I’m content to the point of SMUGNESS. Why? Why is this?
Well, firstly, I have just had lunch with lovely Ms G, who literally made my face ache with laughter. This should be sufficient to ensmugenate absolutely anybody.
But there are more reasons! Yes. The second is that, following about three, maybe four weeks of feeling unwell and being forced (FORCED) to eat mashed potato (FORCED!) and cheesy pasta (FORCED!!) and things because my throat was so incredibly painful (it was very painful, but I can’t really complain that I was forced to eat all those Revels. However, let’s slide it into accounts on the same spiritual expenses form and see if anyone notices), I weighed myself this morning, seriously expecting to have dolloped half a stone back on, minimum.
I was quite prepared, frankly, to have lost all the ground I had gained this year, because I gained that ground by being astoundingly, astoundingly strict. Really strict. “Strict” in a sense I have hitherto sensibly reserved for application to other people, not myself.
And you know what happens when you’re that strict and then suddenly you go back to your old ways. Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t die of junk food O.D. in the first week (there was a moment when I was sandwiched in a state of licentious ecstasy between two tubs of Häagen-Dazs, where I had a sugar rush so profound and evil, I suddenly did feel as if I was going to die. In fact I felt so awful, I threw out the ice-cream, and I really can’t look ice-cream in the face any more). I went off-road with gay abandon. I went off-road with no holds barred. I went off road in the sense of someone being dropped into the centre of the Rub al-Khali by a helicopter, with only a toothpick, an old umbrella, and the contents of the Tesco biscuit aisle to support them.
I went off-road the way I always do, my darling.
Well: I put half a pound on. Half a measly pound, so HA!
I’m back on the strict discipline as of yesterday. It seems easy, now.
Here, have a photograph of some of my massively gay cats: