No, still haven't put batteries in the Nazi Scales. Which is extra tricky because I'm either not that much heavier than last week, or significantly heavier than last week and damn close to where I started, depending on which faint, weak-ass signal of their forgetfulness we believe.
Weigh-in today put me as either:
19st 00 or
19st 1.25 or
19st 2.
Who the hell knows which if any of these are accurate? Must get round to buying batteries. Must do. Because, y'know, I so want to face the genuine music of my week of more or less exercise-freedom.
One thing I'll tell you - the propensity exists in me for a dangerous new routine. A Costa coffee shop has opened up just round the corner from me, and while I vow my unswerving loyalty to my particular Starbuckers, I also vow my increasing poverty, and it's a hell of a lot easier and cheaper to go round the corner for processed-sandwich lunch and coffee at Costa than it is to jump on a train and spend the day being all productive. In itself, that's probably not so bad, but it is rather facilitating my not-new but new-this-week habit (honestly, it must get exhausting listening to which particular pothole I've fallen down this week) of buying a bag of cashews and chomping my way through them as I plough through work towards a tight deadline.
Clearly, this needs to be stopped at some point soon, because whichever of the weigh-in numbers is actually accurate, it's not good. Also, I need to start biking more properly, and walking more properly again, to kick the living crap out of my metabolism and get it to remember its function.
Walking goooood. Cashews gorgeous little bastards, but basically a tiny individual sack of fat and calories.
When the Nazis get theire memory back, I promise I'll interrogate them in a more rigorous manner - three potential weigh-in figures is just ridiculous.
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