No no no, honestly, I haven't just dropped dead in a puddle of my own turkey-flavoured grimness. I am still here, it's just that the Christmas and New Year period seemed to blur into one massive ball of consumption and so far, 2015 has been marked by a distinct sense of 'What the hell?'
The weigh-in before the end of 2014 had me just a gnat's testicle the right side of 19 stone, at 18st 13.75. It's the Nazi Scales' equivalent of a mulligan, a kind of 'well not really, but go on then, since you begged so nicely and so long' gesture of clemency.
Needless to say, I saw the New Year in with a practical orgy of demented eating and doing precisely - and I do mean precisely - fuck-bollock-all in the way of exercise. That meant that this week's weigh-in was a less pleasing but altogether still quite kind 19st 2.25.
As December drew to a close I was thinking to myself 'Wellll, I'll go till after d's birthday on the 5th January, then I'll start being good again,' - thereby adding my once more not inconsiderable weight to the most bullshit cliche in the whole of dieting - the 'New Year, New You' fallacy.
Yesterday, my supposed start date, was different to the week that preceded it it, in precisely no regard whatsoever.
Today though, I was up early - well, early for me at the moment - and walked up a big-ass hill, only to meet my pal Rebecca for coffee at Costa, which probably more than outdid any good the walk may have done for me. Very generally speaking though, today has been a better day than any other since the start of 2015. Until d offered me a piece of 'birthday cake' - a Tesco sponge with a layer of hard frosting on top that turns out to be made entirely from chocolate and steel. It was practically unbreakable, but one should never underestimate the determination of a Fat Fuck with the potential of chocolate in their immediate future. So - a moment of weakness in an otherwise surprisingly not-bad day. Tomorrow, Starbucks - technically, should be a better day still. So let's see, shall we?
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