Then: 15 Stone 5 pounds (215 lbs)
Now: 15 Stone 3 pounds (213 lbs)
Only one more pound! I’m really disappointed now. But I keep telling myself that it’s because I haven’t, er, you know, for two whole days. I try to calculate what all that fish and chicken and yoghurt must be weighing in my colon. Then drive to Waitrose to buy some oatbran.
Back home, I carefully measure out the one-and-a-half tablespoonfuls I’m allowed and add water. Boiled for three minutes it comes out – disgusting. Next time I’ll add salt. I actually like porridge, but mainly when you add honey, brown sugar and milk. Ah, milk. I’d almost forgotten what it tastes like. I make note to buy some fat-free. It makes tea turn the colour of cardboard, and tastes of almost nothing, but it might cheer me up. Apparently I’ve become extremely grumpy (“I don’t like you anymore”, says Jo).
It’s not surprising: I have a splitting headache, feel sapped of energy, I’m walking around like a zombie and England are nearly out of the World Cup. What does she expect?
Saturday night and it’s party time. Our neighbours Dick and Linda are throwing a summer feast for thirty or so friends: prawns and rare fillet of beef, coronation chicken, potato salads, pasta salads – and Linda’s speciality puddings: Summer Pudding, Eton Mess, homemade cheesecakes. The smell as we enter the kitchen is overpowering, the wine is flowing. And I’m drinking Coke Zero. All night. I sadly have seconds, thirds and fourths of the beef. And a couple of prawns to remind me of better times.
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