snack on while I'm at my desk when hunger, AKA boredom, strikes. To wit:

• one packet Nairn's Oatcakes (rough), with the apostrophe in the right place for once
• one pack Seeberger "Luxury" Nut and Raisin Mix (of German, and hitherto unfamiliar, provenance, but nonetheless vastly overpriced in the supermarket nearest to work)
• one pack Eden's Hazelnuts (Large)
• one pack Eden's Pecan Nuts (Top Quality)

All set now, to eat all the bits I like the look of and leave the rest until I'm really desperate and the call of the scone is so strong I have to eat something.

In the meantime, I've been holding out against an industrial size bar of Dairy Milk someone has left on the counter at reception. It is one kilo in weight.

Shift and spin

I had a moment of despair earlier in the week. There is an event coming up that will involve food and drink nae doot. When I said I would rather not go and eat, it was put to me that I could go and not eat. How to express that it doesn't work that way? No one would say that to an alcoholic, would they?

After saying goodbye to my old friends, I have been behaving well. There were crisps today, but I've been smoothieing (blech) and oatcaking in the morning and souping and salading at lunch, with a quick circumnavigation of the building afterwards. Last week, my average was 9660 steps a day, give or take.

I gave up cigs, then started again (which will kill me first I wonder?)

Now all I have to do is cut out the mountain of basmati rice I seem to be eating every day...

I read something today that caused a slight shift in my perception of my weight problem and doing something about it.

I found Fat Man Walking. Mr Vaught has walked across America in an attempt to lose weight. He has lost 102lbs (coincidentally, about what I'd need to lose). On this page he says:

"I have an addiction and there needs to be dedication and sacrifice to cure addictions. If I had a drug or alcohol addiction I would go to rehab. Well, what I have in mind is rehab for the fat guy.

I am going to take six months out of my life and walk across the United States from San Diego to NYC." (my italics)

OK, it's extreme and I couldn't afford the time or the money. But it was what he said about rehab that smote me between the eyes! I've heard many times the words "complete change in lifestyle" but never quite so clearly. I shall have to think about this some more.

Superstition ain't the way

I've got this silly superstition that if a diet is going well, the moment I tell anyone about how well it's going it begins to go awry (Incidentally, did anyone else used to think that was pronounced "aw-ree"? Just me then). So, throwing caution to the wind, I'm here to tell you that this diet is going exceedingly well. Basically, I write down everything I eat and its calorie content in a book I carry everywhere with me. A typical day might look like this:

M&S lo-cal cereal w/skimmed milk and seeds 400
Banana, apple and orange 220
Scottish Slimmers lo-cal sandwich (cheese & onion) 295
Lo-cal crisps and lo-fat yogurt 210
M&S lo-cal meal and broccoli 390
Two M&S lo-fat chocolate mousses 160
Drinks of various descriptions max 200

Total 1875

Well below the 2000 calorie limit. M&S features strongly here...perhaps I should do a blog entry dedicated entirely to the joys of M&S. I haven't weighed myself since starting this diet on 1 May. That would be tempting providence.

Supersize me

For anyone who has trouble buying clothes because of their boob size, Bravissimo is a brilliant website. The sizes come in Curvy, Really Curvy and Super Curvy - wonderfully uplifting terminology (no pun intended). A girl I paddle with was wearing one of the strappy tops last night and she looked fantastic.

Calorie, ciznall on me

Fatfighter2's last post according to Gizoogle:

Tra la la. I detest that sizzong. So, Monday 1 May was tha day I gots bizzle on tha diet'n wagon if you gots a paper stack. My new strategy is ta have a limit of 2000 calories a day, W-H-to-tha-izzich is tha average recommended daily amount fo` bitchez. Tizzle sounds ratha generous, hatin' I'm supposed ta be los'n weight, not maintain'n it, but it's contingent on mah doing `bout an hour of exercise a day . Aint no killin' everybodys chillin'. So far so good upside yo head. A combinizzle of M&S lo-cal meals n forgo'n alcohol n yummy office treats has gots me through tha pizzle two days witout a hizzitch. Today, pusha it being a lovely day I went fo` tha takeout sandwich option , betta check yo self. Fiznirst fatal mistake: clockin' by tha Scottish Slimma cheese n onion sandwich wit its calorie content clearly printed on tha front in favour of a much more satisfy'n freshly-filled baguette. Second fatal mistake like this and like that and like this and uh: going fo` tha hizzigh thick chicken n coleslaw combo ratha tizzy tha chicken n salad one. Oh dear n shit. When I tried ta calculate tha calories playa using mah handy shawty book I jizzle `bout gizzy up n mizzy a - probably conservative - estimate of 800 calories. Almost half mah daily allowance blizzay in one go . I thought i told ya, nigga I'm a soldier. All coz I was afraid of S-T-to-tha-izzill perpetratin' hungry gangsta lunch. Time ta train me out of thiznat way of think'n.

Calorie, call on me

Tra la la. I detest that song.

So, Monday 1 May was the day I got back on the dieting wagon. My new strategy is to have a limit of 2000 calories a day, which is the average recommended daily amount for women. That sounds rather generous, considering I'm supposed to be losing weight, not maintaining it, but it's contingent on my doing about an hour of exercise a day. So far so good.

A combination of M&S lo-cal meals and forgoing alcohol and yummy office treats has got me through the past two days without a hitch. Today, however, it being a lovely day I went for the takeout sandwich option. First fatal mistake: passing by the Scottish Slimmers cheese and onion sandwich with its calorie content clearly printed on the front in favour of a much more satisfying freshly-filled baguette. Second fatal mistake: going for the high fat chicken n coleslaw combo rather than the chicken n salad one. Oh dear. When I tried to calculate the calories later using my handy little book I just about gave up and made a - probably conservative - estimate of 800 calories. Almost half my daily allowance blown in one go. All because I was afraid of still feeling hungry after lunch. Time to train myself out of that way of thinking.

Mirror, mirror, mon amour*

In What Not to Wear the harpies Trinny and Susannah subject their victims to ordeal by mirror - step into the mirrored chamber and you can't hide from the inescapable truth about how bad your clothes make you look from the back, from the side and, I dare say, from above.

I work on the 24th floor and the lifts are fully clad with mirrors so I step into the horror chamber every day.

The good news? I have lost 2.5 kilos. Not that I look any better in the harsh light of the lift.

*Clearly this title is ironic - as was the original song, surely?

Please cheese me

Of the guaranteed diet-breakers in my life, near the top of the list is cheesecake. Baked with raisins, or whipped up and chilled in the traditional style - I don't care. Stirred with a delicate snowfall of lemon rind, topped with fruit, even with cream, but best of all plain, unadorned, without even a biscuit base, just pure, unadulterated sweet cheese. There's something about that slightly sweet, slightly savoury combination, and the way it fills your mouth for that bit too long, which is irresistible.

I bought a cheesecake to take to a potluck dinner (how delightfully 70s that sounds!) last night and ended up bringing it home again, as someone else brought one too and even 15 women couldn't manage more than one cheesecake between them, especially since there were chocolate brownies and lemon torte as well. J forgot to take it to work with him this morning and I couldn't bear to bring it in to my office because I knew I would be forced (at gunpoint) to eat most of it; so I left a note for our cleaner (who comes in on a Thursday) to take it away with her if she wants it. I hope she takes it: otherwise it is preordained that I will be returning home tonight to eat the lot.

Saying goodbye to old friends...

Hello Fatfighters

Since joining you, I seem to have become engaged in a long goodbye - to pasta and cheese sauce (I make the best macaroni cheese I've ever tasted, really), to peanuts, to Haribo Goldbears, to TimTams.



There are many left and I will be meeting The Curry, The Bottles of Magners, The SpagBol with Garlic Bread and The Hotel Biscuit at the weekend when I go to Belfast for a weekend of decadence and revelling.

I have reached where I am today through 20 years of dieting, and I am fatter than I have ever been. Turning 40 last September should have shaken me up, but it instilled in me a defiance that has lasted until now. I figured 20 years was long enough to be dieting without achieving anything except more fat. So I said to myself, "Diets don't work. All the cheery-coloured fat books say so. So stop dieting." I sold all my fat books on ebay and cancelled my subscription to WeightWatchers online.

At 17 stone 9lbs (247lbs), I am here to tell you that Not Dieting Doesn't Work Either.

So, where now? I guess that's what this blog is about. We shall see...

It's all gone elephant's thong

Okay, Fatfighter1, you've made your point! The reason I've not posted much for a while is that it's hard to post enthusiastically when even one's exercise regime has gone the same way as one's diet went some weeks ago. Took running stuff to BG - didn't run once. That's when it all went to pot.

However, I spent the weekend on an introduction to trail riding course at Glentress and must have worked off a couple of thousand calories...possibly, just possibly, more than I consumed. That really is the holy grail of losing weight. So, having loved the course and become a bit of a downhill demon, I plan to go back every free weekend I can. O joy! A move to Peebles might be in the offing...

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, I've more or less made up my mind (just what does that "less" mean?) to get some decent scales and start counting calories. A guy on the course at the weekend does that; how I admired his fortitude when at lunchtime, after a morning of heavy-duty cycling, he pulled a bag of salad out of his backpack and ate that, while the rest of us munched on our deeeeeeelicious sandwiches.

Chubby checker

Here I am, ploughing my lonely Fatfighter furrow.... sigh.... where are my Fatfighter friends?

The apparent isolation in which I continue to attempt to shed the pounds, seemingly bereft of support from my tubby blog brethren, must be the reason why last night, after having been extremely virtuous all day, I ate two of those purportedly healthy oat bars on the trot, downed with a cup of Scottish Blend tea (aaaah!). Yes, they seem innocuous enough, but it's unwise to look too closely at the label, lest the grim reality of fat and carb content send you into a tailspin of remorse - as I did, and it did, last night.

A man, a van, a plan

Photo taken by Fatfighter2's friend Alison in Sierra Leone. Heartwarming, isn't it?

I beat anorexia

Danger Mouth and the Larder of Temptation

There are definitely points in the day and circumstances when I'm more vulnerable to the temptation to eat and drink the things that stop me losing weight. I wonder whether if I isolate and analyse those times and circumstances I might be closer to recognising that drift towards alcohol and sugary, floury and/or fatty food. These are a few instances I can think of:

1. The birthday cakes and chocolates at work. Rationale for eating them: a) I didn't buy them so they're "free"; b) When it's my birthday I have to buy cakes and chocolates, so I should get my share the rest of the year; c) They're located conveniently beside my route to the printer.

2. After lunch. The need to eat something sweet after something savoury. No idea where that comes from - probably my dad, who, having turned up at your house conveniently around lunchtime, likes to follow his boiled egg or beans on toast with a cup of tea and something cakey/biscuity.

3. Those sad, lonely evenings when, having put the kids to bed, I console myself over the tragic turn my life has taken by drinking wine and gorging on chocolate (usually), cereal (sometimes) or a pudding (rarely).

What is it about putting things in one's mouth? Why is it that I can't open a packet of something without scoffing the lot in one sitting? I don't even enjoy it after the first couple of mouthfuls. There's some sort of dangerous compulsion at work there. As I think I've said before, I would far rather exercise more than eat less, food being one of the greatest pleasures in life. Sadly, though, age is taking its toll and not only am I more likely now to eat for comfort but I can no longer work it off as easily. I remember being 14, and having trouble "pinching an inch". Now, nearly 26 years later, I must nearly be able to pinch a foot. And as for the pencil test...let's not go there.

Zip it up and start again

Today me and Fatfighter3 (who despite her conspicuous absence from this blog, does exist and is thinner than she thinks she is) spent the day in Lane Crawford trying on unspeakably expensive dresses by the likes of Elie Saab (the most expensive of which was HK$50K, or £3.5K). It was extremely enjoyable despite the fact that neither of us could get the zips up (O, Mr Rodriguez, why do you make your dresses so small?) and I came home inspired - inspired, that is, to never eat again so I can get the zip up next time.

This evening we watched What Not to Wear where they talked to two post-menopausal women whose self-esteem had gone down the tubes but whose bodies were not that bad (I was strongly reminded of my Mum who could use someone like Trinny and Susannah taking her in hand). It made me realise how fragile this self-esteem thing is. Under the harsh lights of Lane Crawford I felt huge and overblown, but if I felt good about myself under a different light, I would feel good no matter what I looked like.

Back on the diet tomorrow, then.

Holiday! Celebrate!

This blog is supposed to be about food, and one's struggle to eat the right type thereof. It's not about holidays. Having got those reproving remarks, aimed of course at Fatfighter2, out of the way, I can now freely go on to describe the food I've been eating on holiday.

We've been staying for a week in Pangkor Laut, just off the west coast of Malaysia, where the food was fish, fish and more fish, fresh as you like, and cooked simply and beautifully. There were essentially three types of cuisine on offer: fish Malaysian-style; fish Chinese-style, and, erm, fish. Dull though this sounds, it was actually wonderful, and it was remarkably easy to fancy that you were eating healthily. Couple this with world-beating exercise every day, either in the gym, or on the tennis court, or in the swimming pool (if my crap thrashing could be described as exercise) and it was actually a pretty healthy holiday, apart from the bottle of wine (at least) every night.

I hope it does not paint a completely appalling picture of my home life to say that the highlight of this holiday for me and J as a couple was that we managed to beat the all-comers record for paddling around the island in a canoe. (Fifty minutes, in case you're wondering.)

Hit and mish-mash

I owe an apology to the inventors of mish-mash, God rest their souls. Turns out that Uncle's, where we first ate it, makes the worst mish-mash in town. We've eaten it a couple of times since at what we've called the posh restaurant - because it's not falling to pieces and because the bill comes to more than a tenner for five people - and it's been rather nice. Still, despite the ludicrously cheap food and the fact that you don't have to wash up if you eat out, we've been eating in a lot because the food in restaurants is so monotonous. The main ingredients are eggs, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumber, ham, chicken and two indistinguishable types of cheese, "yellow" and "white". At least at home we know exactly what we're eating, and we can be more inventive with the similarly limited range of food in the shops. Why, we've even had pasta with a creamy mushroom sauce!

This morning I went paragliding for the first time ever, on a tandem flight with a rather sexy Bulgarian man called Emmo. There's something quite erotic about being stuck in a harness thousands of feet up in the air with a gorgeous man. But about the flight itself. It took me a while to relax, and throughout the flight part of me just wanted to get to the ground. The best moments were doing "acro", when Emmo made us turn somersaults: one moment you're facing the ground, the next the sky.

tbc...

The birthplace of Lidl

Bulgaria is growing on me, especially as the past two days have been gloriously sunny. Spring here takes the form of peach and apple blossom in gardens and on every street, violets on the hillsides, and tulips in the borders. With its pine-clad hills and its chair lift, Sopot, the paragliding capital of Bulgaria, could be a rather parched Swiss ski resort. Yesterday, the Peas' dad and multitudes of other paragliders made the most of the gentle thermals to swoop above the town, eventually coming down to land like grotesque, brightly-coloured birds.

We get stared at wherever we go for looking different, but one can't help wondering what people would make of a group of Bulgarians plonked down in the middle of a British city. Their clothes and hairstyles would shout: "Former eastern bloc country!" A combination of bad leather jackets, shell suits and cheap hair dye. What passes for a supermarket here is reminiscent of Lidl. It's what one imagines supermarkets were like in Moscow circa 1972, albeit with slightly fuller shelves. Lots of obscure items in tins and jars, barely any fresh vegetables and UHT milk only.

Despite the lack of anything particularly appetising to eat it's still possible to overindulge, and my diet has more or less gone the way of Fatfighter1's in March. Last night, for example, I polished off an entire packet of a rather cheap version of those German biscuits that have one side coated in chocolate. And I had chips for dinner, which I rarely do, not being a big fan of them unless they're swimming in brown sauce. But when I was told that the dish I ordered came with potatoes, I innocently assumed they'd be boiled.

The last word must go to a Bulgarian delicacy called mish-mash, which we were advised to sample by the Peas' father, a big fan. It's described as fried tomatoes, cheese, red peppers and eggs. So far so tasty-sounding, but it would be closer to the truth to describe it as a tin of tomatoes with all the other ingredients stirred in and cooked for a couple of years. One word sums it up: yuck.

Kartofi cop

Arrived in rainy Sofia late last night and took taxi to Sopot, usually a two-hour drive east. The roads here would be considered poor in Vietnam, which gives you an idea of how bad they are. Not far out of Sofia we were pulled over by the traffic police, who took our passports, the driver's documents and various unspecified lev notes. About 40 minutes and further bribes later we were on our way. No one had been doing anything wrong; it was simple, everyday, Bulgarian corruption.

Further on, we drove through a particularly bad pothole, shredding the tyre. Another delay to swap tyres. My travelling companion managed to cut her finger badly on a razor and bled constantly for the rest of the journey. It didn't help that she'd taken aspirin before the flight to thin her blood to prevent thrombosis. Got to Sopot at 2 am, four hours after we arrived in BG. Too tired to do anything more than laugh weakly at our misfortune and collapse into bed.

The food is ludicrously cheap here. We "ate out" in a charmingly smoky cafe - I think it's against the law not to smoke here - for approximately four pounds* for five people. Chicken noodle soup, two glasses of wine, two chocolate pancakes, two mineral waters, two large tomato and cucumber salads and two large pieces of cheese on toast. There's barely no point in eating in.

kartofi = potatoes

*No pound sign on this BG keyboard.

The shopping cart is a lonely hunter

I freely admit to having struggled in the last few weeks, and to having recklessly broken every rule I set myself (some more than once). I've even gone out of my way to flout the rules by eating things I would never normally eat.

Exhibit A, the chocolate "Nobbles" from my hotel room mini-bar.
Exhibit B, a whole packet of white chocolate Maltesers, AKA Undiluted Teeth-F***ing Sugar Rush, hastily gobbled in the lift on the way back to my flat from the 7-11, knowing I was also about to eat...
Exhibit C, a Haagen Dazs ice cream bar.
Plus countless Exhibit Ds in the form of canapes, crisps, alcohol and the like. I just couldn't stop myself. Why, I almost gloried in how wrong it all was.

Now I'm no longer "dieting", things can go back to normal and I can start eating healthily again. Phew!

Oh-dear-o, oh-dear-o

Me got no willpower in me. I don't have a husband so I can't write about him. I just ate two M&S chocolate mousses. Okay, so they were "only" 80 cals each, but now I feel like a big bloater. I weigh 12 stone 3lb - nearly 78 kilos - fully clothed except for shoes. At the beginning of March, I set out to lose weight assuming that I weighed no more than 12 stone. Now, one month later, I find that I weigh more than 12 stone. As Fatfighter1 has pointed out, perhaps I started off at far more than 12 stone. But get this, my trousers and skirts aren't fitting as well as one month ago. Could it all be muscle? I doubt it somehow.

Why do all the yummy things in life seem to come with an unhealthy price tag? My line manager lost loads of weight by calorie counting and using a pedometer. She didn't eat any of the office birthday cakes and chocolates for a whole year. Although I don't agree with total abstinence from anything, maybe cold turkey is the only way to do it.

Real Age Kicks

RealAge is a rather useful, albeit sobering website where you enter in countless details about your lifestyle, eating habits and attitudes and it tells you what age you really are.

I'm 37 and came out as 31, so I must be doing something right (unless I, erm, lied). My erstwhile personal trainer, on the other hand, came out as older than he actually is - and it emerges that this is because he has a very young child. Eiether that or he's a secret binge drinker, but I doubt it somehow; he has a slightly puritanical air about him which seems to suggest that he's a stranger to the day-long hangover.

More some other time about how and why I've gone off going to him. Anyway, prepare to be dazzled, and/or scared, by what is contributing to your premature ageing or your unnaturally youthful good looks!

I can't see clearly now the smoke has gone

There's a piece in Metro today about an 85-year-old man who fell and later died after leaving a pub to have a cigar. His son said that the new law in Scotland banning smoking in enclosed public spaces should be relaxed for the elderly and infirm. Fiddlesticks, I say. I'm sorry for his loss, but his father could have died on his way home from the pub or in any number of different circumstances. There should be no exceptions to the law. Okay, if some draconian law was brought in preventing people from, I don't know, drinking orange juice in enclosed public spaces, I might feel differently, but there can be no exceptions to a law that is designed to protect the health of others.

You might wonder what that has to do with weight loss. Okay, it was an excuse for a rant on a somewhat unrelated subject, but perhaps it reflects how evangelical ex-smokers can be. Or almost ex-smokers, although I smoke so rarely these days that I imagine in medical terms I would qualify as a non-smoker. Anyway, non-smoker, ex-smoker or part-time smoker, I feel something verging on joy that Scotland has passed such a common-sense law.

Breakfast like a queen

There's a saying that goes: "Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dine like a pauper." Good advice, but sadly many of us don't have time to eat a great deal at breakfast, yet have oodles of time in the evening, exactly when one should be abstemious on the gorging-yourself-stupid front. I love breakfast though and, given the time, would happily eat a huge one (no double entendre intended). This blog entry is an excuse to describe in detail my perfect breakfast.

My perfect breakfast:

Champagne and a variety of freshly squeezed juices. Strong coffee with hot milk. American and English muffins (the latter toasted). President butter and strawberry conserve*. Stewed fruit with Greek yogurt and preserved ginger. Scrambled egg (strictly no milk) and chives. Crispy bacon, pancakes/French toast and maple syrup. Toasted cheese, ham and sunblush tomato ciabattas. Bacon, avocado and tomato baguettes.

And not a kipper in sight.

*Posh name for jam

Once you pop, you can't stop

A good diet always starts with a vow not to drink alcohol, although some (Fatfighter3, who has thus far been conspicuously absent from this blog, but who is still, I happen to know, successfully abstaining from alcohol and has been doing so since March 1 - Fatfighter3, correct me if I'm wrong!) are better at it than others.

Away on a business trip, I was forced to confront yet again the real reason why avoiding alcohol is essential to a diet - not, or not just, because of the loathsome quantities of sugar swilling in every glass (" it's just empty calories!"), but because with one drink - just one miserable glass of red wine - all my food-based rectitude and healthy abstinence go down the plug and I return to my hotel room, frantically scan the contents of the mini-bar for something healthy, and failing to find it, in quick succession wolf down a large packet of crinkle cut crisps and some ugly-beautiful chocolate-cum-Crunchie-cum-Malteser hybrid called, and I don't think I am making this up, Nobbles.

OK, so it was three, or four, glasses of red wine. But the principle is the same.

Note to hotels: why can't there be cereal or apples or porridge in the minibar?

Eau what a terrible title

A link to WaterAid, which has a handy calculator to tell you how much water you should be drinking for your body weight. I made a conservative estimate of six glasses a day. Oh no, it told me, you should be drinking 13- YES, 13, YOU APOLOGY FOR A HUMAN BEING - glasses. How am I supposed to do that? Does coffee count? How about the half lemon I've started having in the mornings? Apparently, gulping it down is almost as bad as not drinking it at all. I can't win.

I think my problem with drinking water dates back to primary 1, when Mrs Thorburn made me feel embarrassed for needing to go to the loo more frequently than my contemporaries. The reason was almost certainly tea, which my family drank at breakfast, lunch and on numerous occasions in between. My five-year-old system couldn't deal with a diuretic as well as someone older might. I now have a quite irrational fear of being trapped somewhere with a full bladder - for example in the middle of a row at the cinema - and being unable to escape. It only made matters worse when I was on a school trip to Orkney and endured the bus journey from Thurso to Inverness desperate for the loo and unable to think of much else, while my classmates slept peacefully around me. When it transpires that we need no more than one glass of water a day to be healthy no one will greet the news with more glee than me.

A simple slave of appetite

I still haven't weighed myself, but I do feel great for all the running. Just wish I could control the urge to stuff my face of an evening. Last night, though, all I ate was an avocado smothered in balsamic dressing and a pack of asparagus, moderately overcooked, swimming in garlicky butter. The kitchen was fragrant with the smell of fried garlic and I felt quite virtuous. However, Joe* came into the kitchen this morning, asked what the awful smell was and, being a bit of a drama queen, made a big show of holding his nose. Hmmph.

I read at the weekend that one's excess body fat is the result of an acid-forming diet and that in order to lose weight we should increase our intake of alkaline-forming foods. One simple way of alkalising your body is to drink the juice of half a lemon daily. As well as citrus fruit, other alkaline-forming foods are green leafy vegetables - no surprise there - sprouted grains and essential fats, especially omega 3. The same article suggested speeding up one's metabolism through exercise - no surprise there either - and by taking a kelp supplement, which contains iodine, essential to enable the hormone thyroxine to function. There's no shortage of kelp in Scotland, so I shall be down the beach on Saturday, stuffing my face.

*a Pea

On a losing streak

I'm currently in Australia, where everyone's gone mad for a programme called "The Biggest Loser" where people compete to lose the most weight in the full glare of TV lights. No indignity is spared the competitors and they are ruthlessly measured down to the last gram. The problem from my point of view is that it's as boring as hell. Maybe it's the people taking part, who seem to be a particularly humourless bunch, focused with unblinking narcissism on the goal of winning the competition. It's truly wretched entertainment.

One thing's for sure, I would rather eat my own head than appear on a programme like that. Imagine forever after being known as "that fat girl from the telly"!

Ill-fitting suit

My strategy suit doesn't seem to fit , so it's time I made some minor alterations. Two weeks ago, I outlined a seven point strategy . Points 1, 4, 5 and 7, on exercise, alcohol and sleep, are going swimmingly, but the others are proving difficult. The three areas I thought represented the greatest challenge - avoiding alcohol and white bread, and getting enough sleep - have turned out to be relatively easy. So my new challenges are:

1. Avoiding sugary food
2. Drinking 1.5 litres water/day
3. Avoiding carbs after 5

Morbid fascination

I saw a truly dispiriting, yet at the same time (somewhat) uplifting documentary last night about morbid obesity. It featured an American man who was a compulsive eater and who had got so hugely fat that all he could do was lie on a bed with his fat covering him like a big pink blanket. He went into hospital, went on a diet, had his stomach stapled and subsequently lost half his weight - down to a svelte 45 stone. That was the (somewhat) uplifting part.

It was narrated by a woman speaking in that cool English way which says so much without overstating anything: "Do you eat a lot?" she purred innocently, as the camera panned across a kitchen wasteland of empty supersize pizza boxes, industrial sized packets of crisps, upturned soda cans and half-eaten cakes. ("I have a normal diet", he replied.)

Twitter ye not

Out running in the woods once with my dad and sister, and surrounded by tweeting, chirruping, twittering and cheeping, my dad cocked his ear towards one particularly distinct "peep, peep, peep" noise. "That's a...that's a...hmm, I'm sure I know that one..." he said, as he struggled to remember the species of bird. The mystery feathered vertebrate was in fact my Timex 14:40 sports watch, set to bleep every minute. It can be hard to pick out its insistent peeping amid the cacophony of the woods and hedgerows. It's a hard taskmaster, my watch. Just as I've settled happily into the walk part of my run, off it goes, peeping away, reminding me that I'm not just there for a jolly jaunt in the countryside. A personal trainer at a fraction of the price.

It's all scone wrong

I'd like to think the competition for a blog entry title to rival "Picnic at Overhanging Flab" is hotting up, but judging by my latest effort (above), sadly it isn't.

This afternoon, for the first time since the regime began, not counting the odd tablespoonful of peanut butter (crunchy), which after all is good for you, and the slice of office birthday cake I was forced to eat last week, and the half bottle of champagne on Sunday after the races, and the canapes at a client event, and... er.... anyway for the first time since March 1 I gave in to what can only be described as a primeval urge and went downstairs for a large, hot fruit scone with butter and jam.

Oh, the shame.

What I really want to know is: where is Fatfighter3 in all of this?

I want a strategy suit with a jelly pocket, please

Title in honour of Ivor Cutler, who died a few days ago.

I don't think my strategy suit should have a jelly pocket: I want one with a sausage pocket, please. Especially now I am banned from eating them.

Picnic at overhanging flab

I still haven't got round to weighing myself. I know that my weight matters less than how I feel about myself, but I did set out to lose weight and lose weight I shall.

Overall, my body is in quite good shape, but there's still a lot of post-pregnancy fat - nearly four years on - hanging around my mid-section. In fact, it's in such contrast to the rest of my body that one of the canteen staff at work asked me when the baby was due. It does worry me that even if I tone up that area I'll still be left with a sort of overhang above my section scar that only surgery will fix. How vain, you might well think, but I am quite self-conscious about it and it's not the sort of thing you can hide by breathing in. It has occurred to me that they could have done a quick nip and tuck when they took my twins out.

Maybe one day, perhaps when I'm in my sixties, I'll have the money for an op. Until then, it's the best panty girdles my local haberdasher has to offer.

Bread and circuses

We have a tradition at work that if it's your birthday you bring in cakes, biscuits, chocolates, crisps and so on for everyone else. Although it's slightly perverse that way round, the tradition is so long established that it would be hard to change.

The problem is trying to resist said goodies when one is trying to lose weight. I've done badly today. On offer were M&S flapjacks, which bear more resemblance to toffee than to the healthsome chunks of oats our mum used to make for special occasions. Suffice to say, the M&S variety are delicious. And irresistible.

I suppose I'm consoling myself, and at the same time rationalising my greed, by thinking of how many calories I must be burning off or reducing by running and by not drinking during the week. However, I don't think I'm going to be weighing myself tonight, despite the fact that I'm one week into my weight-loss programme. I think I may just faint from the shock.

On the subject of bread, and wheat products generally, cutting down on those has made me feel a whole lot better and less bloated. I have yet to resort to wholewheat pasta, which, although anathema to many people, is really not too awful. Especially when teamed with lots of cheese. Yes, I did say cheese.

Nutbush City Limits

I've previously found it quite useful to have a bag of nuts and raisins on my desk so I can snack on them during the day - and at the moments when what I really feel like is a big, fat fruit scone with butter and jam. However I scarf the nuts down in such huge quantities that I wonder whether it's not doing me more harm than good - I still feel hungry, just nut quite satisfied (sorry).

My other tactic at the moment is to fill a litre bottle with water from the cooler and try to drink it during the day. Sadly the main effect is to bring home to me how little I'm actually drinking - there seems to be a half full bottle sitting on my desk at all times.

The other questions that's vexing me is Days Off. I read somewhere that you should give your body a rest from exercise at least one day a week. I really have no idea whether or not this is true; all I know is that it can turn in to an excuse to take every other day off, as I know only too well.

Redivivus interruptus

A health scare on Sunday morning put a halt to my programme for a couple of days. Without going into too much gory detail, I bled from - according to the doctor - a blood vessel in my upper respiratory tract. Like a nose bleed but through the mouth. Needless to say, I thought I was dying, and began to think about how to say goodbye to my children*. All, or most, of my strategy went out the window until I'd been reassured on Monday afternoon that it wasn't lung cancer.

Then my run this morning was almost cut short after a minute by a potentially nasty fall on black ice. Not to be put off, and desperate to road test my new running shoes, I took a different route. It was - and always is - worth it. The only other blip in an otherwise perfect day was reaching Tranent before I realised I had the Peas in the back of the car and should have been going to Ormiston. I wish I could remember what I was thinking about at the time, but I can guarantee it had something to do with food.

*the Peas

The treadmills of your mind

When at the gym it's best not to think too deeply about the possible inanity and/or futility of what you are doing, and the fact that you are doing it repeatedly, but instead to try to focus on the noble aim and/or dream which motivated you to go there in the first place.

I had an uncomfortable moment once when I was watching "Oz", a prison drama which, while otherwise excellent, has the slightly irritating conceit of having one of the characters narrate direct to camera the Big Life Events (this being a US drama) that occurred in the series. I was running on a treadmill, and the character began running on a treadmill, while talking about how we are all going nowhere on our own treadmill, as I ran along going, er, nowhere on a treadmill.

Quick! Switch over to BBC World before it all becomes too existential!

Gym'll fix it

I've been debating whether to join a gym. Running - about which it appears I could bore for Britain - is free, outdoors and almost spiritual. A gym, on the other hand, costs a small fortune, is indoors in artificially lit rooms full of stale sweaty air and is more a case of man and machine than man - or woman - in tune with nature. I used to despise people who drove everywhere but had to go - by car, naturally - to the gym to get fit. I wanted to shout: "Get a bicycle! Cycle everywhere and save not only money but the environment!"

I'm not saying that I feel all that differently now, but there is something alluring about the idea of "working out". I had a week's free pass to a gym in January, and although it was nowhere near as cool as my sister's gym in Hong Kong, where you can choose from a library of DVDs to watch while you work out, I felt like I was part of some sort of exclusive club. It's hard to put my finger on it, but it made me feel like I'd joined another sector of society: successful professionals who care about their health. There's more to it than that-perhaps it's that gyms are full of people whose parents weren't poor artists. It's about conventionality, and there's something attractive about the idea of conforming.

As for joining the gym, I'll wait until they send me an offer I can't refuse.

What I should probably never eat again:

Mmmmmmm.... where's the tomato sauce?

Fidget Jones's Diary

It's funny how a lot of these feelings about your own body are totally subjective. I had a long day with lots of exercise packed in to it today, and someone said to me "You look great. Your body shape has changed". So it made me feel a bit better about being heavier. The evidence is there that I've put on weight - my clothes are tighter - but people think I look great. How does that work?

I am quite determined to keep on with this. I've done it before and I can do it again. But I must confess I do have moments when I picture my life stretching ahead of me, knowing that I'll never be able to slack off. Sometimes I understand these people who just give up, slob out, let go. It's so much easier than all this discipline and watchfulness. Oh, but I loathe them too - and I think my attitude to fat people (surely, and sadly, the last socially acceptable prejudice) stems from this: it's just not fair that some people get to stop caring what they look like!

Mood swings

I've been in a wonderful mood since Wednesday, despite horrible bills and, hopefully, not just as a result of fluoxetine. I've been on the antidepressant - more commonly known as Prozac - since June 2003, and it scares me to think how I might feel if I came off it. But it also scares me that I might be on it for the rest of my life, for that very reason.

Prozac has the effect of flattening out your mood so that you no longer experience the lows - in my case anger or extreme self-pity. However, it means that you also miss out on the highs, and there are times when I feel numb, knowing that I should be feeling something, but the emotions don't come, or are dull in comparison to how I think they should be. I miss feeling my own feelings...if that makes sense. I saw Walk The Line last night, and wanted to cry in the first half hour, but the tears wouldn't come. Very odd.

What I hope is that the increased serotonin in my body as a result of running will enable me to wean myself off the anti-Ds over the next few months. And I can start feeling again...feeling everything.

Fat bottomed girls*

I have a pact with a friend that on Mondays and Fridays, we meet outside my apartment building at 7am and walk down to the gym together. Without this obligation there is no way in hell I would have got out of bed this morning, but I'm glad I did - with her help on Monday and today, and one superhuman effort on Wednesday, I have been to the gym 3 times this week.

Going at 7am has so many benefits and only one disadvantage, ie that of getting out of bed too soon.

- I get the exercise out of the way, so there can be no excuses of the sort I make to myself about going after work

- I get to wash and blow dry my hair properly and arrive at work looking happy and healthy, unlike the days when shamefully I don't even wash my hair because I've just rolled out of bed and raced off for the bus

- I get to feel virtuous all day

On the other hand I just weighed myself and I'm heavier than I thought. I don't look as fat as I did before I started going to the gym a couple of years ago, so I'm hoping some of it's muscle; but there's no mistaking the cellulite - urgh! - and that comes with too much fat. I've got a long way to go, but at least I've made a start.

* "You make the rockin' world go round" - some mistake surely?

What would Paula Radcliffe say...

Day two, and a chance to reflect on progress so far. The major obstacle has been my utter and enduring dislike of water. I find it immensely hard to drink the stuff unless I'm thirsty, which, considering that I've hardly touched a drop of alcohol for several days, and it's freezing here in Scotland at the moment, is not often. I think I managed a litre yesterday, but that was Volvic "Touch of Fruit", which contains sugar. Which probably negates most of the beneficial effects.

On a more positive note, the running is going well. Well, by well I mean that I ran again this morning. On the other hand, I feel rubbish. I have a cracking headache and a sore stomach. If only it were all part of the happy process of detoxification, but I haven't really given up anything toxifying. I'm still drinking coffee and tea, and last night, on returning home to find a scarily large electricity bill, I reneged on my commitment not to drink during the week and poured myself the only tipple I could lay my hands on, which was Vedrennes Crème de Cassis left by my sister at Christmas.

Everything else went according to plan, though. Paula would be proud.

As a matter of fat

Not a completely noble start to the first day of the regime. It was all going swimmingly - trip to the gym at 7 am, 40 minutes of cardio, healthy lunch of soup and half a Pret sandwich, walking everywhere - and then I ended up going to an arts event in the evening, drinking rotten red wine out of plastic cups and eating some greasy canapes. Then went to dinner and had vegetarian moussaka at 9.30pm - breaking plenty of rules in the process. I had a sore head this morning and slept in so no gym.

Oh well! Start again tomorrow - it's the only way!

Running Woman

I'm sure I'll get bored of posting every day, but I can't contain my excitement at having managed to clamber out of bed in an ungainly fashion at 6am this morning, pull on some tight-fitting Lycra garments and head out into the bitter cold of an East Lothian dawn to run about 7km (4.5 miles). The worst part was the first part: a slight uphill, on-road, and ears burning with cold. After about half a mile the thought crossed my mind that I couldn't go on, but a few minutes later heat spread throughout my body and I began to enjoy the run.

To be honest, what I'm doing is a sort of interval training, or "fartlek" (Swedish for "speed play"). I run for two minutes and walk for one, and so on. Gradually, over the coming weeks, I'll increase the run until I'm not walking at all. On 21 May, I'll run my second 10k in Glasgow, and hope to improve on my PB of 1 hour 1 minute! This morning's run took about 50 minutes, but then there were no steep uphills.

Ms Motivator

My motivational thoughts:

1. Getting back from that early morning run tomorrow
2. Weighing myself once a week and seeing the weight drop off!
3. Posting said weight loss on blog
4. Getting into my black leather pencil skirt for the first time in over four years

What I will not be eating in March...

Hey fatty boom boom

The regime starts tomorrow - doesn't it always? But this time there will be no cheating, I hope. March 1, and for a whole month I am trying to do what I should really be doing all year round.

Motivational thoughts: it's not that hard and the results are worth it!

Got to go to bed now as I have to get up early to go to the gym. I must start March as I mean to go on!

Fatfighter2: my goals

Overall goal:

To lose 7lb (3.17kg) a month for five months, from 1 March to 31 July, bringing my weight to approximately 9 stone 7lb (60.33kg)

Strategy:

1. Exercise for at least 40 minutes/day, at least five days/week
2. No refined carbs (white flour, rice and pasta; sugar)
3. No carbs after 5pm
4. No alcohol during week (Friday and Saturday nights only)
5. Maximum of 14 units per week
6. Minimum of 1.5 litres water/day
7. Eight hours sleep a night

Challenges:

1. Not drinking during the week
2. Avoiding white bread at lunchtime
3. Getting to bed by 10pm when I've got to get up at 6

Treats:

Short term-Magazines; long hot baths; organic food
End of each month-Facial/manicure/pedicure; champagne; DVD/CD
End of five months-NEW CLOTHES especially jeans, dresses and skirts

Fatfighters

Fatfighter1: my goals

Long term
1. Lose 7kg - to bring my weight to 65kg
2. Exercise for at least 30 minutes at least 5 times a week
3. No drinking on a week night - ie Monday to Thursday
4. Eat healthily and drink lots of water

Short term - for the month of March
1. Go on "detox" diet - minimal carbs and none after 6pm; no sweets, low fat intake, minimal alcohol
2. Exercise for at least 40 minutes at least 6 times a week
3. Drink at least 2 litres of water a day