The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Six in Scotland

Six years ago today I left Australia for sunny Scotland!

Leading up to our depature I grumbled, "If one more person tells me how they gained so much weight while living overseas, I will punch them in the face. If I'm to believe what I'm told, it rains pure beer in Edinburgh and the streets are paved with lard."

Well I can now say with certainty that you can lose and gain weight on any side of the world you fancy; lard is not discriminating! I've stacked it on Scotland and taken it back off. I've lost weight in Oz then gained 6 kilos on my three week visit in 2005. You can do it anywhere if you put your mind to it!

Eating Disorder Pigeon and Friends

There are two bird feeders  in our back yard. Not long after we moved in, Gareth appointed himself chief caretaker. He treats the birds very well, tut-tutting when they spill the seed boxes or crap in their water dish.

We first got addicted to bird watching during the lazy days between Christmas and New Year. Much of the scant daylight hours were spent by the windows with a cup of tea and a running commentary on the feathered soap opera.

I tend to view the world through my stomach so I was worried about the consequences of feeding the birds. Were they being fed elsewhere? Did they need any more food? Would our abundant bird buffet tempt them to eat more than they needed? Were birds in tune with their hunger signals? Did they have the power to eat to the point of satiety then fly away? Can you tell I was reading a lot of intuitive eating books last year?

Anyway, as it turned out, "eat like a bird" means different things to different kinds of birds.

This little robin is called Benito. He is the undisputed boss of the garden.

Benito is not a big eater; he seems quite indifferent to the food. But he objects to anyone else getting their beaks on "his" stash. He likes to sit on a fence post and survey his domain with his shrewd little eyes, daring other birds to come mess with him. He doesn't care how big or small they are; he'll take 'em on. The other day an innocent green finch hopped onto a feeder and Benito swooped right down and shoulder-barged him off the perch! I know birds don't really have shoulders but it's the best way of describing the violence of the manoeuvre. I can relate to this kind of territorial behaviour, especially if roast potatoes or chocolate rations are involved.

This teeny guy is a blue tit. He's a bit of a grazer. He starts with a nibble of Fat Snax - crusty balls of lard, seeds and insects. Then he'll have a go of the peanuts and finish with a few seeds. He's very brief and dainty about it.

The blackbird is quite similar in eating style except he stays at ground level and adds worms to the mix.

This pheasant is a weirdo. Pheasants are like Scotland's small answer to kangaroos. If you go for a nice Sunday drive, they will wait for the precise moment you drive past to hurl themselves onto the road.

Our backyard specimen hangs around the table like a dog, hoping for scraps. Every now and then he'll gaze longingly up at the feeders and give his wings a half-hearted flap, but then decides he's better off just waiting for someone else to drop something.

Then there are the rooks. They are the teenage boys of the garden - noisy, unwieldy and hanging about in gangs.

They do a lot of skulking.

And a mega load of eating. They batter the feeders until they topple to the ground, then scoff scoff scoff 'til every last seed is gone. Teenage boys in cheesy commercials for bread or crumpets or whatnot, clattering into the kitchen after school. I'm staaaaarving Mum, what's to eat? Except here the rooks don't bother to ask and I'm shouting out the window, "Slow down and leave some for everyone else, you greedy glossy bastards!"

Would you cop a load of the beak on this fella?

My favourite bird is the wood pigeon. One pigeon in particular. His name is Eating Disorder Pigeon.

EDP has a hunger that can never be satisfied. He visits multiple times a day and doesn't graze or nibble. He just eats and eats and eats. One day I watched him while eating too many Caramel Digestive biscuits and, perhaps longing for a kindred spirit, I thought there might be a touch of the compulsive about him.

When he perches on the water dish on his tiptoes (tipclaws?), sticks his head into the little window, the rest of the world ceases to exist. Benito pesters and the rooks squark but EDP does not budge. Once I timed him and he munched for 40 minutes straight.

I shouldn't project my own issues onto an innocent wee bird, but just say he does have food issues, are we enabling him with this constant seedy smorgasbord?

Or perhaps it's perfectly normal consumption for a bird of his size. Maybe he just really loves his food. In that case, what will he do when we move house in May? It's not like he can take up kickboxing to fill the food-shaped void in his life. Then again we're not the only middle class saddos with bird feeders in this village, so I'm sure he won't go hungry...

Now look at this blue tit watching EDP tuck into the lard ball. One might say the angle of that little blue head is totally judgmental, but that would be paranoid!

His Simple Proven Treatment

Getting on the internet is like ducking into the supermarket with the intention of simply buying the milk then getting on with your life, but always ending up in a random aisle with a trolley full of nonsense. Today I wandered from a Times article about the passing of Nicholas Hughes to an archived review of his mother Sylvia Plath's new book The Bell Jar, from January 1963.

On the same page was this review of an amazing new diet book! For what would January be without an Amazing New Diet Book, even way back in 1963?

Housekeeping

One day in the first weeks of Year Seven, or the Seventh Grade as you say in America, my English teacher said, "Today we're going to start with housekeeping."

I remember slamming down my pen and thinking, WHAT!? I'd finally made it to the big high school and now we were just going to clean the freaking classroom? My mother was a teacher (still is) so I'd spent many afternoons sharpening her pencils, filling up glue pots, tidying cupboards, pinning student drawings to notice boards and other acts of child slavery. I was very annoyed that this sort of shit was to go down at high school too.

But turned out housekeeping just meant administrative minutiae, like telling us when our assignments were due or when parent/teacher night was on. Fair enough then.

This is my lengthy way of saying that it's time for some blog housekeeping!

• Long time visitors may recall in 2006 I started a food blog in order to procrastinate from book writing. It died in the arse a few months later, but I've now incorporated all those entries into this blog. I like chucking in a recipe now and then without the pressure of having an actual food blog. So check out the Recipes category! Note: Some are not entirely diet friendly.
   
• I accidentally deleted a Reader Gallery email! I saw it in my Spam folder and meant to move it right away but got distracted so apologies... if you're out there Gallery Person, could you please resend?
   
• I wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who has taken the time to write or comment. Again I'm sorry for not always being able to respond in a timely manner. Replying to lovely emails could be a full time job in itself but peskily I already have one of those. However, please know that I devour every message and to help with your questions, I'm adding new bits to the Frequently Asked Questions all the time. I renamed the "Resources" link at the top of the page to the more obvious "Diet & Fitness Resources" as that page cover so many things I'm asked about.
   
• Speaking of FAQ, I have more Dietgirl By Request posts in the pipeline for the most frequent of FAQs, including the inevitable How do you stay motivated? I like to be helpful for the question-askers (?!) but it's also helpful for me to ponder these things, like the Cravings entry last week - it reminds me that I have come a long way and if I just listened to my own advice it's really not all entirely hopeless as it has felt lately. If you've got a burning question that's not been covered, feel free to leave it in the FAQ comments.
   
• If you fancy a slightly diluted Aussie accent squawking in your ears I was on the Livin' La Vida Low Carb Show last week, which was very kind of Jimmy Moore considering I'm not one to shy away from a loaf of bread. We had a great chat that covered faking a positive attitude, deciding on a goal weight and the joys and pitfalls of baring your soul online.

How do you fight cravings? - DG by Request

Cravings are best fought off with a stick. Preferably a big one, with metal spikes all over it.

The dictionary says a craving is, "an intense, urgent, or abnormal desire or longing."

That doesn't necessarily sound like a bad thing. I like intensity; I love to long. But your questions have been about the food-related cravings - the ones that possess your brain and make you want to eat way more than you need to.

Personally I've found that prevention is the best cure. As with many things, the key is to know thyself and be prepared...

(You know I really squirm writing this stuff sometimes. I mean what a lucky western world dilemma to have; the struggle not to eat too much food. Crikey.)

... It's much easier if I don't give the cravings a chance to start. This takes a lot of planning and forethought.

My appetite is a demanding toddler; it's first words were I want. It likes to throw itself down on a supermarket floor and make a scene. My brain is the appetite's weary mother. She carries a Handbag of Anticipation, bulging with tricks and treats and distractions. She tries to be ready for any stunt the little monkey might pull.

It all starts with breakfast. If I don't get that right I screw up the whole day. During the week I don't eat until I feel the first rumbles of hunger; between 10-11 AM. If I eat first thing as convention dictates, I'm munchy again by 10. So I figured I may as well wait until I'm properly hungry in the first place. A nice bonus is that this is the time when colleagues tend to make tea and open the biscuit tin. If I'm tucking into my breakfast then that's one Biscuit Battle that I don't have to worry about.

The breakfast itself must be good and satisfying. Right now I'm running on porridge/oatmeal. I zap it in the microwave before I leave the house and put it in a wee Thermos flask, so it's still hot when I eat it a couple of hours later. I pour it into the lid/cup with some tinned pears then sprinkle it with 10g muscovado sugar and 20g of almond butter, then stir it all up so it's nice and melty and dessert-y.

I could be sensible and just have the porridge and pears, but the extra 160 calories for the sugar and almond butter are well spent. That "hit" of caramelly sweetness and crunchy saltiness, is enough to keep me happy. I can get on with my work and ignore those chocolates sitting three feet from my desk that someone bought back from vacation.

I generally eat a late lunch, around 2 - 2.30PM, that way I've only got 2.5 - 3 hours to get through until home time (how bloody sad does that sound!?). If I make it a good one - last nights leftovers, a really interesting salad, or a baked potato with yummy toppings - then I'll cruise through with no urge to visit the biscuit tin or vending machine.

But as another layer of prevention I've always got snacks if I need them in a range of tastes and textures - savoury (a Babybel cheese), sweet (fruit or a cereal bar), crunchy/sweet (oatcakes with banana) and so on. So if I do start hankering for something I have all these levels of negotiation at my fingertips.

Dinner requires just as much thought. It works best if I plan a week in advance - what's happening this week? What evenings will I be out or working late? How energetic will I feel?

If I know I'm going to be tired and crabbit (which is 95% of the time at present) then I pick the easiest yet most satisfying meals. For example, tonight we are having these lovely huevos rancheros a la Smitten Kitchen. Easy to make, healthy enough with sufficient Delicious Factor to be looked forward to throughout the day.

If you don't have Food Issues that must sound so pathetic, but today sometime between 3 and 5PM I know I will think, "I can't be arsed going to Spinning, maybe I'll go straight home and stop into the shop for a wee bag of Kettle Chips". But since I am organised for once, I will be able to talk to myself: "Whoa there! You have huevos rancheros coming up! Melty cheesy goodness awaits. Go forth and spin!"

Evenings are another tough cookie; the post-dinner wilderness hours. Again, planning a satisfying dinner helps kill that off. If I make a "Communist dinner" as Gareth calls them - you know the more diet-y kind of dinners like stir fries that are very light and vegetabley - I try to make sure I've got something ready for when the kitchen-roaming feeling kicks in - a small chocolate bar, an individual portion of Nutella, etc etc. Anticipate, anticipate, anticipate.

If I think about it honestly, aside from when I'm pre-menstrual, most of my "cravings" are because I've let myself go too long between meals; or I'm stressed or cranky and convinced that food will make it better. It's when I've pulled back too far on calories and/or flavour in my general everyday eating, so it feels like I'm missing out on something. When I take the time to plan meals that soothe and satisfy my many teeth (sweet tooth, savoury tooth, sour tooth etc etc etc) and plan yummy things into my calories, then I don't feel so obsessed by food. The cravings don't have a chance to build.

So in summary this is what I find helpful:

• Know your moods and vulnerable times and try to anticipate/plan around them
• Plan meals that focus on satisfaction just as much as nutrition
• When a craving hits, try to listen to your body and figure out what's really going on
• Talk to yourself like a loony, all day long
• Accept that some days none of the above will work and you'll scoff everything...

(Like last week there were Viscount biscuits at work [the UK's noble attempt at a Mint Slice]. I did the talking to myself thing and chose the Healthy Option oatcakes on my desk. But then I ate three sodding Viscounts as well. Why oh why. Reboot computer, try again tomorrow. Pfft.)

... but that's cool as long as you move on as soon as possible.

As always the key is getting to know yourself and finding out what works for you. A spoonful of sugar in the morning might prevent my cravings, but it might trigger you to eat rubbish all day. It's taken me eight years to realise what works for me, with lots of failure along the way. And now that I reckon I've figured it out, I struggle every single day to actually put it into practice.

But it's worth the effort and almost fun putting yourself under the microscope, studying your habits and patterns. Once you know the beast you're dealing with, it's easier to work out how to tame it.

See also: Tricks and Treats - Guest post on Limes & Lycopene from last year

Almond Butter Hunt

Does anyone know of good purveyors of almond butter in the UK?

I bought three jars of Trader Joe's Crunchy Unsalted back in my suitcase from NYC and I'm onto the second jar already! I'm rationing it carefully but dreading the day when it's gone.

I could grind my own again but the little food processor would probably explode from the strain. The UK brands I've tried (Meridian, Biona) have a grainy, uninspired texture but the Trader Joes has fantastic stabby chunks of almond in it. God bless America. Sniff sniff.

Scared is a feeling, not a mandate

Here's a most excellent quote to ponder while I finish off the next entry and paddle in this bottomless pit of corporate ToDo and overwhelmedness while trying to remember that panicking gets you nowhere, tra la la la!

"Everyone gets scared before they try something new. By everyone I mean me, and I’m certain you are all exactly like me. But I do hear this from other people: They are scared to come to a class, scared to try a new activity, scared of me and my crazy talk, but odds are only one of those is really going to do lasting damage. Scared is a feeling, not a mandate. Be scared, try it anyway, yeah yeah. No one wants to look like a fool or take a risk, but odds are, most people are so absorbed in what they are doing, they won’t even see you, and besides, they probably feel the same way, so let’s all get huggy and be done with it."

Five things I learned as a trainer - the always brilliant Kelly, FitnessFixation.com [via Marla]

Scones, tea and AOL

Good morning AOL.com visitors - thank you for dropping by!

If you're not sure where to click first, you could peek inside my book The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl right here, watch me yabbering on about my lard-busting efforts on CBS The Early Show or check out some of my alleged best entries.

I've been in London this weekend, visiting my sister for her birthday. She had a gift voucher for afternoon tea at the very posh Dorchester Hotel. Unlike the snotty lady at the table beside us, I did not sigh and say airily, "I really just don't get hungry in the afternoons" when presented with French pastries and fresh scones with jam and clotted cream.

Why spend £40 on AFTERNOON TEA if you don't like to bloody eat in the afternoon? Sure I should probably walk home to Scotland to burn off the calories but life is for living! Nothing wrong with a little of what you fancy. Mmmm, macaron.

The First Taste

I'm lucky enough to have a photograph of the precise moment when I realised I was falling in lurve.

There's a bit in the Dietgirl book in which Gareth is the only non-Aussie at a tea party and bravely volunteers join in a Vegemite Taste Test (page 201, UK ed.). Our friends Jane and Rory wanted to see if I could tell the difference between Australia and New Zealand-manufactured Vegemite so they made up some sample sandwiches.

• Frame 1 - Tentative sniffing of the samples.
• Frame 2 - Shauna takes the exercise very seriously while Gareth seems nervous to dive in.
• Frame 3 - Gareth is a blur of shock and awe as he takes his first bite.
• Frame 4 - Shauna is triumphant after correctly identifying the Kiwi Vegemite, while Gareth reels from the flava.

I felt stupidly happy throughout the whole exercise, marveling at how the seating-arrangements gods had conspired to let Gareth sit next to me that afternoon when there was at least one other chair and a whole floor he could have sat on instead. I stole little glances at his lovely forearms, tried to understand his accent and wondered if it meant something that I didn't want to be anywhere else.

That was August 2003. Little did we know that just a month later Gareth would be a Vegemite addict and eat nothing but Vegemite on toast for a whole week after his PhD grant ran out. Little did we know that 18 months later we'd be married. SUCKAS!

Today is our fourth wedding anniversary and Dr G will no doubt spew at the cheese level of this post but... I still don't want to be anywhere else. And furthermore, Vegemite RULES and is an excellent source of Vitamin B. Hurrah!

Hundred Push Ups Challenge Fail

Rebecca was among the eagle-eyed folks who noticed I'd not mentioned the Hundred Push Ups Challenge (HPC) for almost... seven months!?

I failed, comrades. After doing Week Two six weeks in a row I chucked in the towel. The problem was the same one I mentioned in the last update: I didn't have "enough arms" to do the HPC three times a week as well as my weight training and kickboxing classes. We always do heaps of push ups at kickboxing and I hated looking pissweak in class because I'd fried my arms the night before doing the HPC. Kathryn nailed the feeling perfectly in the comments:

Yeah, got to save those arms. I hate it when you go to a class and it's like it's in a vacuum, no credit for the all the stuff you do outside of class!

But I've still made push up progress! I do most of my kickboxing class pushups on my toes coz the hard floor hurts my wimpy old knee. I do anywhere between 10-20 really good reps depending on conditions (energy level, wholesomeness of lunch, etc).

We do lots of torturous variations in class, such as wide, narrow, tricep, crucifix and clapping ones. You know where you lift your hands off the floor and clap like a seal? I cannot do those at all. I tried doing them kneeling on a mat, but instead of moving up and down I go backwards somehow, then I just flop like this:

Photo: D. Lewis

Meanwhile while I lay prone, the more advanced chicks in the team are doing push ups on their knuckles. They've got to toughen them up ready to BREAK BOARDS with their fists o' fury. Bloody hell. There is much to learn, grasshopper.

No Year's Resolutions Update #1

It's March 1 - do you know where your New Years Resolution is? How's that for crappy grammar?

One sixth of 2009 is gone already so it's high time I checked in with my new year's goals, a.k.a. the 2009 Minimum Standards Agreement.

Doing Orright

It's been a strange, sad week. Like everything is built on sand and liable to change at any moment. Friends have lost loved ones; there were redundancies at work today. Everyone has a story of something awful happening. Honestly, what the hell is going on with the world right now, eh?

But everyone is being very philosophical. At least we're alive! What more can you ask. We're doing orright. 

We've had minor bummer in that our landlord has sold our house and so we're searching for somewhere new to live again. I had a bit of strop when it happened but dudes... perspective. I choose to see this as an opportunity to stickybeak in other folks' houses and mock their taste in decor!

Gareth says every time he goes trudging up a Scottish hill he always thinks about how long the hills have been there, how many people have slogged up before him and how many summers his legs have left. It's a bittersweet feeling that makes you think carefully about what you do with your time and words and dreams.

The Mothership is getting married today. Just her and her fella Ray, down by a lake with a celebrant and a couple of witnesses. I know she wouldn't mind me mentioning it because she totally loves the spotlight. I can't help bawling as I type this; I'm so bloody happy for her that she's found someone to love who loves and respects her right back, in all her nutty lovely Mothershipness. Now there's a lady who knows how to bounce back and savour the hell out of every moment. Love you Ma.

Paranoia for Pudding

We'd just finished dessert (yogurt and fruit) but my stomach was still grumbling as I made us a cup of tea.

"Man... I could really go a teacake right now"

"What's a teacake?" asked Gareth.

"Kind of like a hot cross bun, but flatter and less spicy with lots of fruit."

"But you just had fruit."

I slowly set the teaspoon on the counter and turned to glare. "What's that supposed to mean?!"

"What do you mean, what's that supposed to mean?"

"I know that tone! It's the you've only just eaten and now you want MORE? tone!"

"There was no such tone!"

"You used the Mothership tone of implied gluttony!"

"I've only met your Mum three times, how could I know her tones?"

"Her tones are powerful and easily absorbed."

"You're so paranoid about food!"

"I thought you were having a go at me," I sniffed. "You weren't having a go at me?"

"Nooo!" he laughed.

"Oh." I resumed stirring the tea and pondered. "Hang on! Was your emphasis on the HAD? Like you were saying, but you only just HAD fruit; why would you want to consume even MORE fruit? Wouldn't you rather chocolate or sardines or something non-fruity?"

"Exactly!"

"Well. That's alright then!"

"Or biscuits. Have we got any biscuits?"

Hei Suomi!

Hello world! I know some folks get annoyed when I write about Book Stuff but I assure you this is the very last Dietgirl translation and it would be rude to give shoutouts to Germany and Norway then ignore poor old Finland. 

So... hello any Finns out there! I've already heard from some lovely Dieettitytön huimat seikkailut readers (thank you!) who said they particularly appreciated the passionate love story. Not Gareth, but rather Finnish chocolate. 

It was a brief but intense affair - just three days in Helsinki almost five years ago. But I still wake up drooling from Fazer chocolate dreams, especially the Tupla and Geisha bars. I think the chocolates got more adjectives in the book than poor Dr G.

Apart from the chocolate and the reindeer with mashed potatoes, my other lingering memory of Helsinki is of wind. Not the excess-broccoli-consumption kind, but rather the wild stuff that blows things over. I was still in my Avoiding Cameras phase back then so the only photographic evidence I've got is a self-portrait beneath the Sibelius Monument that still makes Dr G bust a gut laughing. A ferocious Finnish breeze is all you need for a stunning Flock of Seagulls hairstyle.

The book looks very cool - hardcover with lots of vowels. The acknowledgements are slightly confusing. In the UK version, I thanked Gareth in the last paragraph and ended with, "YOU RAWK" - the Finnish translation of this sentence is "SENKIN LIVERPOOL-FAN!" Very strange!

(Thank you Meri for your help with the entry title!)

Green News

1. I passed my Green Belt grading at kickboxing yesterday! It was hell! Sweet, punchy hell. It hurts to type now. I managed to screw up the bits that I'd been feeling confident about, and do well at the things I was worried about, which meant it all evened out nicely. Woohoo!
   
   Somehow in the sparring I managed to kick my opponent with my big toe, despite the gigantic padded Mickey Mouse shoes. It bent back very painfully. I still suck at sparring, but otherwise I'm on a total high and amazed at the power of the human brain to learn stuff. A few weeks ago I was chucking tantrums trying to do a spin kick but I managed six in a row yesterday. If only I could apply my kickboxing dedication to other aspects of my life I would be unstoppable. Limping and quite ineffectual in a dark alley... but otherwise unstoppable.
     
2. In other Green developments, last week I made The Best Broccoli Of Your Life, an Ina Garten recipe as seen on the Amateur Gourmet. People are so free and easy with superlatives these days... how many volumes of those Greatest Rock Album In The World... EVER! albums did they bring out in the 90s? But this easy recipe truly awesomizes broccoli - oven roasted with garlic then lashed with lemon zest and juice and a wee bit of Parmesan. The original calls for lots of olive oil but I only used a dribble and accidentally forgot the basil and pine nuts but it was still brilliant. Even Gareth who has just three adjectives to describe anything in this world (Not Bad, Pretty Good or Alright) went cuckoo. I cooked almost two pounds of broccoli and we guzzled the lot of it. Oh it was lick-the-bowl good. Let me know if you try it! Come join the broccoli cult!
   
   Warning: I know I said in the last entry that there's no need to worry; that your digestive system adjusts to a vegetarian diet. However, if you have never consumed a pound of broccoli in a oner before, you can expect the only thing you'll give your partner on Valentine's Day is the Gift of Fragrance.

How to eat less meat

There's been a glut of vegetarian questions lately...

(Edit: Well there WAS a glut of questions, back in freakin' May 2008 when I started writing this entry. Slackarse! I'm determined to finish today!)

... You've shacked up with one, you want to be one, you want to be a part-time one, or you just want to beat gas prices and find out if you can propel yourself to the office with your very own wind power.

Whatever your reasons for wanting to eat less/no meat - economical, ethical, environmental - your questions were about how to put that desire into practice:

• how do I change my diet?
• how do I make non-meat meals tasty and satisfying?
• what do I do with all those beans? 
• what about the FARTING?

As always I can only offer my own experiences and hope you might find something helpful there. Also, in the eons that have passed since I started this entry, I've noticed lots of bloggers talking about decreasing their meat consumption - so if anyone out there has some tips, feel free to join in!

I grew up on a farm where it was blasphemy not to eat meat every night. There was always half a cow in our freezer at least. I only knew one vegetarian, the lovely Carrie. We gave her a lot of hell about it at school. There was a range of vegetarian products in Australia that were all called Not-something. Not Burgers. Not Bacon. Not Dogs. Every time the poor girl grilled one up for lunch we'd all cackle, "How's your Not Burger?... NOT BAD?"

My meat consumption decreased sharply when I moved to Scotland, firstly for financial reasons. Then I hooked up with Vegetarian Gareth and when I moved in with him, he insisted I shouldn't change my diet on his account. But I found it more practical to cook one meal and enjoyed the culinary challenge. I also liked how vegetarian cooking usually resulted in less skanky pots to clean!

These days I treat meat and fish like I do chocolate  - they're Sometimes foods. I go for the best quality I can afford and try to be mindful of sustainability and origin and all that stuff.

So here's the step-by-step meat-reducing process I went through:

Fires

I've started a dozen blog entries over the past few days but writing about exercise and cravings and wobbly things feels so bloody ridiculous. It's still difficult to comprehend the scale of the fires in Victoria. Over here in the snow and grey you sometimes forget what a harsh country Australia is; how devastating a changing wind can be. My heart goes out to everyone affected.

• Loobylu has posted some links on how we can help
• Australian Red Cross appeal
• RSPCA bushfire appeal (thanks Miss T and ani pesto)
• OzBushfireAppeal shop on Etsy (via the lovely Flossy-P)
• Today I wish it were more - Fifi writes so beautifully
• There's thirsty koala footage all over the net right now; I saw this wee guy on Trish's site...

Hopelessly Devoated

This morning I noticed I'm about 50 grams away from finishing a kilogram box of oats. That feels like a wholesome achievement. I never got that feeling from polishing off half a pound of Cadbury's, for example. Hearing that last handful of grains swooshing round in the bottom of the box is very reassuring somehow.

Feeling a little quiet and reflective this week. Hiding away with my porridge and the snow and the latest Kate Atkinson book. And also cramming like a madwoman for the kickboxing grading next Sunday. I've got a gazillion posts to write so hope you'll stick around. A huge thanks for all your comments on the Bert Memorial Post... you guys know how to bring a tear or ten to the eye. Mum and Rhi appreciated it too... thank you again!

Our Bert

Before there was blog there was dog. Bert was my best mate and confidante. Back in high school we'd sit on the veranda and chat. The conversation was mostly non-verbal, with me telling him how school sucked or my parents were jerks or boys were evil (the usual teenage angst) then occasionally saying out loud, "So what do you reckon?" or "Isn't that right, B?" and he would yawn in agreement.

Bert was the runt of the litter. His siblings got shipped out to other farms and forged illustrious sheep-chasing careers, but he wasn't very bright and couldn't get the hang of it. So his job was to just hang around the house. He claimed a groovy 1940s armchair that I'd planned to take away to university, and dug a Bert-sized hole in the seat. When I'd arrived home from a shift at KFC, he'd hop off the chair and do that leisurely dog stretch as he wagged his tail expectantly. He loved leftover chicken nuggets and gravy.

He was not a traditionally handsome dog. About a decade ago he developed a bald patch on his head, then a bald streak right down his back. His snout was patchy and he lost half the fur on his tail. He did have a ridiculous thick, clown-like layer of fluff around his neck that was as coarse as a doormat. Of course we thought he was gorgeous.

His dilapidated exterior suited his personality. You couldn't do normal dog things like take him for a walk or introduce him to your friends. He basically hated everyone in the world except The Mothership, Rhiannon and me. He wasn't nasty or aggressive, just slightly batty. He was fiercely loyal to the three of us, and despite the lack of brains and brawn he made you feel safe and loved. Whenever we left the house he always did what Mum called The Lean, sidling up and pressing his scraggy wee body against your legs and refusing to budge, as if to say Don't go don't go! He was extra leany the day Rhi and I left Australia.

He was also entertaining. Mum used to live in a house with a walkway beside it. Bert would slink up to the tall wooden fence when he heard footsteps then wait for the best moment to pop his head over and let fly with a giant WOOOOF, scaring the bejesus out of innocent drunks and old ladies returning home with their shopping.

The Mothership called on Saturday to say had Bert passed away. He was an old man, fourteen or fifteen years old (no one can remember for sure) so the news shouldn't have come as a shock. But three of us are utterly devastated. I've been crying my guts out. At first I felt stupid for being such as mess but he's been part of our lives for so long, he has seen so much. He helped us through many tough times. We leaned on him as much as he literally leaned on us. Bert was a man you could trust.

We all hoped he would hold until our visit at Easter, but Mum thinks the heat became too much for his weary bones; the temperatures in her part of Australia were soaring over 40'C (104'F) all week. Or maybe when she told him he'd made his debut on American television he just thought, Well really... where could I go from here?!

The last time I saw Bert was October 2005. On the final day of our trip we did the Fat Jeans Photoshoot for a laugh. Mum kept saying he knew we were leaving, which is why he insisted on sneaking into every frame.

By then Bert was mellowing in his old age - he'd stopped barking at cars and had made friends with the guy who mowed the lawns. But he didn't think much of Gareth. He snarled upon introduction, then a few days later when Gareth was hanging washing on the line Bert wandered over and slowly opened his mouth then closed it again - there was an audible snapping sound, like a crocodile. We interpreted this as, Dude if I wasn't so old I'd totally go you.

After that Bert just ignored him completely. Here's Gareth after he climbed out of my old jeans. You can't see Bert's face but you can tell from the flattened ears that he is giving the stink eye.

Here he is doing two of his favourite things - getting a pat from The Mothership and also eating a lamb neck chop. Gareth threw him a bone in a final attempt at friendship. You could see the conflict in Bert's weary yellow eyes - I don't like this guy but I really love necks. He begrudgingly accepted and stalked off to a corner of the back yard.

Bert chilled even further in his last few years, to the point where he had walks on a leash, talked to other dogs and loved cuddles from small children. I had high hopes that he and Gareth would be good buddies after Easter. I'm so gutted that we missed him by two months. You don't always feel the miles with emails and Skype but right now Oz seems horribly far away. I can't believe he's not going be there waiting at the back door of The Mothership's house. It's just not going to be the same.

I miss you B-Dog. I can't believe I won't see you again. Wherever you are now, I sure hope you've been reunited with all your missing fur.

DG by Request: Why blog?

How boring would lard-busting be without blogging? Pretty bloody dull, I tells ya. I've had emails from new folks who saw the Early Show thingo and asked how they can start blogging, and also why one would want to pick up such a nerdy habit in the first place. I thought I would answer that here!