The Porn Window

Nope, still feeling lost and foggy and all to buggery in terms of motivation. Yes, still looking for a bulldozer, but on the other hand, when I got home last night in good time to bike....I simply couldn't be arsed when it came down to it. This of course is stupid stuff, and will probably have an impact on Tuesday. The moderately dangerous thing is that I'm on the verge of not caring whether it does or not.

That said, I've still got long-term plans for this experiment. As of last night, I decided to keep it going for a full half-stone beyond my target point of a nine-stone loss. It's what I call my 'porn window'.

Whaddaya mean, what's a porn window? There's not (at least) a man born who doesn't know what a porn window is...A porn window is the amount of leeway you give yourself for secret deviancy in any given over-arching time-period.

(Switches - very freaking importantly - to hypothetical mode!)

For instance, the amount of time between when your partner leaves the house in the morning, and the point at which YOU absolutely have to leave the house in the morning - that's your day's porn window.

(Reverts - less importantly - to personal experience mode)

So, I'm gonna deliberately carve myself a porn window in this experiment at the very very end of it, and I'm gonna slog my way at least seven pounds beyond my comfortable healthy weight. And why?

Because my wife bakes.
But she doesn't just bake - oh no. She gets full-colour, storylined and step-by-stepped, glossy, silky, illustrated food porn magazines sent to her through the post. Often with silicone appendages to help her in her quest for ultimate food-sluttery. In particular, at the moment, she subscribes to a Satanic bible known as Baked...and...Delicious.

Now, I want you to imagine something for me. Imagine you're lost on a desert island. Imagine you've been there for months on end, and are beginning to despair of ever getting off (so to speak). And then, one morning, preserved in plastic and pristine as the day they rolled off some greasy printer in a backstreet basement somewhere, six full-colour, glossy porn mags washed up on your beach.

What would YOU do?

I'd never cracked the cover of Baked and Delicious till I got home last night. And then I did. I'll tell you truly, without very very much shame, I was sniffing the pages by the end of it. Six issues, filled with Dundee Cake and Viennese Fingers (for which, right now, I'd happily kill a Viennese hobo), and Black Forest Swiss Roll, and Chocolate Melting Muffins, and Macarrons like B-movie flying saucers, lebkuchen, gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies, and so much else that I'm dribbling into my keyboard at the pale pale memories of those images.

Sp what I'm going to do...is get down to my ideal weight...and then push on for another seven whole pounds...and then goddammit, I'm going to have a food porn weekend like no other ever seen on this planet, and I'm going to fill my porn window with wanton, sweet, sticky, glorious experiences, and STILL be at my ideal weight...

Mmmm...you'll have to excuse me now, I have the office to myself, and what's the web for if not for porn-surfing...

Blood was 5.1 this morning, incidentally - clearly just THINKING about excess is relatively harmless...

Right?