Around the World in 80 Minutes

Blood continues high. 6.4 yesterday, 6.4 this morning.
Went to Cardiff today...partly to take the advice of Ruth the demented spinner and get some proper spin shoes, and partly...
Sigh...
Partly cos I can't forgive the Olympic Torch.
Four years ago, the Olympic Torch did us wrong, dammit, and I don't know what to tell you...I'm still bitter about it, I guess. We did the "it'll be a once-in-lifetime thing" thing, went out on the streets of Stratford, wave our little flags and waited. And the Torch was diverted due to protests against China, the host nation. Then the day after the London Olympics was announced, people bombed the bejesus out of us. The Olympics brought us extra congestion, higher prices, more roadworks than the mind can comfortably conceive, and bastards by the million. So frankly, the Olympics can kiss my hairy fat ass. And then came the notice that, for reasons beyond my immediate comprehension, the Olympic Torch was coming through our town today.
"Sod that," I said, "let's get out of town..."
"Yeah," said d. "If the Torch wants to see us, it can come up to the balcony and knock on our door...right?"
So we went to Cardiff early. Too early for breakfast, as it happened. So by the time we paused for breath, it was nearly lunchtime. We decided to go buffet, at a place we hadn't been before. A ten-pound buffet from around the world...which meant platefuls of roast potatoes, chicken Korea, risotto and quesadillas.
I should say that before we left the house, I made the mistake of weighing, and discovered that, as last week, I was closer to 16 stone than anything else. So, faced with a round the world buffet including desserts, it would be fair to say I dived, Olympic swan style, off the cliff of rationality and hope, almost striving towards 16 stone with all my might. I had more desserts today than at any point in the last two years...as if to add a degree of sense to what felt like an inevitable Tuesday result.
"At least now, when it says I'm 16 stone again, it'll make sense," I rationalised. "cos it didn't..."
Of course, what you need when you're in that kind of self-deluding mood is a partner who'll tell your ass the truth.
"Yeah, it did," said d. "Need to get back to the old diet, the strict one, cos clearly that was working..."
"And clearly...this isn't," I acknowledged.
So come Tuesday, the Bitchy Old Days are here again. Strict planning, strict Perspex walls, strict bloody everything. What that means is a renaissance, starting the Disappearing all over again, probably from a four-and-a half stone marker point...halfway, in fact. There's a certain mathematical appeal to that idea. Not a culinary appeal...or an emotional appeal, but certainly a mathematical appeal...