Gillian McKeith Can Bugger Off!

This is Dr Gillian McKeith.

I assume that her expertise has never been imposed on the rest of the world (at least, I hope it hasn't), so, for international readers, DGMc was a TV dietitian.

She had her own show in which she would take someone who lived on diet of deep fried mars bars, and couldn't understand why they were fat, then make them poo in a box (POO. IN. A. BOX.) so she could analyse it, then tell them to eat broccoli and steamed rice, and then everyone would be surprised when the target lost weight.

Patronising cow.

A couple of weeks ago a couple of old friends came to stay. I have a photo in my kitchen of a gang of us at a wedding, taken about four years ago. Lorraine looked at the photo and observed that we'd all filled out a bit since then. Slightly indignantly, after they had left, I tried on the dress I wore to the wedding. I needed to prove her wrong. I Have Not Filled Out. Except that the zipper went about half way up and stuck. Clearly the zipper is broken.

With the last few days of lovely sunny weather, I've started putting woolly jumpers away and pulling summer skirts out, and it was with some disappointment that I realised that the zippers would probably be broken on a few of them too. And that my summer tops had probably shrunk in the wash.

So today I started a diet. A right proper diet. I can't do this by halves. If I tell myself that I'll cut back a bit, then I'll lie to myself and say that eating half a deep fried mars bar is clearly progress. So I'm properly calorie counting.

Oh. My. God. I'M BORED! Day one, and I'm climbing the walls! Plain porridge for breakfast, a tuna salad for lunch, and salmon risotto for dinner. Truth is that it's not wildly different from what I might have on a normal day, except that there have been no treats.

All I've been able able to think about all day is food. I've been able to smell it and hear it and see it all day. Even when it's not been there. I've had whole chunks of time when I've not been able to concentrate because I'm too busy thinking about cakes. Or sweets. Or chocolate. I have googled recipes, just so that I can read the words. It's like food porn.

At lunchtime through the week, I almost always have soup or a salad. I'm not a big sandwich fan. But today I hankered after rich creamy cheeses and fresh fluffy white bread. Real butter too, of course. Salted. Never unsalted. Never.

Dribble, dribble, dribble.

I need to snap out of it! I need to concentrate! I need to pull myself together and stop fantasising about food! I need to behave myself for long enough that the zippers on my clothes work again! I need to do this for myself before some crazy Scottish woman makes me poo in a box*.


* This post has enabled me to use the best post label ever.

A Weekend Of Two Halves

This was been a weekend of some length. Weekends are so much longer if they start on Friday, don't you think?

Actually, all of my weekends start on Friday. I only work Monday to Thursday, you see, and I have Fridays off to flex my creative muscles, and make jewellery. My Fridays usually end up being pretty chilled out and not wildly productive (that's our little secret). But this week, I had lots to do to get ready for the second, Open House weekend, as well as the prospect of a lovely house guest to look forward to.

So. I got up bright and early and got all my domestic drudgery out of the way, AND got to the caff for breakfast, AND dropped around to see Gorgeous Gillian (my Open House hostess with the mostess) all before the talented Mr London Street (and the most sophisticated crass man I know) arrived.

So, my Friday started with feelings of productivity.

There ensued a day of hard core jewellery making, cake baking, tea drinking, and conversation of the meandering kind that you can only enjoy with a good friend. (There was also an incident relating to the European Cheese On Toast Mountain, but the less said about that, the better).

My day continued with feelings of achievement (and mild indigestion).

And then a wonderful thing happened. In a moment of inspiration, MLS got on the dog and bone to his Mrs, the fagnificent Baglady, plotted and planned, and within a couple of hours, we were walking up to meet her off the train with an evening of high jinks planned.

The evening started with feelings of anticipation.

Aren't impromptu visits lovely? So much more, somehow, for their slightly cobbled together nature. Fun, I can report, was had. We managed to secure ourselves the last table at a fabulous local bistro and we ate and drank and ate and drank and ate a bit more, until it was coming out of our ears. Nom nom nom.

The evening ended with feelings of warm, satisfied fullness and well being (and a little bit of booziness).

Of course, evenings like this, which are a good idea at the time, sometimes seem rather indulgent the next morning, and so it was that our Saturday morning started slowly and carefully and with a bacon sandwiches and tea.

Saturday therefore awoke with a sense of wonder at the magical qualities of bacon and Earl Grey.

Saturday and Sunday was spent on Open House, which was, as last weekend, terrific fun. It's a pretty rare thing in London, in my humble opinion, to find myself a part of a thriving and vibrant community. I had no idea that there were so many very creative people doing such very diverse things within a mere hop of my front door.

And so it was that Sunday evening saw me feeling positive and inspired, optimistic and bright, upbeat and happy.

Until I checked my Blackberry when bad, but unspecified work related stuff happened (see comments below).

I went to bed last night feeling down trodden and worthless, agitated and unappreciated, foolish and naive.

After all the positivity of the weekend, I feel sad that one ill considered email sent by one man has killed my spirit. I feel sad that I've taken it to heart. I feel sad that I mind.

So, with this flatness in mind, I am collecting career suggestions. Answers on a postcard please, folks!