Snacking: The Death of Me

Due to my obsession with crisps and other savoury snacks, I have had to implement a ban on them outside the weekend. This was very difficult for me, but it seriously needed to be done, and the conversation below kinda nudged me in that direction…

Me: Cock, I shouldn't have eaten those peanuts… but I was hungry.
BF: Er, where did those peanuts come from?
Me: I bought them today when I was in Tesco.
BF: I thought you only went to Tesco to buy a can of sweetcorn?
Me: Well, yes, but then I saw these were on deal in the snack aisle…
BF: But why were you in the snack aisle?
Me: (Getting irritated) Well, I was wandering round all the aisles... 
BF: But why wer… Ohhhhhhhhh. This is what you do, isn't it? 
Me: What?
BF: Well, I hate food shopping, so when I go to a supermarket, I just want to get my item, and get out as quickly as possible. You actually like food shopping, so you wander around the WHOLE shop.
Me: Yeah… but I still shouldn't have bought those peanuts.
BF: No, you shouldn't have.
Me: Hmmm.

I don't know if this makes my BF sound like a hard-arse, but he really isn't… Well, sometimes, but not on this occasion! I was starting to get irritated with his questions, but I genuinely hadn't realised how differently we view going food shopping. From my perspective, it was a bit "DUDE! Why the fuck wouldn't I be wandering around the whole shop?? What if I see something amazing I want to try? What if something is cheap?". But it's his idea of absolute hell. That is why I am a foodie and he is not. He is very much a 'work to live, eat to live' kinda guy. And whilst he does very much enjoy eating a piece of delicious fridge cake or a really tasty burger, he doesn't live for it the way I do. And so comes the second issue with my rampant snack addiction — I end up roping him into it too. 

For a number of weeks, I got into the bad habit of having a little snack whilst cooking dinner. I am always (psychologically) starving when I get in, and I am straight in the cupboard, grabbing the nearest bag of sharer crisps. I know I'm not supposed to eat them, but how can I alleviate this awful guilt? I know — "Hey, do you want some crisps…?". To be fair, the answer is quite often "No thanks, I'm alright", but I know that once he comes into the kitchen and sees me munching on them, he will grab one, just for a taste. Then he will grab the bag out of my hand, and then eat quite a lot of them. Guilt alleviated.

Now, anyone who knows my BF will know that he is of slim frame. Hell, until last year or so he was wearing clothes that were sized 'XS', whereas now he is just 'S'. But BF also has the fastest metabolism ever. I mean, it's not good to eat loads of crap, but if anyone's body can take it, his can. But I don't want my bad eating habits rubbing off on him. It's not fair, especially as he wouldn't even buy bad stuff in the first place. So, to address this, I've tried to have a weekday snack ban. I can't cut them out, but I can save them as a treat to look forward to, as can he, because I really I don't want to be his feeder.

Strangely, I do seem to be sticking to my new rule. I managed to not go mental in Sainsbury's on a fast day (not quite sure how, but I did!) which just required a lot of breathing and a 'think of the bigger picture' mantra. But one day this week I was really tired. Inexplicably tired. I still have absolutely no idea what was wrong with me, but I don't remember ever feeling that tired after a day's work. My eyeballs were hurting, I had a headache, and I really struggled to stay awake at work or on the bus. However, on my way home, I found myself slowly-but-surely being drawn towards the bright green lights of one of my favourite supermarkets — Waitrose.

Now, I don't actually have a MASSIVE love for it, but you don't see a Waitrose that often, do you? So when you see one, it's a bit exciting because you know that whilst everything will be overpriced, it will all be delicious. So in I went, lurching around like a zombie until I hit the snack aisle. I have to say, I was rather impressed with my willpower at this point, because somehow I managed to leave not with a bagful of fancy cheese crackers or makhni poppadoms, but with some low fat breadsticks, a jar of chilli pickled onions and a really bizarre chorizo jam. I KNOW.

Some of you might say "Well, if you had true will power, you wouldn't have gone inside in the first place". To you people, I say "Fuck off". This is my journey. For me, that was pretty fucking restrained. Low fat breadsticks are not fun, so I knew I wouldn't eat a lot of them. Also, pickled onions would provide that salty, spicy hit I am always looking for when I get in, but with a trillionth less of the calories. The chorizo jam, well, that just seemed like a fun and interesting item to try. And it was, as you can see from the packaging! 

It took me ages to get the 'Eat 17' reference… Nob.

I would recommend it. They also do a bacon version that I could be tempted with, although £3 a pop for quite a small jar is a bit much. Maybe it would make a good gift. 

So, with all this being good and snack-cutting-down and weight-lifting and exercise-biking, one would think I would have lost some weight. Or one would think I would have at least stayed the same. But no motherfuckers — I WENT UP TWO CUNTING POUNDS. Now, if I hadn't read this article on Nerd Fitness (excellent site by the way) I think I would have been quite upset. Also, I know when I've had a shit week, and this really wasn't one, so I definitely don't believe I have just piled on 2lbs of pure fat. Heck, I didn't diet AT ALL during Christmas and I only put on 3lbs! So this is bollocks. However, I also don't think I've put on 2lbs of muscle either (though that would be fucking sweet!). So it's probably a combination of water weight and muscle. But mainly water, probably. I hope. However, seeing as I have about 25lbs to lose, I will be keeping an eye on my weight just to make sure it doesn't keep going up — that would be bad! Maybe it's finally time to pay attention to the body fat read-out on the scales…

In other news, I'm really enjoying being aware of my muscles and the feel of a post-workout ache. I can feel my muscles getting bigger and stronger with each session, so whether the scales go up or down, I know for a fact that changes are taking place. Now I just need the fat to fuck off from my body so I can reveal the Xena-Warrior-Princess physique that I am clearly hiding under all this chub.

Oh Thank Fuck

This is exactly what my BF was thinking when I stepped off the scales this weekend and delivered my weight loss news to him. All week I have been waffling on about how good I've been and how well I have stuck to my calories, so if I hadn't lost, I'm not sure he knew how he was going to handle the emotional fallout that would almost certainly follow.

Luckily, weight loss this week was just over 1.5lbs, which I am massively pleased with. I didn't quite do as much exercise as I did the week before, but having tested out my new weights routine, I have now worked out a nice weekly schedule that — for the first time ever — actually excites me a bit. I have been groaning a lot this week — hamstrings, glutes and abs have all been put through their paces and I have really felt the burn. I might be expecting slightly unrealistic results from this new weights venture, so I'm trying to not to get overexcited, but it is nice to feel positive for a change.

I have found the weekly graphs on MFP to be very handy in the last few weeks, for one quite important reason : the average daily calorie intake graph. This has been invaluable to me recently, as if you do go over your suggested calorie intake for the day (which I ALWAYS do on the weekend because I am a human being who wants to enjoy life), you can work out how to rectify the damage, whether it's by eating less another day, having a fast day (which I am properly doing again, thank fuck) or chucking in some extra exercise. It does stop you from going too mental in the kitchen, although it has not stopped me from eating a shit-tonne of marzipan. Yup, I've had it in the kitchen since Christmas and it seems to be a regular accompaniment to a cup of tea these days. I can't bring myself to throw it away, nor can I stop eating it! Also, BF is annoyed with its presence because the yellow foil keeps making him think we have a packet of custard creams, only to discover it is squidgy, smelly, disgusting marzipan (in his opinion).

[Oh my god — I was actually just frantically searching around my desk for the small piece of cereal bar I had just put down and was genuinely shocked when I realised I had just eaten it… WHAT WILL BECOME OF ME???]

I saw my lady-friends for dinner this week, and I made sure I had planned my potential food options before I even got to the restaurant. I turned up a bit late and they were all, "Oh no, you're going to take ages looking through the menu now, aren't you?" (they know what I am like with too much choice) but I already knew what I was having (steak salad with fries on the side) and I knew it was within my allowance — BOO-YA! I can't lie and say I wasn't tempted to just order something huge and cheesy (we were in a fucking Frankie & Benny's after all!) but I knew that it would make me feel like absolute shit after. So I settled for having a bit of mayo with my chips and scraping the whipped cream off my friend's milkshake — oo-er! (We're a very close bunch.)

Begrudgingly, I am also adding up every bastard thing that passes my lips on the weekends, which I never used to do, but I have realised it gives me a better gauge of how the week might pan out. Looking at Saturday just gone, I had better exercise my arse off or prepare for a gain next weigh day, because it turns out I ate 3000 calories in one evening… That sounds terribly disgusting, but there is no way you can go to a Deep South restaurant with friends and have a nice dinner with lots of alcohol on a calorie budget of 1290 — jog on mate, seriously. (I have been THAT person who is sitting with a bowl of salad and tap water, looking miserable as fucking sin. I would rather eat the good food and then exercise it off.)  The best you can hope for in that situation is that the food was worth it, which it was. We had lots of delicious starters (chicken wings, shrimp, jalapeno poppers), followed by ribs, fries and coleslaw, which was then topped off with a lychee martini. And when I say 'a', I obviously mean 'three', plus a beer, plus another cocktail. Well, we didn't have dessert, did we?? Anyway, fuck off — I saved 250 calories on Sunday night, so there.

I am no longer setting myself any short term goals, such as "be 10st by my birthday". I never fucking hit them, and then I just feel like a massive loser, and then I go drown in a box of Krispy Kremes. Followed by chips, followed by pizza, followed by Jam Mallows. I am just going to stick with what I am doing, make minor adjustments and just make sure the trend is generally downwards. It's boring, but I think it's sensible for me.

Oh, I forgot to to say — my new favourite activity is punching my tensed-thigh, watching how less and less of it is jiggling with every passing week and then shouting "GRRRRRR!".

Blog post done.

Getting There… Really Fucking Slowly

Yo peeps. Told you I was going to get back back on the blogging train, so here I am! It has taken a bit of effort to be honest, but you know what they say — it's not worth having if it's easy… yadah yadah. 

OK, so for a second week I have lost weight, which is good news. It wasn't an awful lot, to be fair (0.6lbs), but it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, as my dad always says. I also did 30mins of exercise every day except Saturday, so I'm pleased about that. It definitely helps that when I lean forward for my fast intervals on the exercise bike, my thighs nudge my stomach, which is sure to get any girl spinning hard! I've managed to get up to 12.5k in distance, so I will just keep trying to improve that. Although one thing that is worrying me slightly is the increasing size of my quad muscles. They are starting to bulge, people — I can see the corners of them sticking out through my leggings! I know I am not going to turn into Chris Hoy overnight, but I do have concerns, as I can build muscle pretty easily. Hmm, I really should do something with that…

Speaking of getting tonk, I have also found a new weights routine that I want to start — this was the website if you are interested: http://www.niashanks.com/. I was going to start it next week (new for February), but I literally have just decided (whilst typing this up) that I am going to start it tomorrow. The sooner the better, surely? Plus, I might need a week to tinker with it as it involves barbells and all sorts, which should make for some amusing stories if nothing else. I must remember to not load them up too heavy, as when I first tried using a barbell I damaged my back by lifting a little too much. Yup lady-bros — I am quite strong! Even the BF is surprised at my strength when I'm trying to stop him doing non-sexual wrestling moves on me. Although I have had to tap out on several occasions, followed by some teariness.

BF and I went to our local Wetherspoons this weekend and ended up eating there, and it was quite a pleasant surprise to see that their menu has the calorific value of every single dish beside it. I was quite impressed, and it did actually steer me away from their hot dog section (DAMMIT!). It also meant I couldn't lie to BF about my choice being healthy when it blatantly isn't, not that I EVER do that, of course. 

I love highlighting.

We also had a rather strange discussion about my weight chart on the Bakerloo line, which is so fucking noisy that half of bloody London must know how much I weigh. Now, anyone who knows me will know I always make a new weight chart every time I start a new diet. It's an obsession. In fact, if I put as much time and effort into actually losing weight rather than faffing with a variety of weight-loss printouts, I would be a size 8 by now. True story. The issue I have with my scales is that they give me my weight in stones, then pounds, and then some decimalisation, which I find weird. Surely it should then be in ounces? I think the main problem is that at WW, the scales would only ever round to a half pound, which keeps things nice and simple when you write them in your little book. But now my home scales go 11st 10lbs 0.7 = what the fuck is that??? It's not a full pound, it's not half a pound, so how do I chart it? Only shade in half a square? Although BF did point out that ounces would be even more complicated, so I guess I just wish my scales would round up/down to something meaningful. I just feel that if I round up, it's cheating, and if I round down it's disheartening. And I can't change it to kilos, becuase when it comes to my fatness, I think in stones (thank you WW). BF did say I had no business charting a loss of 0.2lbs (FUCK YOU BUDDY!), but I like to because it just feels like things are moving in the right direction at least. So above is my new double chart (one for actual weight loss, one for a nice round number guide). It's mainly necessary because I don't seem to be able to do basic maths. Needless to say, I have never completed a chart, ever… BUT THIS COULD BE THE ONE! It could be. 

In other news, you know you get those selfies where people take a picture of themselves but don't notice something weird in the background? Well, that TOTALLY happened to me last week. I wanted to show my sister what a difference wearing under-eye concealer makes, so as I was doing my make-up in the morning (which I always do without any clothes on — sorry for the imagery everyone) I took a picture of myself shoulders up. I looked at it and thought "Phew, no-one can see my nakedness anywhere — that would have been bad!". Great. Went to my mum's that evening and got the picture out and something made me just check it one more time before I showed my sister… AND THANK FUCK I DID. I don't know how I missed it the first time, but I looked at the picture and you could CLEARLY see the reflection of my fat, naked back in the mirror behind me, PLUS some boob. It was not flattering. There were fat rolls. There was my broad back. It looked like a walrus with big hair was sitting upright on my bed. If my mum had seen that — and those of you that have met my mother know what I am talking about — she would have never, ever, EVER let me live it down. So, I just put my phone away and did a demonstration on my sister's own dark circles, which was probably more effective anyway. 

I went a bit over my average daily calories last week, so this week I'm going to really try to keep the average down, and hopefully see a better loss this week. Unless my new weights routine has me looking all pumped-yet-fat, in which case, we will have a problem…

 

Week 18 : Back To Where I Was 12 FUCKING WEEKS AGO… Crap.

It sounds like I'm moaning, but I'm not really. I was fairly happy until I realised that I have been up and down for the last 12 weeks, and that I was this fucking weight in Week 6. That was a bit galling, if I'm honest. But what's done is done now. Can't cry over spilt chips and all that. (Even though I would proper bawl in that situation.)

So this week, I was fuelled by the loss of the past two weeks, which was a really nice feeling and is what good weight loss should be about. Last week I decided that I wouldn't be doing a fasting week, I would just be trying to keep an eye on it and exercise. 

On Monday, I headed up to Westfield (a massive shopping centre in West London) for a shopping trip with the BF. Of course, we don't actually shop together — that would be suicide (or murder, depending on how badly it went). We go our separate ways and meet up for food/advice. Seeing as we got there at lunch time, we started with some food (YESSSS!) so I had a very nice Lebanese wrap with fries, and then off I went to buy some knee high boots. Fuck me — there was nothing I particularly liked, and everything cost about £100. I wandered in and out of clothes shops as well, trying on the odd dress (MASSIVE mistake) and by the time we met up again for a sugary afternoon snack, it only took about three sips of tea before I started crying. In public. In the middle of Westfield. I know... I shouldn't have tried on any clothes, because I just felt so fat in all of them. And I definitely looked fat in all of them too. The boot shopping had also been unfruitful, so blurting out "I hate shopping so much. I really fucking hate it…" through tears and sniffs was the only thing I had the energy left to do. BF was excellent and talked me through it — he really is very good at helping me, I must say, especially in shopping-related incidents (he is a hardcore shopper). We worked out that I hate all my clothes and don't look the way I want to (this is a constant issue with me) and one particular thing he said really turned it around for me: "Why not just buy the clothes you see yourself in?". This might sound blimmin' obvious, but I have never worn the clothes I imagine myself strutting around in, mainly because I don't have the figure. 'Imaginiation Me' has much smaller hips than 'Real Me', so instead I wear what hides me a bit, or what is comfortable, or what I know, or what is safe. And this is where I have been going wrong. For years. FUCK.

Time to dig out my inner rock chick!

On the plus side, I was feeling so shit that I didn't even eat the nice pastry I was planning to. I had a 70cal Alpen bar instead, and some new-found enthusiasm. BF came round to a few shops and helped me pick some short boots (as they are trendy and cost less!) and made me realise the only reason I was buying long boots was so that they would go with clothes that I already own and dislike. Fucking stoopid. I ended up buying two pairs that I love, one of which is on the left. I wasn't going to get them, because the shop didn't do returns (I am a BIG returner — shopper's guilt), but then I just thought, "Sod it, I'll find something to wear with them cos they make me feel fucking AMAZING". It's just as well I did buy them because I later checked online — no size 6 pairs anywhere, and the ones I bought were also the last size 6 in the shop too. It was meant to be, people. 

Sorry — I'm a bit distracted by all the shopping excitement! I was feeling good when I got home (did I mention I treated myself to a new necklace as well?), and was also still quite full from lunch. So instead of having a big dinner, I had a buttered scone and a lemon puff and went to bed feeling happy and virtuous (although butter on baked goods is hardly something I should be patting myself on the back about). But anyway, no dinner — RESULT.

My mum and sister have just started 5:2 as well. I advised them that Monday and Thursday is a good split, but something had gone a bit wrong with their plans and instead they were fasting when I went over to visit. The reason this is bad news is because my mum cooks excellent food and I don't want her to be on a fast day eating soup when I head over there for my Tuesday dinner! Totally selfish, I know… Anyhow, they had eaten their meal, so it didn't bother them when I ate 2 enormous fajitas in front of them. I also ate four digestive biscuits right after with a cup of tea. I mean, who eats four?? I think I was mentally eating my mum and sister's share or something — even they were disgusted when they found out, so much so that my mum ratted me out to BF when we were both over there next. (Thanks mum.) The conversation later turned to snacking on 5:2 and my dad asked what the calorie count was for popcorn (we have an air-popper at home that he is obsessed with). Obviously, we did what we usually do and shunned him for his silly ideas (there is a reason he refers to the three of us as 'The Coven'), but actually, it's really not bad at all. 8g of popcorn is 31 calories — and that was about a cereal bowlful. It's an excellent snack if you get stuck!

By Thursday, the no-fasting guilt hit me, so I did actually squeeze in a fast day. Ish. I had a soup from EAT which was only 198 calories, and then a chicken and noodle salad from Sainsbury's that was really nice and only 292 calories — perfect if you are too lazy to cook. That day, I had 766 calories (I er, had a few snacks too…), which is more than I should have, but at least I tried fasting a bit. Especially as the next day it was my friend at work's birthday, and she was planning to bring in Krispy Kremes. 24 of the little bastards. On the right is a picture of one. My SECOND one. In a single day. Honestly, you can barely tell you have eaten them — they are like motherfucking clouds. I had already snorted half of it before thinking about taking a picture. Granted, it doesn't look that appealing here — sitting on a very unsexy paper towel, releasing it's grease everywhere (or is that my drool?)… But it was very appealing in my mouth. As was the Burger King meal I had on the way home, a bit pissed after said friend's birthday drinks. Sorry.

After all the extreme snacking, I was not sure I was going to lose any fucking weight, but somehow, I lost 0.8lbs. I was quite shocked, but I really think getting on the exercise bike has helped. Although it doesn't burn as many calories as running, I think that I was such a bad runner (along with the calf issue/asthma/butt pain) that my uber-slow jogging wasn't burning off that much anyway. And seeing as I have plenty of natural butt cushioning, I might as well make use of it. I'm a bit worried that as I have been going over my weekly calorie intake by quite a large amount for the last few weeks, it's all going to catch up with me in the next 7 days… I will need to be careful.

So, after losing this week (A-WOO-HOO!), I am now 11st 3.8lbs and the lightest I have been on 5:2, and probably the lightest I've been this year actually. I'm not entirely sure because I ripped up all my WW shit when I started 5:2… It's hardly momentous, but it's movement in the right direction. And that's what matters really. So next goal, get under 11st  — TALLY HO!

Week 16 & 17 : THIS IS SPARTAAAAAAAA!

This also has no relevance. But I was trying to think of something good and shouty and celebratory, and that was the very first thing that popped into my head. Kinda like the time when my boyf asked me what my wrestling entrance music would be (don't ask) and the first thing I started humming was the Hawaii Five-O theme tune (again, don't ask). I have never lived that down, mainly because it would be the shittest entrance music ever. Even I know that. 

Anyway… seeing as I'm being all shouty, you can probably work out that I lost weight these past two weeks — WOOOOOOOOOOO!  I'm pleased about this because I didn't want this post to be informing you about how I had lost 1.5lbs in Week 16, only to put it on again in Week 17, which is what I feared would happen. But in the second week, I lost 0.4lbs, so that's just under 2lbs in two weeks, which I am very happy with. 

Being back on fasting (and calorie counting, AND exercising) is working. I know the whole point of 5:2 is that you don't have to watch everything you eat, but maybe us foodies have to accept we're not lucky enough to get away with that. Chucking in a fast day here and there is the best way forward for me. I really haven't felt deprived these past two weeks, and I've still managed to lose — so that's a pretty good place for me to be in at the moment, especially as I often don't stick to the 500 calories one is supposed to on fast days... whoops.


Some nice fast day food I have eaten (if you want some ideas)

• Sainsbury's Hungarian Beef Goulash Soup — 201cals
• 1 red pepper, 150g peeled prawns, 30g light cream cheese, 100g mushrooms (all stir fried together, then stir in the cheese and add water until it melts) — 228cals
• Sainsbury's Chicken and King Prawn with Thai Noodles Salad — 267cals
• Dry Roasted Chickpeas, Bombay Firecracker Flavour (Holland & Barratt) — 88cals
• Fajitas (but with no wraps) — work out the chicken etc, but this is a great fast meal, even if you just use vegetables and the seasoning

One thing that has changed is that I am now an exercise bike convert. Yup — you heard it. The BF suggested I use his bike on numerous occasions, and I've been all "No, it hurts my bum…". But since having butt pains from running, I've had to reASSess. The bike hurts my butt a bit, but not as much as I would have thought. Although if you had seen me the very first day I gave it a go, you would have wondered what the fuck you had walked into…

So, first day on the bike. I was alone in the flat in the evening. I popped the TV on — a billion channels and FUCK ALL to watch, not even Friends!!! So I settled on Fat : A Year to Save My Life. Motivational perhaps? So I start cycling. I get about 10 minutes in and I am dripping with sweat and struggling, so I take a puff of my inhaler. 20 minutes in and I feel like I am actually going to throw up — I almost stopped because the nausea was so bad. But no, I was determined to keep going for my planned 30 minutes. The show starts getting emotional… I start sniffing and getting teary — FOR FUCK'S SAKE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? NOW?? This exercise is FUCKING AWFUL and I am drained of all energy… so now I actually start to cry. This woman (after losing a ton of weight) is still bigger than me but has almost completed a 10k swim IN A FUCKING RIVER. I cry even more at my own pathetic attitude, but it ends up spurring me on. If she can do it, so can I, goddammit! I finally hit 30 minutes. Knackered, teary, sweaty and nauseous, I stumble off the bike and go and stand over the toilet for a bit in case I chunder. And lo, the Cry-cycle was born. (One friend very kindly pointed out that it could also be a Crisycle, because it definitely sounded like I was having a crisis… Thanks mate.) It was a blimmin' awful experience, but weirdly satisfying due to the sweat levels, and I have improved with each session. A glass of squash keeps the nausea at bay now and I do intervals to get the most out of it. I also get to use the crap sports bra that was loitering in my bra drawer, which is pleasing.

Me. On a bike. Unheard of. You know what else is unheard of? Me chucking away a doughnut. I KNOW! Crazy, right? But it is a true story. I panicked in Greggs and bought a Banana Shake Doughnut. It was gross. Not so much the flavour, but the amount of sugar that was in it. It was covered in bright yellow, sickly-sweet banana icing, and then filled with something very similar. I looked like the biggest dick ever walking down the street — this was not a discreet food item. It might as well have been waving and talking to people down the high street. I even tried to use the paper bag it came in to wipe the icing off the top, but that was messy as fuck and I was scaring the good people of Hitchin, who don't normally let weirdos like me walk around covered in fluorescent yellow goo. The BF was going to try it, but he got one whiff of the banana stench and decided against it. We stuffed it back into it's bag, chucked it in the bin and tried to forget about it. Which we did, until I fucking burped. That thing repeated on me all afternoon. Grim.

Another thing I realised: you don't need chilli cheese fries when you have a massive burger. In fact, plain fries are a much nicer accompaniment. I worked this out whilst out for dinner with the girls one night. I was having the chicken burger, which meant it was the perfect time to have the fully loaded chips, as I wouldn't be doubling up on my beef. Fuck me — by the end I was stuffed. There was so much chilli and hardly any chips to be. It was tasty, but I will not be doing that again — can't mess around with chips!

Urgh, I'm going to share this with you, but you won't like it. I emptied an old jar of Chinese curry sauce into the sink the other day. It was old so it kinda came out in two chunks. Unfortunately, those chunks landed in a pan that was full of water. Swear to god, if I hadn't seen that all happen, I would have honestly thought someone had taken a dump in my wok. It was vile. I almost took a picture of it, but then I realised that no-one wants to fucking see that. Or read about it. Sorry.