The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

What I Eat

Recently my gurning ginger mug appeared in the Washington Post, along with Deborah of Drop The Fork and Gerry of Disease Proof. Gerry contacted us afterwards asked if we'd fancy tracking our food and exercise for a week, to show what three different weight loss maintainers put away.

I hesitated before accepting his invitation. "What do you eat on a typical day?" is one of my most frequent of FAQs but it's always made me feel a little uncomfortable, because I don't really have a typical day and I'd hate for anyone to think it was any sort of blueprint for health. It all depends on what's in the cupboard, cravings du jour, level of fatigue/crankiness, etc.

I also know what I used to be like - trawling blogs and old copies of Slimming magazine for What Successful Losers Eat, seeking patterns and clues; as if searching for the Da Vinci Menu Plan that would unlock all the diet secrets of the universe. I can imagine me analysing my journal:

ME OF 2001:   She ate all that food?! And salmon two nights in a row? Chinese takeaway!? White basmati rice?

ME OF 2008:  [defensive screech] We'd run out of brown rice! I was desperate! The takeaway was Gareth's idea!*

[Cat fight]

(* Last Thursday night after measuring a couch at Steve's house [long story]  Gareth said unto me, "You know how you wrote that blog entry about being tired and hungry and convincing each other to eat dodgy dinners?" then I said, "Chinese takeaway. Woohoo!")

I'd hoped to be healthy and holy all week long, especially knowing there's at least two nutritionists reading this blog. But the end result was more realistic, honest and typical of how I eat -- mostly because I kept forgetting I'd be broadcasting my food intake until  after I'd wedged the spring roll/carrot cake into my mouth.

(I also kept forgetting to photograph my meals until it was too late. My sole contribution was a plate of lentil and tomato goo. Sorry for letting the team down, Gerry!)

So what can you tell from a week's worth of food? It's a snapshot in time. You can't see that the day before we started journaling, I walked up a big hill then scoffed fish, chips and mushy peas afterwards. You can't see that the day after we finished, I was lazy and ate a dozen shriveled almonds for brekkie.

However, it's a reasonable picture of how eat so I can feel:

• satisfied
• not enslaved to the stove
• fueled for exercise
• confident that I'll keep fitting into my clothes
• Balanced and SANE!

Other highly scientific conclusions from this experiment:

• There is tea running through my veins instead of blood
• If not tea, then plain yogurt
• Some days I am a beacon of virtue, some days I'm the opposite
• I eat a helluva lot of beans and lentils
• I am not bothered by repetition in my diet
• I am not bothered by repetition in my diet
• I! Love! Chocolate!

You can check out all three food journals on Disease Proof.

Moonwalk Training - 16 Miles Revisited

3 weeks to go. Arrgh!

Fuel

• Porridge and
• Toast
• Cuppa
• Litre of water
• An overwhelming desire to Just Get The Bastard Done ASAP so I could get on with the rest of my thrill-a-minute weekend, ie. paint the living room while listening to the cricket like a middle-aged middle-class fart. Zzzzz.

Route
Continuing the Just Get The Bastard Done theme, I chose the most straightforward route possible. There is a cycle track half a mile from our flat. It's the outdoor equivalent of a treadmill - dull and straight and predictable. There's markers every half mile and every kilometre. So I planned to walk down, crank out 7.5 miles, turn around, 7.5 miles back, plus the half mile back home for a total of 16.

But what I thought would be a chore turned out quite pleasant. I'd never gone further than four miles on the track before, so didn't realise after that it gets all green and leafy and serene...

And more importantly, plenty of places to hide if you're bursting on a pee.

Then it opens out into quiet fields with swaying crops. No car fumes, no traffic lights, no noise... just the occasional bit of motivational graffiti!

Mathematically Challenged
I was really firing along, counting down the half miles. Vun! Vun-Point-Five Miles! Two! Two-Point-Five Miles! AH HA HA! Then the half-mile markers just stopped at mile five for no good reason.

I switched to the kilometre markers. My arithmetic sucks at the best of times, let alone while walking like a demon. But thanks to the restorative powers of a Half A Snickers Bar, I worked out that 7.5 miles is 12-point-something kilometres. So I turned around at 12.

Then I needed to figure out how fast to walk a kilometre in order maintain a 15 minute mile pace. FAIL! I had to call Dr G for that one.

Give That Girl A Kicking
Right at the end I saw two Moonwalkers In Training in their official sexy pink tartan caps. They'd only just started; their water bottles were full and expressions were grim. So I don't know what part of my fatigued brain thought it would be a great idea to yell out, "I'm nearly finished!"

Once off the cycle track I headed for home, hobbling around a few extra blocks in case my calculations were crap. Luckily I did, as turns out 12 kilometres is only 7.45645431 miles so overall I would have been 0.0870914 miles short of the 16 miles. And we can't have that while training for a non-competitive charity event, CAN WE?!

Pain Report

• Right shin - excruciating for last five miles
• Feet - on fire for last hour
• Ears - random small child on tricycle accompanied me for a mile with her REALLY SQUEAKY WHEELS. My womb is so conflicted: one minute I'm all well aren't you a DELIGHT and the next I wanted to slash her pink plastic tyres.

Pace
16.1 miles (25.91km) in 04:01:00. Average pace 14:58 (4.01 mph)

That's more than 20 minutes faster than the previous 16 miler. I put that down to an obscenely huge breakfast and such unfathomable love for painting walls that you want to walk your arse back to the brush as swiftly as possible.

So I felt all speedy, smug and Sporty Spice... until I found out all my team members had done their walks even quicker. Bastards! I know it's not a race, I know it's just for charidee; I know they're not going to leave me behind on the night. But after all these years of sweat and toil I'm still stuck with my high school title of Slowest In The Group? I gotta find me some less speedy comrades. Hehe.

Inbox Update

Just a wee update on the email situation after the Mini Meltdown of March, when I was running round like a headless chook trying to fit in flat painting, book pimping, Moonwalking, bathing, etc.

I'm still bumbling along and still behind with emails. But progress has been made and I'm well down to double digits. As for the flat, there's just one more stinky little room to go. The whole operation would run more efficiently if I could write and paint at the same time. Or if I had a butler. "JEEVES! Take down this note!"

Thanks a bazillion to everyone who has taken the time to write and/or send photos for the Dietgirl Reader Gallery, you rawk! The Gallery is up to date now - in addition to the cat and assorted humans, we have a literate dog in our ranks! I'm crossing my fingers for a budgie or donkey next.

Going Solo

Do you think it's easier to stick with healthy eating when you're on your own, or with a partner?

(or sibling, housemate, etc)

I have pondered this one many times, especially since shacking up with the Scotsman. There are advantages and disadvantages with both...

Group Effort
Pros

• Somebody to share the cooking and cleaning
  I tend to do most of the cooking and Dr G does the cleaning up. It works for us - he chops vegetables too slowly for my liking; I leave too many "bits" on the dishes for his liking.
• Not wanting to look like a greedy lard arse
  Gareth doesn't pass judgement on what I eat, but I still feel less inclined to scarf down a third chocolate biscuit if there's other people around.

Cons

• Persuasion
  Despite my diligent menu planning, if either of us is tired or grumpy it can take very little cajoling to ditch the Plan and have cheese on toast or a takeaway.
• I'll have what he's having
  Gareth likes a quiet beer and a bag of crisps some evenings, and even though I'm not a beer and crisp person, I feel compelled to eat something just because he is. So there.
  
• Man Portions
  I still struggle with a childish sense of, "But but but! His slice of cake is bigger than MINE!" My body simply does not need as much food as Gareth's, but I still resent the fact and find it difficult not to dish up the same portions for myself.

Solo Efforts

Pros

• Simplicity
  I eat very simply when I'm on my own. Poached egg on toast. Fish or veggie burger with salad. I'll make a pot of soup and eat it four nights in a row. Mostly because I'm too lazy to make a mess of the kitchen! But also when Dr G is in the house I feel like I should make the meal more exciting and less snacky, despite him being a lot less bothered about what we eat for dinner than I am.
• Easy routines
  Gareth has been working away for a few days and as usual I've slipped into healthy little robot mode - packing my lunch the night before, organising my breakfast, cooking dinners for later in the week, doing all my planned exercise. When he's here, I can easily use him as an excuse. I often go looking for distractions - yapping away when I get home from work, asking him does he want a cuppa instead of doing my weights DVD... next thing it's 8PM and we can't be arsed cooking dinner.

Cons

• No witnesses
  There are times when I still wrestle with the old "Quick! Eat while noone's looking" mentality. As I said earlier, Gareth doesn't give a rats' what I eat, but there is something about being home alone that makes me look at the Hillwalking Snickers bars in the fridge that I can normally ignore and the wheels start turning... How many were there the other day? Would he notice if I ate one? Would I have time to replace it?!

Coming Down The Mountain

I bagged my second Munro yesterday! I was due to do another 16 miler for the Moonwalk but could not face plodding around the suburbia for hours. You know Moonwalk Fatigue has set in when you'd rather plod up a hill for hours instead.

3,231 feet of pure pleasure.

Our target was Ben Vorlich. There are two Ben Vorlichs in Scotland - we did the one near Loch Earn, known as The Easy Ben Vorlich. Lots of people scurry up the nearby Stuc a' Chroin afterwards to make a proper day of it, but one munro was day enough for me.

After all my Moonwalking, I'd forgotten what a hard and painful slog the hills are. Instead of chirpy podcasts the only soundtrack was the constant clobber of my heart and the slobber of my breath. I didn't need a heart rate monitor to know this was maximum exertion, baby!

But I felt pretty decent, and much faster than the first one nine months ago. It was actually enjoyable! Much of that was down to cooler weather and not being riddled with hay fever but some of it can be attributed to increased fitness. Yet still I was overtaken by:

• an old man with a limp
• an arthritic Labrador
• two small children
• petite lady with golfball perm and lurid tartan trousers who was at least seventy years old.

And a nutty dalmatian.

Ben Vorlich the Easy was also recommended by reader South American Slimmer last year, who said it was a good beginners munro with a clear path all the way to the top. If you're out there SAS, thank you from me and my Calves o' Fire!

The path was nice because you could always see how far you had to go. But it also sucked because you could always see how far you had to go.

Amazingly, I had a grand total of ZERO Whine Breaks on this walk. I blame the BBC - on Friday I watched a show called Beyond Boundaries: Across The Andes, in which teenagers with all sorts of disabilities trekked across Ecuador in treacherous conditions. They totally ruined my appetite for incessant complaining, what with all their inspiring toughness. 

Here's Doctor G giving a bewildered thumbs up, as it is the first time he's got so close to the top of a hill without being whacked by one of my walking poles.

"Wow!" he said when I finally reached the top, "You didn't threaten me with violence once!"

This is the pose I pulled when he said, "Look triumphant!" Part Edmund Hillary, part cheesy menswear catalogue.

Windswept with severe case of Beanie Hair.

Two munros down, 282 to go? I don't think so. I love the smugness and serenity of roaming the hills but have no desire to go beyond the novice ones. Going up is okay but I'm still not a fan of the descent. I had a minor freakout as we headed back down Ben Vorlich - it wasn't that steep but the loose rocks made me want to vomit and demand a helicopter rescue. It's completely irrational and I know I should trust gravity but... wah!

MULTIMEDIA BONUS: Gareth has reconstructed my tentative Coming Down The Mountain technique for your viewing pleasure.

 

Diary of a Deranged Dieter

It's easy to look at the Before and After photos and forget about all the wackiness that happened in between. But whenever I need reminding I look at my trusty Diet Diary of August 2004. Holy analogue angst, Batman.

I'd had a brainwave to keep a paper diary of my food-related thoughts and become more conscious of my scoffing. First I wrote down what I'd eaten, then I analysed my daily performance.

2004 was a transition year in the lard-busting process - sometimes I was too busy travelling and swooning over Dr G to care about my weight, but other times I was hitting new heights of scale obsession. It annoyed me that that my social life was slowing down my shrinkage. 

I was convinced the paper diary would be my saviour; The Very Thing to sort myself out Once And For All! It lasted all of two weeks. But it is bloody hilarious to read now; such desperation and bossiness. 26 going on 13. That's the beauty of diaries though - they're the perfect dumping ground for extremes of emotion.

It's a relief to see how my relationship with food and my body has finally mellowed and balanced out. It's sobering to remember how difficult it was to get there.

WARNING: ANGST AHEAD!
Not to mention shitty handwriting.

Exhibit A: Mantras
Don't remember actually chanting out loud, but evidently I was using envy and the snugness of my Enell sports bra as motivation. My sister was on a health kick at the time and I was spewingly jealous.

Mantras
- Would Rhiannon be eating that?
- think of yr jeans & yr sports bra

Exhibit B: The Twix
Why the hell was I angry at a supermarket!?

Bought Twix & scoffed even tho didn't really want
- was angry coz of supermarket!

Exhibit C: Hot Love
My job at the time was a hotbed of dietary temptation. Every morning the Hot Roll Man arrived with hot rolls and fresh scones and every morning I'd struggle to resist his siren call.

Carb craving. Hard to watch ppl eating scones, choccies, bacon rolls.
But I want to be smaller than I want that shite.

Exhibit D: A small victory

** RESISTED WORKPLACE CHOC! YAY ME! **

Exhibit E: Message from above?

Was going to have SCONE but they were sold out
IS THIS A SIGN?

Exhibit F: Longing
I was so obsessed with getting under 90 kilos, and felt like my lardy issues were a dirty secret.

I want to be an 80s girl.
I want to stop secret eating.
I want to be honest w/ G about my issues.

(I'm much more honest with Dr G these days. One of his nicknames for me is "Issues" Reid. Hehe.)

Exhibit G: Great Expectations
This was the last entry in the diary. I didn't realise how early on I'd pondered the Book Thing. And Gareth would have had a coronary had he known how early on I'd pondered the Marriage Thing!

What Do I Want?
- to be able to wear better clothes
- to write a book about my experiences
- to be able to wear something ultra foxy for possible VERY SPECIAL OCASSIONS!!

Moonwalk Training - 16 Miles

5 weeks to go

I was due a crappy training walk; things had been going far too smoothly!

Despite being well-fed and watered, my legs felt weak from mile three. The weather was strange too, humid and sticky like Sydney. Normally I just let my mind wander with the music and almost forget that I'm in motion, but on Saturday I was conscious of every step. I wanted to throw rocks at the runners who breezed past me, with their infuriating ability to run therefore covering distances in far shorter times.

I had to give up my usual obsession with Making Good Time and just plod. At mile eleven my calves seized up, it felt like I had tennis balls trapped under the skin. FLAMING tennis balls. With metal spikes. Mile twelve I considered taking a bus. Mile thirteen saw thunder and lightning. Then it poured rain for the last two. I thought about crawling on my hands and knees. When I finally got home I gingerly lowered myself onto the couch and did not move for three hours. Job done!

Another Case for the Time-Traveling Fat Detective
More fodder for my forthcoming blockbuster novels - The Mysterious Case of the Abandoned Lipstick. It was broken and floating in a puddle - L'Oreal Colour Riche in a pale, aloof shade. Probably fell from the handbag of a leggy blonde as she was stuffed into a dark Mercedes. Or some litterbug that needs a smack in the chops.

Pace
Urgh. 16 miles (25.75km) in 04:20:46. Average pace 16:16 (3.38 mph)

Observation
If you decide to empty your bladder in a deserted bit of wilderness, for goodness' sake check for nettles before you crouch down.

Not At All Half-Assed Interview with Jennette Fulda

In a crowded session at last year's BlogHer conference in Chicago, I sat next to Jennette Fulda, the famous PastaQueen. I couldn't focus on the panelists or the bizarre audience questions ("I've been blogging for a whole month. Why don't I have any readers? Where is my money?") as I was too busy marveling at how surreal the moment was. Just a few years earlier, the two of us would have taken up twice as much space.

I stole a sideways glance and noticed she had her legs crossed, too. Did she do that without thinking now? Or did she still feel a flutter of awe that such a simple movement was now possible?

I had a million questions for Jennette. Because how often do you meet another person who has lost half their body weight? Who also blogged and wrote a book about the process? Who also is a Scorpio? (hehe)

Jennette's book Half-Assed: A Weight Loss Memoir has just hit the shelves. It's an cracking read, beautifully written and brimming with Jennette's trademark wit. I developed a sore neck from nodding, relating so much to her experiences. But I also appreciated the differences - Jennette has an incredibly calm, level-headed and rational approach to life that I only wish I could relate to :)

Dietgirl is today's stop on Jennette's Blog Tour, so I finally got ask her a few nosy questions. Read on for the answers.

Hot Carb on Carb Action!

Not the best timing after a post about healthy food, but I have secured photographic proof of the wonder that is the great British chip butty for those of you who were curious.

(more hot greasy action over at WNP!)

I've also added a new page tentatively titled Useful Stuff. Basically I'm attempting to compile all the rockin' health and fitness websites and resources that have helped me over the years, so when people ask me about that sort of thing I can point to this page instead of drooling helplessly!

Make It Easy

The most excellent Kathryn Elliot at Limes & Lycopene confessed her hatred of stir-fries in an entry called, Do small impediments stop you from eating well?

"Don’t get me wrong stir-fries are a great meal and I love eating them. They’re quick, easy and healthy ... Plus we always have tofu and vegetables in the house, which are perfect stir-fry fodder. Our mid-week meals would be better and easier to prepare if I made more stir-fries.

Instead I hate and avoid cooking them.

There are lots of reasons for this.  I don’t think I cook them very well, we often run out of necessary condiments etc, etc.

But the real reason I don’t cook stir-fries is . . . I can’t stand cleaning the wok."

Rather than kidding herself that there would come a miraculous sunny day when wok cleaning suddenly appealed, she devised a different strategy - she steams her veg and grills her tofu then throws over a quick dressing.

I agree that it's often the small, seemingly trivial things that lead to less healthy choices. Kathryn gave examples like skipping brekkie because you didn't have milk in the house; raiding the vending machine because you forgot your afternoon snack.

Personally I've found eating well becomes easier if you're truly realistic. What fits into your life? What are your likes and dislikes? What can you manage without wanting to stab yourself with a fork? Some people wouldn't mind washing a wok but for others it could mean, Screw this! I'm dialling a pizza. (Not that Kathryn would do that, mind; being an ace nutritionist and all!)

I love food and I love cooking. In my fantasy life, I slave over complicated casseroles and ponce off to the farmers market to stroke the organic spinach. But in reality? I'm lazy, busy and irritable. And hungry. There's no point pretending otherwise; you just have to work around it.

So I have a list of about 20 easy meals in the back of my notebook. There's old Weight Watchers recipes, food blog recipes, soups, salads; things I swiped from Ready Steady Cook. Half of them aren't meals so much as assembling things. I use the list to plan our meals before doing the weekly online grocery shop. I take into account the Level of Busyness - what will I have time and energy to cook? What could I be arsed to peel or steam after work or kickboxing?

I chuck the notebook at Gareth and ask for his opinion. He says, I don't mind! You're in charge of Foods. I say, Just look at the damn LIST would you.

We debate for five minutes: Yep. Nope. Bored of that. Aye. Nope. Too hard. That one's good. Too much chopping. Too many utensils. Can't we just have CHIPS for dinner? No. Oh.

Right now, with the Kitchen of Chaos, it's about minimum effort. For example, in the past I've made falafels from scratch, blitzing chickpeas and herbs and whatnot. Currently the very thought of messy food processor and messy chickpea hands and messy frying pan makes me want to stick my head in the oven. So this week I bought ready-made, non-dodgy falafel that take ten minutes in the oven. Last night while they baked I slapped hummus, salad leaves, cucumber, cherry tomatoes and grated carrot on a wholemeal wrap. Then I plonked on the wee falafel... squeeze o' lemon... dinner in 15 minutes. Rock n roll.

In summary: Online shopping, a daggy old list and a strong sense of reality make it easier for me to do the healthy thing. It took a lot of time and effort to find my groove, and sometimes I still fall out of it. But when I screw I just return to the basic formula and soon enough we're rattling along again.

I realise this topic won't be particularly earth shattering for some, but I know from experience that eating healthy can feel like a royal palaver and totally overwhelming. Do you have any crafty strategies for eating well? Let's hear 'em!

UPDATE: Many people have requested a copy of The List - you can find it here.

Moonwalk Training - 14 Miles

6 weeks to go

An important part of my training has been numerical ignorance. As a metric Australian, I had no real concept of a mile. It was meaningless to me as a unit of measurement. So last year I signed up with great enthusiasm, unable to fathom 26.2 miles. 26.2 units of something didn't sound bad at all.

It's like when I first came to Scotland in 2003 and couldn't comprehend the pound. "£3 for a sandwich?" I'd say, "Sold!"

But of course the danger comes when you do the conversion. "Eight dollars for a shithouse mayo-drenched sandwich!? HIGHWAY ROBBERY!" (the exchange rate was particularly rubbish at the time).

Likewise, it occured to me recently that 26.2 miles is actually 42 kilometres. I know how far 42 kilometres is. I can relate that distance to places that I know. Suddenly the Moonwalk went from being a casual walk in the dark to: a bloody long way.

"That's like walking from Cowra to Canowindra and back!" I spluttered to Gareth. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

"From where to where?"

The next day I was telling my Aussie friend Jenny about the Moonwalk on the phone.

"42 kilometres?" she said, "That's like Cowra to Canowindra and back!"

Back to the training
Saturday's walk was 14 miles and it just about took the first mile to calculate that 14 miles was 22.5 kilometres. Man. That's soooo many numbers.

But the sky was gloomy and threatening so I trudged on regardless, trying to forget that I was walking to Canowindra.

Scenery
It was a long and lonely walk; I hardly saw a soul all afternoon. Just lots of rabbits and bees. Bees are so huge in this country. Australian bees, or at least the ones I've been stung by, are lean and mean. The British bees are round and furry. Like cockroaches wearing bee suits.

Soundtrack
Podcast-o-rama. Inspired by this list on Textism, I listened to The Bugle (with The Daily Show's John Oliver), This American Life, and Stephen Fry banging on about Oscar Wilde. All those intelligent folks made for a very smug and soothing walking experience.

Pain Report
The soles of my feet started to hurt around mile 10, and both knees were aching by mile 11. It wasn't an injured kind of pain, just the ache of fatigue and cannae-be-arsed-ness. I thought I'd collapse once I got back home, but I felt revitalised enough after a bottle of water to give the kitchen another coat of paint before dinner.

Pace
14.03 miles in 03:37:28. Average pace 15:30 (3.87 mph)

Tangent
All this walking makes me HUNGRY. I wouldn't advise getting into this sort of caper if you think it'll make you lose weight. In April I walked 78 miles, plus weekly kickboxing and Spinning and twice-weekly weight training. In between? I ate. And ate and ate and ate.

Somehow it all balanced as my weight stayed the same and my flesh is still safely contained by my jeans. But I wonder how I'd have reacted to all this training a couple of years ago, when I was still gung-ho about weight loss and scale numbers. Right now my motivation is to get fitter and stronger so I'm willing to listen to my body if it says, "GIMME FOOD!" But back then I think the raging appetite and weight fluctuations would have truly messed with my head.

Feats of Strength and Stupidity

I've been feeling kinda strong and feisty lately with all my kickboxing and weight training, and last night I gave Gareth a stunning demonstration. He was checking the kitchen floor for loose tiles and asked if I could help him move the washing machine. Two minute job, nae bother.

Separate laundries, a.k.a. utility rooms, are not common on the tiny isles of Britain. At least not in our sector of the housing market. So the washing machine is usually in the kitchen, wedged under the counter.

Ours machine is clunky and heavy so shifting it is a two man job. But I wanted to prove my brute strength and usefulness so I started dragging it out myself.

"Whoa!" said Dr G, "Nice one, She-Ra!"

I beamed.

"Can you just move it a little bit more to the right?"

I tugged with a Monica Seles urrrghhhh. There was a CRACK. Then a whoooosh. Then Gareth was almost knocked off his feet by the mighty jet of water that shot straight into his belly.

"You broke the hose! Turnitoff turnitoff turnitoff!"

"What? How? Where!?" I helpfully threw my hands in the air.

The severed hose writhed and the water spewed, rapidly flooding our stupid little kitchen. Gareth fought his way to the cupboard under the sink. Washing powder, garbage bags, shoe polish and sponges plopped into the water as he dug around for the switch.

Finally there was silence.

"I'll get a towel," I said.

"This has done nothing to improve your reputation for having No Practical Skills."

"This wouldn't have happened if we lived in a civilised country where laundries are not just for a privileged few!"

So apparently the hose is attached to the washing machine with a screwy-in-thingy and the screwy-in-thingy snapped right in half. Hopefully I can track down a new hose soon as it would be nice to wash the 27 towels it took to soak up the chaos.

"What were you trying to do there?" Gareth was laughing, despite being soaked to the bone, "You're always so violent. No more kickboxing for you!"

It seems funny now but last night it felt like the straw that soaked the camel's back. I  wanted to throw myself into the puddle and thrash like a toddler. This Fixing Up The Flat bollocks is getting old. Why does Two Minute Job task turn into an ordeal? Why can't we just live in a dorm with a futon and a cardboard box?

I think Dr G has had enough too, going by his expression when he sat down on the couch last night and stretched his feet out under the coffee table, only to smash his toes against the microwave I'd neatly stowed there. Mess! Destruction! Trip hazards! Floods! Enough!

And what the hell does this have to do with weight loss, you may ask. Well. Perhaps we could fashion yet another weight loss analogy. Weight loss is like moving a washing machine because... people will tell you that it'll be be quick and easy and painless but the reality can be very very messy and make you very very cranky.