Q&A

*mumble mumble*

What’s that Anna?

srywenquie

Louder?

I’m Sorry I went Quiet

Well done. And what else?

huh?

What else were you going to say to all the nice ladies and gentlemen?

oh.

Come on. We haven’t got all DAY, Anna. Get on with it or I’ll hide you behind a ‘read more’

I was BAD.

Well done. Now tell them what you did.

but but but but but but

TellThemWhatYouDID

I couldn’t write because I Went to Italy and I went to Crufts and I got really busy and I had loads of work on but also I hardly had time to go to the gym and I ate quite a lot of bad. Like cheese and pizza and cured meats bad. And pastries and ice cream. And booze. Just all kinds of bad.

And the rest ….

and I didn’t want to tell you because I thought it was embarrassing and then I didn’t want to weigh myself because I was scared and then I did weigh myself and I hadn’t put on any weight at all, which was totally flukey and then I was scared of telling you because it seemed really improbable and so I reckoned it must have only happened because of magic and I thought if I mentioned it out loud I might break the jinx.

And that was?

Quite stupid, yes.

And what are you going to do?

Am going to write more often and betterer.

Promise

Ysssss.

Good girl. Now you can go to bed. No, I promise I won’t murder you in your sleep now. You’ve done very well.

_____________________

God I’d be a really bad nanny.
Hello again. Sorry about that. Back now.

It would all be fine if it wasn’t for the booze

Which, now I say it out loud makes it sounds as if my diet would be all peaches and cream (no, wait, that would be a BAD diet) - as if my diet would be all oatmeal and apricots if it wasn’t for the nine pints of Guinness I put away every night. Which is, of course, not the case.
It’s eight pints.

Haha! Not really. I don’t drink pints anymore - or hardly often - because I know they’re very very bad, and contain four-hundred thousand empty calories. And for what? For the sake of a lovely fun evening with friends. Oh, no, that sounds nice. Hang on…

Alcohol. I likes it. And it’s taken me the longest time to work out that if I want to get this whole weightloss thing actually moving again, I’m going to have to cut it down to (basically) zero. Not zero. That would be ridiculous.

But basically zero. Because for me, it’s not JUST the empty calories in the alcohol that make the difference - and actually, I’m finding it hard to call them ‘empty’ calories because that doesn’t sound like they’re any fun - it’s the hangover points that make the difference…

Home-made brownies are not diet food.

If you’ve looked at my food diary for today, you’ll have noticed that I had 3 home-made peanut butter brownie squares for lunch AND 2 for my afternoon snack.

You will probably be thinking that I am a bit of a fuckwit. It’s hard to disagree, really. I could say that they are made with peanut butter and not chocolate, so have more protein in them than normal brownies, and that would be true, but it is also not the point. Somewhat more to the point is the fact that each brownie is barely 1 inch square, and therefore it wasn’t quite as much of a binge as some of you might be thinking.

Nonetheless, this wasn’t my best day on the nutrition front. It was, however, a good example of how easy it is to make stupid choices when you don’t plan ahead. The long and short of it is this: I made peanut butter brownies because it was a special occasion for someone at work and the peanut butter brownies make people very happy. I took them into work in a big cake tin and I confidently expected that they would all be gone by today. But this morning I left the house in a hurry and didn’t make myself lunch. When I got to work there were about fifteen brownies left. I had had a pretty filling breakfast and I didn’t feel like having a brownie, so I ignored them. As for lunch, I planned to go out and get some sushi later. Unfortunately, of course, I suddenly became very busy and couldn’t leave my desk to get lunch until about 4pm, which is waaaaay past the end of the lunch window in Central London. No lunch for YOU, sucker.

I was STARVING. I wanted lunch. Proper lunch. Carbs and protein and stuff. But there was no lunch. There was no food. There was, in short, nowhere to turn. Except, of course, towards the large tin of sweet, unusually proteinacious brownies on my desk.