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Wednesday, 14 July 2010


Monday: The gig is up. Today is the day. I have beaten the hideous smoking beast into a suppurating mess. Now it is time to do the same to the mess that is my thighs. I've exceeded the feed limit too often.The reasons I know this are:

1) Yesterday, for breakfast, I had a steak, cheese and bacon pie with tomato sauce and a jam and cream donut. One of those long ones, with the cinnamon sugar, like you got from the tuckshop in primary school. Then appallingly, whilst grocery shopping later that day, I bought some brie, rocket dip and rice crackers and started eating them in my car while driving home. No, there was no knife cutting that brie. Just my teeth sinking into the soft cheese. No, there was no scoop for that dip. Just my tongue licking it straight from the tub. I felt alternately like George Costanza (Seinfeld) and Miranda Hobbes (Sex and the City) who will be remembered for perpetuity for happily consuming food that they'd retrieved from their bin.

2) In desperation, and whilst on aforementioned grocery shopping trip, I purchased ten frozen Weight Watchers meals. Even though the taste of them is identical to eating crumbled polystyrene drenched in home-brand laundry liquid, , it will only add five points per serve to my thighs.

3) Since quitting smoking, I have been suffering from a self-diagnosed ailment I've identified as Post Idiomatic Smoking Stress Emergence Disorder (PISSED). Treatment for this illness is to attain an average daily consumption of one 750ml bottle of wine (red, white or combination). Now, I say average, because I might skip my medication on a Tuesday, only take half of it on a Wednesday or a Thursday but think nothing of having a triple dose on a Friday. So it averages out.

4) I injured my foot whilst suffering from PISSED and hence have not worn shoes for a few weeks, let alone heels. Being unable to wear heels means I can't hide a spare 5kg or so by elongating my body. No longer do people look at my arse as I go past because it looks great in heels. They look at it because they are wondering where I could possibly have misplaced my "wide load" sign. And the safety vehicle that accompanies such signage.

5) I paid a nutritionist $220 to devise a 12-week weight loss plan. She gave me a diet and some motivation, and made an appointment for the following week. I did nothing. Nothing at all. She rings me all the time. I screen her.

I arrived at work with a new determination and a home made salad. But the woman who leaves home to set the world on fire often needs to return home for some matches. My first mistake of the day was announcing to one and all via mass email that I was going to diet. This led to one and all being keen to know what I felt would be the secret to my success. Too lengthy to discuss via email, I deduced, so instead opted to gather my clan at my fave Italian joint, Pane e Vino, simply because everyone knew where it was.

It seemed a shame then not to have the linguine with chicken, spinach leaves, semi-dried tomatoes, mushrooms and a rosette sugo with a few glasses of wine. Gave it all away that night and had two slices of inch-thick fruit toast with lemon spread. Oh, and finished off that bottle of red from the weekend.

It's only Monday. And frankly my dears I don't give a damn. After all, tomorrow is another day. Cheers Scarlet.

Tuesday: It's freezing! I've been this cold in Europe, but never in BrisVegas. Usually we spend winter wearing our summer clothes with a cardigan. Perhaps climate change is an international conspiracy to get us to pay more tax. Who wants to eat bloody salad when it's 11 degrees!

But nobody wanted to do lunch. Got a few boring responses like "I've got work to do" and "It's too cold to go out". Someone even had the temerity to say "But we just did lunch yesterday". Interestingly no one mentioned that I was supposed to be dieting. Either my friends are very diplomatic or they know I'm full of shit.

So I ate yesterday's salad. How God must have laughed when He decided to make alfalfa non-fattening. Felt forced to pick up a toasted ham and cheese croissant on my way home, simply to alleviate my misery. And annoy God.

Wednesday: Nobody told me it was Alison's birthday. She's part of my team, but located on another floor. She was delighted when I brought her a couple of Shingle Inn cakes to celebrate. So was everybody else. The passionfruit one is so my favourite. I love birthdays.

Thursday: Meetings all morning at our regional premises. The secretary out there is a smart cookie. She rejects the Arnott's Family Assorted and gets these proper heavy chewy chocolate biscuits from this Bavarian bakery. You know, with oats and golden syrup and macadamias and white chocolate bits. I've always liked her.

The meetings were a bit rough. In this place, if you walk on water people will tell you it's only because you don't know how to swim. We kept our wits about us; fairly challenging with those yummy biscuits on the table.

But we really needed a spot of team bonding after that. The Boathouse restaurant at the Regatta Hotel wasn't too busy and had all its gas heaters working. Moroccan chicken skewers with an extra serve of peanut sauce, accompanied by a bottle or three of an Ingoldby Shiraz. It's a good thing that I'd thought this might happen. Which is why I didn't bother getting up ten minutes earlier this morning to make a salad and select a Weight Watchers meal.

Friday: Goodness me, is it Friday already? A ridiculous day to start a diet. Fluffed about at my desk for a while, then got on the net and looked up important things like memorable quotes from Sex and the City and recipes for chocolate cup cakes. And what's a Friday without a long lunch?

Saturday: Grocery shopping today. I don't know why I've written down that I need ten frozen Weight Watchers meals. There's still seven in my freezer ...

How can that be? I've been on a diet!

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