I feel the need to distract attention from my previous crass double entendre...
LOOK! OVER HERE! George Clooney in a tuxedo! Bearing a silver platter with a very special chocolate cake that cannot possibly do any damage to anyone's diet! And a glass of something or other that tastes dead good.
This week has been weird. I've been fed up and growly like a bear and sarcastic and thinking "will this wretched diet never end? NO! Because you let yourself turn into a fatar$e, you great idiot."
In the past this kind of thinking has inevitably led to a Chinese takeway as surely as the words "Paris Hilton" lead to the words "spoilt, airhead, paparazzi-bothering waste of skin".
I found myself falling into bad old habits. Feeling a sort of savage fedupness I scoffed my orange bar at 11am in the morning, thinking "I want this now and I am going to have it. And then later I will have exactly what I want, and stuff the diet"
Luckily sense kicked in on the way to Liverpool Street and all it meant was that I went from 11am to 9.50pm without anything else to eat. I wasn't hungry
(Hello, lovely ketosis, have I mentioned that if you were a fellow I would smooch you until I tickled your tonsils and I wouldn't even require that you buy me dinner first?) but it did make me think about the way I operate.
I don't just use food as a reward for myself, I use it to punish myself when I feel bad as well, eating more so I feel worse.
This is the point where I usually blow diets completely -- where it's all going well and I start to think that if I chuck one or two packets of crisps into the weekly mix it won't spoil anything.
And now we're running into Christmas dinner party season too. With nibbles. And wine. (Oh God. Somebody tie my hands to a chair. And not in the fun, kinky way.)
Look! George Clooney again!
