Nessun Dorma

(blog post title courtesy of my lovely big sister, Joanna)

Today I have to stay awake for 24 hours.  I have an appointment at the Walton Centre in Liverpool tomorrow for a sleep-deprived EEG (for those of you unfamiliar with the procedure, it's a test to record the electrical impulses in the brain), for reasons unknown to me.  I had a non-sleep-deprived EEG a few weeks ago which came back normal and I had a CT scan of my brain which also came back normal, so why they need another test is beyond me.  

Still, at least now I can officially say, in the style of the well-known genius, Dr Sheldon Lee Cooper - "I'm not crazy - my mother had me tested!"  Or at least there's definitely nothing physiologically wrong with my brain - and contrary to the scurrilous rumours, I do actually have a brain rolling around in the vast expanse of my cranium.  Which is useful.

Despite the fact I suffer rather frequently with bouts of insomnia, I am finding today something of a struggle.  All I've wanted to do since 8a.m. has been to have a nap.  I think it's mostly a sort of psychological thing (that and the fact that I've barely slept for the past two weeks due to aforementioned insomnia).  I know I'm not allowed to sleep so I'm desperate to sleep.  Still.  I have a few films I'm planning on watching tonight, and I've bought some nice coffee that I'm saving for later so I can feel like I'm being dead naughty having caffeine at midnight.  Not really got anything for a midnight feast, but at least I can bask in the joy of knowing that later this year I will be skinnier.  

At a slight tangent:  Is it wrong that my main ambition is to order a gigantic pizza at midnight and sit eating it in my size 12/14 pyjamas while feeling absolutely no trace of guilt whatsoever?  I've never even done that at the size I'm at now, I don't know why I want to do it when I'm skinny!  Everyone else might be in this weight loss thing for the health benefits.  I just want to be thin enough to eat crap and not beat myself up over it!!

Speaking of weight loss, I have discovered something absolutely amazing about the fact I'm having a second go at it.  If you go back to my earlier blog entries, say from January probably through to about March 2012, I really struggled at the beginning to figure out how to function on a healthy eating regime, and how not to panic if I get hungry, or wonder what the hell I can eat when there's only stuff for a sandwich in the house, or all those horrible niggly "can't I just give in and eat my body weight in fry-ups?!?" type dilemmas.  This time, I've settled back into the routine pretty much straight away.  I've got my dieting head back on and if anything it's more of a relief than a constant series of mind-battles, knowing exactly what I need to do to get myself back on track.  It feels far less of a diet and far more of a "right, this is just what I'm doing from now on" type lifestyle change.  And to be honest, although the changes I've had to make have been pretty drastic, they've really not been anywhere near the kind of struggle they were when I went through this the first time.  So I'm feeling really encouraged by that.  I'm not sure if I've actually lost any weight yet, I won't get weighed until Wednesday morning, but I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, so hopefully the results will follow.  I feel a lot more chilled about the whole thing, which can only be a good thing when it comes to actually keeping going on this whole weight-loss regime.

In other news, I have got my Llama-Keeping Licence back and the boys are due home tomorrow.  I can't wait to see them, it's been ages and I'm sure we've all got lots of catching up to do.  I have some tequila on hand for them - Ricardo says it helps him remember his stories better.  They're going to work through the inevitable jet lag to prepare for Wednesday's fiesta just in case I lose weight this week - and they've even incorporated a few moves into their dance routine that I can join in with, which will be very exciting!

Remind me to pick up some red sparkle leg-warmers on my way home from the hospital tomorrow...

The Weight of the Situation

So I've re-applied for my llama licence.  I had to.  I got a postcard from Miguel (I dunno how he managed it due to the lack of his opposable thumbs, but I didn't like to split hairs with him over it) saying that him and Ricardo are broke and can't find work.  There are too many Llama Dancing Troupes in Bolivia and they aren't considered a novelty act over there any more.  Javier left the troupe (I know, he was everyone's favourite) after an incident with one of the girl llamas in the local theatre and so they're all pretty down on their luck and want to come home as soon as possible.  Ricardo's everyday legwarmers went threadbare about six months ago and he's been wearing his gold sparkle ones for the past three weeks which are starting to look a bit grubby.  There are no local launderettes and Ricardo's nerves are like piano wires due to the fact he has to walk the streets of Bolivia wearing dirty legwarmers.  

It was a very large postcard, that's how he managed to fit so much information on it.

For those of you new to my blog, I'd best explain that I am the proud owner of an invisible and completely imaginary troupe of dancing llamas who put on a fiesta for me every week during 2012 when I was losing weight.  They've had a year off travelling around the world (although they finally settled in Bolivia) and going on adventures but now they're just about ready to come home.  

This morning I weighed myself for the first time in fifteen months.  It's an inaccuracy to say it was 'difficult', because it was actually remarkably easy - I just stood on a pair of scales and tried to think thin thoughts.  The build-up, however, was a little daunting.  Scales and I have never been friends.  They have never said anything nice to me.  Of all the plus sides associated with losing weight, stepping on a pair of scales every week was never something I had missed.  Part of me secretly hoped that I hadn't really put any weight on at all and that someone had just blown me up with a foot-pump in the night when I wasn't looking.  Another part of me worried that I'd put at least eight stone on (112 lbs, for the benefit of my American readers).  But I knew that if I was ever going to get anywhere, then I'd need to take a deep breath and get back on the scales, so as soon as I'd woken up and while I was too tired to talk myself out of it, I weighed myself.

It was pretty much as I'd expected.  I've put every single gram of weight back on - plus one pound for good luck.  So I am more or less exactly where I started (after all, when you weigh the same as an entire rugby league squad, what's an extra pound between friends?!) two years ago.  Which, actually, is a really good thing.  The slate is completely wiped clean.  I can start completely afresh.  I know what mistakes I made last time, I know how quickly the weight came off last time so I won't get as impatient with myself.  I know what to be aware of and I know not to be afraid that losing weight won't ever happen, because I know it will.

I'm back to Square One - but this time I've got one up on myself from last time.  This isn't new ground.  I've got this.  I've done this, I've been here.  And now I know exactly where I'm going...

**********Cue theme music to Rocky**********

Get. In.

Hello, hello, hello and welcome everybody to my formerly thrice-weekly blog which now appears to be my once-in-a-blue-moon-but-more-commonly-on-a-Friday blog.

So anyway, this week has been rather non-eventful.  I mean there's really not been much to report of anything, it's all work and very little play.  I've also gone back on the wagon and sobriety really isn't the most cheerful of mindsets for anyone, especially when you can't even substitute it for doughnuts or chocolate cake.

I hadn't really given a great deal of thought to the diet, particularly, and in fact, as my weight loss has been so hit and miss over the last ten weeks or so, I was quite convinced that if anything I'd've put weight on this week.  Especially when I realised that I've not been eating nearly so much veg as I should be eating.  "Oh well," I thought to myself, "There's always next week, I'll try harder then!  I've still got another six weeks to lose a dress size, no big deal."

Imagine, then, my surprise when the scales declared that I'd lost 3 1/2 lbs!!

The llamas were chuffed.  They're all ready to go with this week's fiesta, so without any further ado - hit it, lads!!

 

***AAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIBAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!***

 

¯ La cucaracha, la cucaracha, dah dee dah de dah de dahh...!  ¯

Whew!  That was great, boys!!  Just the job!

I was delighted with that result.  I honestly didn't expect it.  I thought my weeks of losing big numbers of lbs were long gone, and that it'd be a slow and boring, pleasure-free road to box off my last three stone, half a pound here, a pound there... I thought it'd take me The Rest Of My Rotten Stinkin' Life to do it.  But now - now there is hope!  Now there is a little bright, cheery spark in my heart that says, "Come on, Spevvo, you can do this!!  You're probably not really too far now and you'll be legitimately skinny rather than just relatively skinny in comparison to your former spherical physique!"

I mean I have to do it and I have to do it soon.  The time left is reduced.  I've done all right so far, like, and aside from just not stressing about things and following the plan as best as I can, I'm not 100% sure what else I can do.  More fruit, more veg, I don't know if I've ever recommended green tea and a slice of lemon, but trust me, it works.  It's an acquired taste but it's a taste well worth acquiring.  It'll all come off eventually.  I'll soon be svelte.  I'll achieve voluptuous rather than rotund.  I'll wiggle in all the right places.  This will happen.  Because if it doesn't, I think I'll cry.  Which won't be a remotely helpful reaction and it won't even make me feel better about it but it's the one thing slightly more positive than jumping off a tall building.

The thing that cheered me up the most was that finally, Andrea the Consultant told me that I was really doing well.  She said "You're disappearing before my very eyes!  You must feel great!!" I genuinely didn't think she'd noticed.  A couple of the ladies in group have come up to me and been like "Good grief, you can really tell you've lost weight, you're looking good!" which is really nice, but it was great to finally get a bit of a high five from the lady in charge.  She's never been discouraging or dismissive, I'd like to make that clear, but I just genuinely didn't think she'd noticed, and that because she hadn't said anything I mustn't actually look like I've lost any weight.  Which obviously is a stupidly warped thought process, I mean for chuff's sake I've lost 60lbs now, I must literally be the only person on earth who hasn't really noticed the difference in me!!  In fairness, I avoid reflective surfaces like the plague and whenever I look down at myself all I can see are my bosoms and my hair so I suppose the fact they're still very much there isn't too much of an indicator about how well I've actually done. 

So, I went home and had a yummy Slimming World tea of sirloin steak, new potatoes, and fried mushrooms and tomatoes.  It was fabulous.  My sister is officially the best cook in the world.

This weekend I'm going to a party on Saturday, which will be great.  I'm still on the wagon and I'm the designated driver so I'm going to have to do the Being Sober While Meeting New People thing, which is a little worrying, but the people I do know who are going are fabulous so I'm sure it'll all be great.  The only problem is that nowadays I only have clothes for work and clothes for the Kingdom Hall.  I have no other items of clothing, and as I'm an anti-social sod, I definitely have no party clothes.  I'll probably end up going and looking really overdressed.  But at least I won't be scruffy!!

Join me sometime next week.  Definitely on Friday, when hopefully I'll be even closer to my 4 1/2 stone shiny sticker!!

Sleeves Firmly Rolled Up

Normally, as you know, I get pretty narked when I put weight on after a week of being good.

However, this week, I've put half a pound on, and although the llamas haven't come out for a celebratory fiesta (although to be fair they had two fiestas last week so they could do with a break), I'm really not too worried about it.

This is good because I've taken into account that for the first couple of days since my last weigh in I was still a bit wobbly on the diet before getting back on it properly on Monday so I haven't really had a week of being good, I've had about four days of being good.  I've also taken into account the fact that I've drunk a lot more water this week, mostly due to the fact I've walked everywhere.  I've walked about four miles a day over the last week, which doesn't seem like much but it's more than twice as far as I usually walk, so for me, it's loads, and I've probably developed a teensy tiny bit of muscle.  Not to mention the fact I've worked full-time which always screws up my diet plans, and I more often than not end up skipping breakfast altogether, which isn't ideal, I know.  But still, I know why I've put on, and that's less frustrating than being really good and still putting half a pound on.  AND it means that I'm finally starting to get a bit of perspective on weight loss, realising that it can't always be a constant thing and just because I put a bit on, it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person or a failure.  Which is quite a revelation.

However, at the same time, it's also a bit scary because not being too worried about a weight gain can make you complacent.  And I'm not skinny enough to get complacent!

Andrea The Consultant gave us all the New Members' talk again.  It's not just been me that's been a bit screw-uppy, everyone's gone a bit off the boil.  It's apparently only 16 weigh-ins till Christmas, which doesn't worry me too much because obviously I don't celebrate Christmas and I've no plans around that time anyway other than to eat my own body weight in chocolate and to drink enough alcohol to make Georgie Best, Oliver Reed, Keith Moon and Robert Newton all applaud my stalwart efforts. 

But it's only seven weigh-ins until the Michael Nesmith gig, and that does worry me.  Even though it shouldn't, really.  I know if anyone said to me this time last year I'd be able to wear a size 18 dress to go and see Michael Nesmith in concert, I'd have laughed at the implausibility of both suggestions.  So, really, in that sort of context, even if I don't lose another dress size between now and then, I'm still ridiculously thinner than I was this time last year - AND I'll get to fulfill a lifelong ambition and actually be in the same room at the same time as my favourite Monkee.  I mean, it's all good.  Even if I put four stone on between now and then, the fact I'll be there is incredible enough in itself.  Not that I will, of course.  I've come much too far now to go back to how I used to be.
 
But now I'm here, two or three dress sizes to go until I get to target (I probably won't reach that decision until I've lost the next two dress sizes!), and it somehow still doesn't feel like I've done nearly enough.  I know it isn't a race.  I'm not trying to be thin for an event or because someone else is losing X amount of stones and I want to beat them to it.  I'm losing weight because I don't want to spend the rest of my life not doing things because I'm too fat to do them.  And if it takes me a year to do it or it takes me 18 months to do it - fine, so long as I do it eventually.

But I still want to get it over and done with as quickly as I can so I can make a start on maintaining it!!

It isn't an impossible ask to drop a dress size in 7 weeks.  In fact, it's quite reasonable.  I know I can do it.  So I'd best get on with it, really, hadn't I?!  I've not got time to mope - I've got lbs to shed!

Join me again at some juncture next week when I may have some sort of an update for you.  But if not I shall update again on Friday when hopefully, fingers crossed, after a whole week of being good I'll finally have a result worthy of a fiesta from the llamas!!

Le Gasp!! Il Gaspo!! Die Gazpen!!

Yeah that's right, so shocking I had to say it in French and then translate it into Spanish and German.

The shocks are manifold in this blog entry, so if you're of a nervous disposition I'd recommend changing your knickers now and bringing a spare pair back to the computer with you, just in case.

Firstly... I'm writing a blog entry!

I know, it's been ages.  Well, I had my mojo working - but it just didn't work on slimming.  I ate.  And I drank.  And I was merry.  Well - I may say I was merry, but actually it was just one long stretch of beating myself up for being weak-willed.

Also, it turns out that I am still very addicted to chocolate.  I thought after giving it up for eight months I'd be absolutely fine.  No.  Not at all.  In fact all I want to do with my life is to eat chocolate for breakfast, dinner and tea, give up work and eat my body weight in cocoa-infused products.  It's a dangerous substance. 

Anyway.  I think I'm back on the straight and narrow now.  I said I'd give myself twelve months and it's only been eight so, y'know, I won't give up.

The second shocking revelation in today's blog entry is this... the llamas will be having TWO fiestas today!!!

I know, after weeks and weeks of training, they're finally ready for two fiestas.  The first one is because, two weeks ago - I finally got my 4stone award.  Take it away, chaps...!!

AAARRRRIIIIIIBBBAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Ole!!!

*dances round like a mad eejit* Phewf!!

Yeah, that's right, four stone - that's 56lbs to my American pals and 25.4kg to my... metric pals.  It's a small child.  Or at least a substantial percentage of the average adult.  I only got my certificate on the night, they'd run out of shiny stickers, but fear not, I've got my shiny sticker now and it's there, shining proudly on the back of my Slimming World book. 

The second fiesta will come later.

The third shock is this - after nearly two weeks of eating and drinking like an attendee at a Roman banquet, I hopped on the scales last night at Fat Club, and lo and behold, I'd lost a pound!!

I was convinced I'd put at least 10lbs on.  At least 10.  I'd really given it a good go, y'know.  I had chocolate, and doughnuts, and... a lot of booze... and takeaways, and crisps, and basically everything I haven't had in the last eight months!!

In fact, I was so convinced that I'd ruined things for myself that I seriously considered just quitting and carrying on the diet from home.  I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of getting back on the scales.  I knew exactly how much I'd gone off the rails.  Although, to be fair - I've really got Jo to thank that I've got this far anyway, she's an amazing cook and has really kept me on the straight and narrow far more than I realised. 

Thankfully, I had a stern talking-to from various friends and family members, and so last night I trudged down the hill to the Church Hall to hop on the scales.  I dunno if I've mentioned, but the song that always plays in my head when I get on the scales and get a good result is 'You're the Best' by Joe Esposito (the theme tune to The Karate Kid - the real one, not the silly remake).  It was like it was playing in some sort of quadrophonic stereo type capacity when I saw the scales say I'd actually lost weight!!

And now - the FOURTH shock of this blog!!!

The song faded out as the Weighing Lady (I think her name's Natalie but I'm not sure.  I really should find out, shouldn't I, I've been going for eight months!)  started interrogating me about whether I'd been to group last week, or the week before.  I felt a bit guilty but I told her I skipped Fat Club last week and didn't stay to group the week before.  She started mumbling to herself and then asked the Check-In Lady (Dawn) if it was definitely me, and Dawn said that it was, and then after a few moments' conflab between them, the Weighing Lady and I had the following conversation:

WL:  Because, erm, well - you've been named Woman of the Year!
ME:  Oh yeah, right!!  Hahahahaha!!!!!
[awkward pause]
ME:  What, really?!
WL:  Really.
ME:  Me?!
WL:  You.
ME:  [points to self]  ME?!?
WL:  Yes, that's right.
ME:  You mean.... me?!?!!???
WL:  [rolls eyes] Yes, you!!
ME:  Are you sure????  There must be some sort of mistake!!
WL:  No, no, it's you. 
[SPEV gazes off distractedly as the record player in her head starts up again - "You're the best... AROOOOUUND!!  NOTHIN'S GONNA EVER KEEP YOU DOOOWWNNN!!!!"]

Unfortunately, Andrea the Consultant was on holiday, and so I won't know more about it until next week.  I have no idea what it means, but the reports all seem to suggest that I will be getting a certificate, hopefully a shiny sticker and, most excitingly of all - A SASH!!!

That's right, all I'll need is a peaked hat and I could join International Rescue.

So, when I told the llamas, naturally they were all delighted and started leaping about (gambolling, even, I think you could say), doing back flips and Miguel even moonwalked down the street with happiness.  Our Joanna cried.  It was all very exciting.  The latest member of my dancing llama troupe, Pedro, called up one of his 'contacts' and actually arranged a float for the second fiesta!!!  I mean it's only a milk-float but you've got to take what you can get, right?

Without further ado - let's all shake our maracas, shimmy like we've no backbone and roll our Rs in a celebratory Latino fashion!!!!

Waahhooooo!!!!!  *shimmy*  *shake*  *wiggle*  *etc*

I'm amazed and shocked and... well...  Amazed.  I can't believe people actually voted for me.  I didn't think anyone noticed - I mean not even I've noticed!  I hope I don't have to say anything next week.

So, if you've not died of boredom yet, that's basically what's happened over the last couple of weeks, slimming-wise.  It didn't feel as though a lot went on - but clearly, it did!!  Fabulous.

I've got eight weigh-ins left before the Michael Nesmith concert.  I would love to have got my 5 stone award by then, and I'll certainly be working towards it.  I've done it four times before so I don't think it's exactly impossible.  But it'd still be nice to have done it by the time October 29th comes round.

Join me again - next time... whenever that might be.... maybe next week... when I might have something else to say.  Possibly....!!!

24 Toasters from Scunthorpe

Prizes will be handed out to anyone who gets the reference in today's blog title.  Answers to the usual address.

It's Wednesday.  Just over 24 hours to go and I'll be hopping back on those scales for the first time in three weeks. 

I.  Am.  Terrified.

What if I've thought I've been doing the right things for the last week or two and actually I haven't and I've put a couple of stone on?  Actually, is that biologically possible?  Even if it isn't I bet I probably still would!!

When you do something unpleasant on a regular basis, the pleasantness doesn't improve, because it's always a horrible thing to do, but the discomfort does subside a little because you're used to it.  I can't really think of anything nearly as unpleasant to willingly put oneself through aside from going to work every day.  You have to do it because otherwise you starve, it isn't pleasant but you go anyway, and then you usually find it isn't quite so hellish when you get there.  Unless you work for the NHS.  Fabulous institution, Britain's best idea by miles - absolutely terrible employer. 

I'm going off-topic.

My point is, I avoided scales like the plague until January, and then I've subsequently I've hopped on a pair every week for the last 26 weeks or so.  I never liked getting on the scales but it had become a slightly less scary prospect.  After 20 days away from the scales, half of which were spent mostly in blissful varying stages of inebriation - I have roughly the same desire to get back on the scales as a Death Row convict has when offered a seat a large chair near an electric switch.

But it's one of those things, isn't it?  I've got to do it otherwise I'll just slip back into the old routine, and I really don't want that.  I've come much too far now.  Or at least I think I have.  Who knows. 

What if the worst happens?  What if I do get on the scales tomorrow and even though I've reined it back in SO much over the last ten days I've still put weight on?  Am I going to give up?  Go back to how things used to be?  Think "I'll never get there" and cry for an hour?  Probably.  But then after I've cried for an hour I'll have a stern talk to myself, stop being weak and pathetic and get the hell back on it again.  Marathon.  Not a sprint.  I will get there.  Whether that happens this year or next year.  I gave myself 18 months to do this, and on June 3rd 2013 I will look completely different to how I looked on January 1st 2012.  I will.  I'll even post pictures to prove it.

Maybe!

Join me on Friday.  I will have got back on the scales and I'll know exactly what I'm working with.  The llamas are going to have a fiesta anyway because it's the Olympics and Ricardo has decided to try and campaign for 'fiesta-ing' to be an Olympic sport.  He's even designed Team GB's legwarmers for the Rio Olympics...

Swimmin' with the Wimmin'

So, the Olympics has started in London and everyone's mind is turning to all things sporty. 

Mine isn't.  Even though I've watched a lot of gymnastics (and fencing, swimming and... actually that's it, so far).  If I could back-flip, I have a feeling that I would never walk again.  A normal trip to the corner shop for a pint of milk would be a very different experience.  Or if I'd gone on a dead long walk and my legs got tired, I'd just walk on my hands instead.  I'd be triple somersaulting all over the flippin' (ha! see what I did there?!) place.  It must be nice to be a natural athlete.

The E Word keeps rearing its ugly head and I keep on avoiding it like the plague.  Due to my lack of car I do walk nearly everywhere - at least two miles a day, but I'm really starting to get the feeling that I have to do more.  I have arms that need unwobbling.  I have curves that need to look more curvy and less lumpy.  I have core muscles that need... er... coring. 

I'm bored already.  Exercise is for people without the capability to watch sport on television, surely?

I blame the plethora of exercise that's going on in the country right now.  Us sedentary chaps and chapesses are being made to feel guilty.  Look.  Some of us - like Bruce Springsteen - were born to run.  Some of us were born to get public transport instead - like me.

I keep being advised to take up swimming, but I feel this is the last thing I ought to do. For a start it will unquestionably involve, at some stage, the concept of me in a swimming costume. There is probably no sight more repugnant to the human race. Even the thought of it makes my blood run cold. Nobody needs to see that!  Eeesh!!!  The other problem with swimming is that I can't swim.  Which really is a problem that far exceeds any self-hate issues I happen to have running in conjunction with my lack of ability.  Besides, I'd end up with shoulders the size of a small child.  I don't need another hang-up about my physical appearance, thank you - I already have enough for two lifetimes!!

There'll be an activity out there that has my name on it.  Something that doesn't involve going outside, is a well known source of aerobic exercise and is utterly enjoyable and with purpose.  I know what you're all thinking.  And you're right.  I should really start dancing round the living room!  (What?!  What were you thinking?!)

I've been very good this weekend.  I've eaten a lot but it's all been the right sort of stuff.  I've also done a ton of decorating and loads more walking than usual.  That ought to do something for certain muscle groups.  Dunno what, like, but it ought to - I'm knackered.  It should at least improve my karate.  I've seen the Karate Kid (I'm referring to the real one and not the abysmal remake that Jackie Chan basically spent the whole film looking apologetic for.  And this is from the man who made Shanghai Knights!), I know how it works.  I bet I'm an expert now - I could take on ALL the Cobra Kai team and batter 'em!!  Just try coming at me!  Try it!! 

Actually - don't.  I'll most likely scream hysterically, fall to the floor and assume the foetal position.

I don't know what to think about the weight-loss thing at the moment, though.  It seems to me, whenever I think "Oooh, I dunno, I feel a bit podgier this week, I'm sure I've put on!  And how about that extra cup of coffee with milk I had on Tuesday morning?!" it turns out that I lose something ridiculous like 4lbs or so.  But when I've been mega-good and Synned like a nun at Lourdes, and thought to myself, "I've been dead good, I must've lost something this week!  I even feel thinner!" I end up either only losing half a pound or putting a bit of weight on or staying the same.  All I'm doing is following the plan exactly as I did on my first week back in January.  At the moment I'm simply aiming to still be the same weight as I was before my epic week of hedonism.  If I get a better result than that then I shall be chuffed, but I really don't want to get my hopes up.  I mean, I've been very good last week and am determined to be just as good this week, so, who knows.  If I can get as close as I can to my 4 stone mark by next Thursday I shall be more chuffed than the chuff of a chuff's chuff.  And we all know how chuffed they are!

Join me later on in the week for my pre-weigh in nervous breakdown.  It's been two weeks since I last went to Fat Club and I'm sure by Wednesdayish I shall be absolutely terrified about getting back on those there scales...  *wibble*

Full to Bursting

This is the happy predicament in which I find myself.

My cheating days are over.  I think that's what Kirsten Stewart said to Robert Pattinson (satire!).

I have to say, quite seriously now, that I love Slimming World.  For a person of the large persuasion who genuinely loves their food in all its glorious different guises, I'm pretty sure it's the only way.  Basically, the idea of it - for those who are lucky enough not to need to lose weight or those who have never heard of the plan before - is to fill up on foods with a lower density of calories (fruit, veg, rice, pasta, potatoes, lean meat etc) so that you basically don't really have a lot of room for foods with a high density of calories (chocolate, cakes, cheese, booze etc), but the diet is still flexible enough to allow some of those foods every day so (each food is appointed a 'Syn' value, and you're allowed between 10-15 'Syns' a day.  Not 100% sure of the reason for the purposeful misspelling, but I'm a Monkees fan, so I'll let it slide), theoretically, you don't get put off and you can feasibly just eat that way forever.  Which sounds perfectly logical. 

Doesn't it sound just TOO easy??  Yes.  Tell you what though - if you follow it, it works.  Just over 3 1/2 stone later, I'm proof of that.

The reason I mention it is because I'm in that glorious mood of post-lunch.   This lunchtime - and bearing in mind I am absolutely 100% hardcore on this diet right now - I managed to cheerfully plough my way through a jacket potato with baked beans, followed by a Vanilla/Chocolate sprinkles Mullerlight and half a canteloupe melon.  This was on the back of a breakfast consisting of two boiled eggs, a handful of cherries, a banana and an orange.  Stomach - full to capacity.  Syns consumed - 0.  Associated guilt regarding said full stomach - 0.  And don't worry, there's an apple in my bag for later on this afternoon so I will have actually had my five a day!!

Beat that, Weight Watchers.

I have no idea how it works.  But it does feel as though the more you eat, the more weight you lose.  I'm totally up for that. 

I won't be going to weigh-in tonight because there's stuff to do at Wainwright Towers that requires my constant presence.  However, I've had a bit of a conflab with Andrea the Consultant and I'll be back next week, and - hopefully - get my 4 stone shiny sticker and matching certificate.  I shall be working hard to get there.  I just hope it pays off.

The llamas (I know how much you all love them) are fine.  They've been taking it easy for the last few weeks, but they're back in training for next Friday's fiesta.  I've promised them a fiesta and if I don't deliver on it I think Enrique will keel over with worry.  That's right.  I'm not losing weight for my health, my appearance or my obsession with filling my wardrobe with dresses - I'm doing it for the llamas.  After the cannonball stunt of a few weeks ago, Miguel has finally recovered, the cast came off his leg last week and he's delighted - do you know how itchy llama legs get in plaster casts?  Neither do I, but the poor little fella was going mad with the itching.  Watch Rear Window with Jimmy Stewart, you'll get some idea of how Miguel felt.  I mean, with regard to having an itchy leg up to the hip in plaster, not with regard to inadvertently witnessing a murder when all he wanted to do was have a sneaky perve over the ballerina in the flat opposite.

Join me on Monday, if you like.  I don't know what news I'll have to report by then, but if I have any I promise you'll be the first to read about it!!!