Week 22 & 23 : Lanzarote Restaurants — Watch Out!

I am sooooooo sorry. My blogging has been massively shite of late, but basically my life was 'illness, holiday, shitloads of work, illness" — and that was it for a month. But I am back on it now so should be able to bring you all the events from the the last four weeks in a funny yet succinct manner. You may just have to settle with succinct. Or maybe not even that.

So, after a week of sickness, it was finally time to get out of the country — THANK FUCK. I was a bit wary of packing on the pounds whilst away, so the plan was to enter everything I ate into MFP. Needless to say, that plan went out the window once I shoved the first mojo-covered Canarian potato into my gaping pie hole (incidentally, I am totally off pie-based products these days).

Steak, Canarian spuds, pork, chicken AND salad.

For me, one of the best things about going on holiday is the opportunity to eat nice food. And Lanzarote had plenty of it. We stayed in a fantastic self-catering apartment in Puerto del Carmen called Montana Club, and on the first night there we had a very delicious BBQ in the pool bar. I did get a slightly odd "Helloooooo!" from the chef who was distributing the food — at first I thought it was because I'm so darn attractive, but I then figured it was probably because he had just realised he’d run out of little Spanish sausages (the last one went to BF — nooooooooooooo!) and he needed to create a distraction (too late mate, I clocked it). However, he did give me a massive pork chop to compensate, which I split with BF for half a sausage. It was pork well spent in my opinion, as that chorizo sausage was delicious.

We opted for self catering because we like to get up late on holiday, and we decided to keep lunches simple. Sandwich and crisps and then back out to lounge by the pool. Why does everything taste so much better on holiday? Everyday, we ate cheap ham and cheese in a baguette with garlic mayo, with crisps and a cake for afters, and it was always really tasty. Yet if we ate that at home, we'd consider it the shittiest lunch ever — weird. Also, I know French bread is a bastard when it comes to calories, so although I was missing breakfast, I was more than making up for it four hours later.

The holiday was filled with excellent food. There was a lot of variety, but one thing we agreed on was that we would not eat at any Italian places — that is just too shit. I mean, we even avoid Italian at home as a rule, so I certainly wasn't going to eat it on holiday. However, we did end up having a Chinese on the second night… shame! It was here I realised I really can't eat satay chicken curry. It's too fucking sweet and makes me feel a bit ill. It was beautifully cooked, but not to my taste. The night before, we had Mexican, where I ate a massive burrito and had some chocolate tequila — LUSH! I also had my only dessert on this holiday here, which was cold hot chocolate poured over a scoop of vanilla ice cream and topped with whipped cream — really very nice.

Slightly embarrassed when this giant plate arrived…

I also had the best tapas of my life on this break. The restaurant we visited had 4.5 stars on Trip Advisor and was the only place on the whole holiday where we had to wait for a table, But boy, was it worth it. We ordered a little too much, despite the owner telling us we needed to cut a few dishes. When the last dish came out, I was just poking it with a fork and looking stressed. The owner came and stood by the side of the table and with a glint in his eye went "Full…?" Cheeky bastard. I wanted to shout, "DUDE! I'M GONNA BARF!", but I just nodded — he could tell I was suffering so he didn't rib me further. Everything we had there was absolutely fantastic. We had delicious bread with spicy garlic butter, a deconstructed tortilla with sausage, garlic prawns with octopus, pork in blue cheese sauce (my favourite meal on the holiday), and mini pork burgers with a frozen shot of their amazing sangria. Taberna de Niño, we salute you. 

Burgers, prawns, pork. All eaten.

On the fourth night, we had a barbecue after we had visited Timanfaya National Park, and after what can only be described as a white-knuckle coach ride. Big coach + small road = me crying. Honestly, I thought we were going to topple into some volcanic crater/ravine. But that was me being a baby — the driver was excellent. Which made it worse when I realised we had no money to leave him for a tip for not letting us perish in the volcanic landscape.

It was on this death trip that we met an 81-year-old man who was on holiday alone. His wife had been placed in a nursing home due to dementia back in England and I am guessing it had been a stressful six months for him, because he told us his son booked this holiday for him as he probably needed a break. He very much enjoyed talking to the young folk, especially as he seemed quite lonely here on his own, and he was actually a pretty interesting guy. However, he kinda made us come to his hotel the next night (not for any shenanigans!) because they put on big shows there and stuff. We were going to try and wriggle out of it, but he REALLY wanted us to come, so we obliged.

So the next day, we trot up to his hotel, but not before I walk into a ruddy great big CONCRETE BENCH. Oh yes. In the busy street. Outside an even busier cocktail bar. It hurt like a motherfucker, but that's what you get when get distracted by some girl's hairdo. I kept turning my head to look at her (whilst walking at speed because we were late) and before I knew it, I was planking in the fucking street like a nob. FUCKING MORTIFIED. FUCKING PAINFUL. 

We got to the hotel, and it turned out our new friend wanted to have dinner with us… I should add that there were two Irish sisters that we had met on the same trip who were also roped into this plan, so we weren't alone in this odd situation at least. Because new buddy wanted to pay, he took us to this road side cafe that he had been into for lunch a few times, as it was cheaper than the hotel buffet. We didn't want to let him to pay anyway, so we should have just gone to somewhere decent, because this place was pretty unglamorous. I ended up having a bolognese pizza (and thus breaking my Italian food rule) but one of the girls had a tropical pizza that had pineapple, banana and apple on it. Eww. Anyway, I was annoyed as wasting a night of good eating in some tiny Spanish version of Little Chef, but my BF said it was the right thing to do, as this guy really wanted the company. Anyway, after a few jugs of sangria, I didn't care so much. BF kept saying to me "Hey, it's a story at least" — and he was right. I've waffled on about it for three paragraphs!

On our last night, I finally squeezed in some paella, which was very important on this trip. I feel really bad saying this, but I still kinda prefer the one I get in Tesco… I know, I know — I have no style whatsoever. Oh well. It was very good, but I couldn't finish it because I had eaten a shed-load of Canarian potatoes as a starter, whoops. They were just so darned tasty and always came with three sauces, so I couldn't resist. Didn't eat a single fucking salad like I said I would, but fuck it. And then I also stuffed in one more tapas meal before we left, during which we caught a Northern woman have a really awkward argument with a Spanish waiter…

I stared into this plate during the aforementioned argument.

I really didn't feel like I had stuffed myself on this holiday and was feeling quite virtuous, but then I remembered one thing I hadn't taken into account : alcohol. And I had drunk copious amounts of it. Beer… cocktails… the free shots they dole out after every meal… sangria… all empty calories. Delicious, empty calories.

So, my weight before I went away? 11st 5.8lbs. And when I came back, I had put on exactly 3lbs. Now, considering I had put on the same amount after 48 hours in Cambridge a few weeks earlier, I was pretty chuffed. 3lbs over a week was tolerable.

But fasting again after my holiday was not, apparently…

Week 19 : I Bloody Told You.

It caught up with me.

I fucking knew it would. I even predicted it. Which basically means I willed it to happen. Which it then did. I put on 0.8lbs this week, which is EXACTLY what I lost the week before. If nothing else, my weight journey was strangely poetic.

To be fair, I've eaten a lot of nice things in the past seven days, so if there was going to be any week I was going to get chubby, it was going to be this one. (I was just about to write "get my chub on" but then remembered that means something TOTALLY different in other parts of the country!) At the beginning of the week, I met up with my FFF (Former Fat Friend) for dinner whilst she was down in London for a few days. I will just add, she looked even slimmer than the last time I saw her. Bitch. We went for a drink before food, and I wasn't supposed to have anything alcoholic (I was trying to be good), but then she had a pint and I figured that as it was a mini reunion, a Diet Coke would almost certainly ruin the catch-up session. So it was a bottle of Desperados for me — my new favourite drink. For dinner we went to ASK, because a) it was close by, b) I could get a discount with my Taste Card, and c) I knew I could log it easily with MFP. I had all the low fat options already worked out, so my shortlist was pretty small. Seeing as I'd had a beer already, I knew that I should have been ordering the Fettuccine Verdure (peas, tomatoes, some other boring shite but only 423 calories), but then my mate ordered some creamy gnocchi dish and my willpower started to waver... I started looking at the pizzas... then spaghetti carbonara… then some meatball rigatoni dish... All the while, my neck was getting really hot. My palms felt clammy. I could feel myself getting flustered and sweaty... Will it really make a different if I have something more tasty? ARGH! NO! Be good, be good, be good! So I was, to my shock. The fettuccine was actually OK, but like my friend said, I would have felt terrible if I'd ordered something calorific. Especially considering what happened 36 hours later.

So, a few days along, BlogMate and I met up. We had been planning this meal since the last time we were sat down for a meal together. Finally, we were going to hit Shake Shack. Hard. Excitement was in the air! We weren't even put off by having to queue in the cold and then potentially eating in the cold. We were two women on a mission. A tasty, cheesy mission. And I tell you — the mission was a success. Behold, the below picture.

You are looking at the following:

• Shack Stack Burger: a cheeseburger with a breaded-and-fried-til-crispy portabello mushroom filled with melted cheese
• Crinkly fries
• Fifty/Fifty: Half lemonade, half iced tea
• Sticky Toffee Concrete: Frozen vanilla custard, chocolate toffee, chocolate chunks, salted caramel sauce and malt powder

Sorry the picture isn't great, but a) I am shit at taking photographs, and b) I don't really want to be one of those dicks who spend ages taking pictures of food for no apparent reason. This meal was absolutely delicious. The burger was fucking amazing — all melty and beefy and cheesy. The chips were crisp, the drink was refreshing and the ice cream was THE creamiest thing I've ever eaten. All in all, worth the wait. (And worth the weight, to be honest, which is what I accidentally typed out first). It is very unsurprising I put on, given that the total of this meal was a whopping 1640 calories. What's worse is that I was supposed to eat light that day, but I somehow ended up eating a million Viscount biscuits so my daily intake was through the roof. Ah well. There is no light way of doing burgers — if it's light, it's not right. 

So the next day, I was fasting (thank fuck) and I decided to go to H&M to try on some skinny jeans, and these jeans were as fucking skinny as they come. They didn't have a size 16, so — as they were very stretchy — I stuffed all my fat into a size 14 pair. They didn't look too bad actually, so into the basket they went. I also tried on some, ahem, leather trousers… I have had an obsession with them forever, so I just wanted to see. What I saw was that they were going to go no higher than my knees, so they were promptly peeled off. Not one to be defeated, I then tried on something of a halfway house — leggings with a leather panel down the front. I managed to get these on, but whilst checking them out in the mirror, I started feeling a bit funny and hot...FUCK! Even that small strip of leather was making me sweat and go weird (think Ross in Friends), so they were also a no-go. There was also the brutal fact that I am simply a foot too short and, coincidentally, a foot too wide to pull them off. So bye-bye leather pants — I'm afraid we just can't be together. It's not you — it's me. 

So given the fact that I hadn't lost any weight, I was a bit more carefree than usual on the weekend. In Guildford, I almost had a pretzel-coated sausage, but I couldn't face brandishing something quite so phallic-looking in public (especially with that bit of sausage poking out the top) so instead I had the pretzel-wrapped Twix. Unfortunately this also had an air of pastry penis about it, but once I'd got it into my head that it was like a healthy deep fried Mars bar, there was no turning back. And obviously, it was ridicuously tasty. Melted things are just good. That is what I have learnt this week.

Add to this a McDonald's Quarter pounder with cheese meal, a strawberry milkshake, 2 pints of blonde beer, pizza, crisps, tiramisu and fuck knows what else, it was not a particularly virtuous weekend. Which is only made worse by the fact that I am now ill so morale is running low for fasting. The best I can hope for is to stay the same to be honest. Next week's results might also be a bit weird as I am going away with some lady-friends for the weekend. I'm not promising I'm going to be really good, but I am also going to try not to go mental. We shall see...

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.

Week 14 : SHAMONE MOTHERFUCKERS!

Yup — lost just under two pounds! I am well chuffed. EXCEPT — (why does there always have to be an 'except'?) — the fact that it may not reflect what I have truly lost. I will explain after I have filled you in about this week…

So this week, I've really tried to get back to basics with the fasting. For my fast days, I've been sticking to around 500 calories, avoiding caffeine, not eating anything in the morning and tracking like a bitch on the weekends. If I'm honest, I still ate a lot on the weekends (just a bit more than the 2000 calorie guideline amount on each day), but I think I would have eaten loads more if I hadn't been keeping an eye on it. Bit disappointed I didn't exercise more but I will try harder next week.

My Monday fast was made up of salad with Bernard Matthews turkey (202 calories) and dinner was an absolutely delicious Chinese-style brown rice with vegetables (305 calories — next time I make it I'll take a photo and give you the recipe). So I was pretty happy with that total. On Thursday I had a Subway sandwich which came to 280 cals — I was researching this ALL FUCKING DAY to make sure I wasn't fucking my fast day up, and then I had a tuna salad for dinner, which made my total 517 cals. I also had a third of a Daim bar, which is embarrassing, but I just couldn't stop myself. So in the interest of weight loss, I am not going to buy anymore Daim bars until further notice. Even if they are only £1 a pack in Morrisons for a limited time only. ARGH.

The rest of my days were a lot higher in calories than I would have liked them to be, averaging at about 1650 cals. Not great, but I will try to be better next week (man, that is becoming my new fucking mantra…). 

On Friday, it was my boyfriend's birthday, so he was going for drinks after work. I decided that as I wouldn't be eating dinner, it was probably a good idea to line my stomach — cue a steak wrap with chips for lunch… and no mention of said wrap in MFP diary. It was delicious and totally worth it though, so I don't feel guilty about it. It was also someone at work's birthday that day and she had done some baking — cardamom and coffee cakes and a bakewell tart. I FUCKING LOVE bakewell tarts. I try to take any opportunity I get to eat them because my boyfriend doesn't like them and I don't want to get a Mr Kipling pack of six if it will mean just me eating them for a week. I mean, I have done that in the past, but the guilt is too much nowadays. So I enjoyed a slice with my tea in the afternoon. And then shamefully, I had another in the evening whilst I was hanging out in the office waiting for it to be 7.30pm. I think I can still see the box on the table as I type this… 

So yes, BF's birthday drinks. It was a lovely night filled with cocktails and fun and 6.30am trains back home… Man, I am too old for these kinds of shenanigans. Technically, so is he but he is much younger at heart than me! We both looked like death on the way home having been up for 24 hours, so a cheese and ham croissant and chocolate torsade at Euston station was a must before we got home and passed out. I think my control pants are still tossed somewhere in the living room… So, seeing as I had gone for a long time without any proper food and the alcohol had probably dehydrated me a bit, my weight loss for this week was potentially more than it should have been… But, I always go with what the scales say, so that is what we are sticking with.

Oh GOD — this is just too good!

I have discovered something that might be the death of me. Being a massive idiot and trying to do a food shop on a fast day, I ended up buying the item on the right. It's so fucking delicious. And addictive. And delicious. I have yet to spread it on anything — at the moment I just eat tiny spoonfuls of it straight out of the jar… I know this is bad, but I ain't the only one doing it!  

I thought it would be nice incorporated into some cupcake frosting, and lo and behold, someone more capable than me has already started doing stuff with it here: http://www.domesticsluttery.com/2013/04/baking-for-beginners-lotus-spread.html
Read the comments below the recipe — tonnes of crazy women (obviously — men tend to not eat stuff out of jars in a wild frenzy), all hooked. I rest my case. Get yourself down to Sainsbury's and grab a tub, just once. And I am totally making those biscuits.

Other craziness at work — someone else was having a birthday and in a bid to look amazing (she is already very slim) she was eating only 700 calories a day. It was only for one week, but we all gave her a lecture about it, because that blatantly sounds dangerous. I think it was also because a friend of hers had recently slimmed down a lot, so she was feeling bad that she wasn't being very disciplined with her own diet, so she took up this weird regime. I told her off, but since then, the idea has taken over my brain a bit and resulted in me trying to do something similar this week. Obviously, no one is worried about me, because I have virtually no willpower, but for the next week (especially as I'm eating out twice) and I am going to have very low days calorie days wherever I can fit them in. Not 500 calories (maybe 800 or so) but I would like to see what happens. I can almost guarantee it won't result in weight loss, because I will almost certainly cheat. But I am going to give it a go. 

Another reason it might not be a bad idea is that last Tuesday I took a bit of a funny turn. I was round my parent's at dinner, and about 3 hours after eating, I really thought I was going to be sick, ie. I went to hang out in the toilet just in case. That wasn't a bad plan, because let's just say things didn't feel great the other end either…! Now, for lunch that day I had eaten a fig, walnut and Gorgonzola salad. It was extremely tasty, but I did worry that the blue cheese might have been the problem. The next day I gave it to my friend because the thought of it was making me hurl. She concluded that seeing as I wasn't a veteran blue cheese-eater, I should have started out with something less hardcore, and I agree. Right, stomach should go back to normal now! Not so. A week later, and it still hasn't. I'm not sure what's wrong, but I don't really want to take anything for it in case it's helping my weight loss… That is so wrong, I know… In fact, the last two paragraphs are so wrong and make me sound like a dieting nutter, but it's not stopping me from eating and I am curious about how long it will go on for. It's an experiment. (I am in no way endorsing this behaviour, or advocating it. But I then I also have a blog to write every week and need all the fodder I can get!)

So essentially, next week is going to consist of me eating very little (apart from the odd calorie-heavy restaurant meal), and then shitting several times a day. It's exciting! We literally have no idea what is going to happen… 

Will I shit myself on my run? Dunno. 

Will I even make it out for a run? No idea. 

Will any of this actually help me lose any frigging weight? 8-ball says 'UNLIKLEY'. 

Week 13 : IT STARTS NOW! (Again)

Well, I told you this week was going to bad. And I was not wrong. 1lb fatter. See how it creeps up when you get slack? In this instance, the term 'slack' means 'only having one fast day this week'. And it turns out that 'only having one fast day this week' also means 'having a fast day until I get home and eat several pieces of fridge cake'. Yes sir, things got bad…

Let's blame it on the Bank Holiday. It's an excuse to stuff your face, which is what I did. The BF and I went to a local burger bar and it was amazing. The food gets better every time I go. I tried to restrain myself by ordering plain fries instead of loaded fries with my chilli burger, but the moment BF's arrived (he ordered his with cheese, bacon and spring onion) I instantly regretted it. The burgers suddenly looked smaller than they used to — mainly down to the fact that we had not eaten a thing all day — so we though about ordering some chicken wings to go alongside if we needed them, but we were pleasantly stuffed by the end. I ordered a Oreo milkshake with added malt for dessert (even though I was pretty full) as it seemed like a nice way to end a very tasty meal. Plus, I knew the shakes came in just a normal tumbler size. At least, they used to.

Along came the waiter, placing what looked like a 1.5 litre steel vat in front of me. It was full of ice-cream and Oreos and malt and milk. But I was already full of burger and chilli and chips and mayo… It was really delicious, but I barely made a dent in it, which is unusual for me. Luckily, my BF managed to drink quite a lot of it after his ice cream (where does he put it? WHERE DOES HE FUCKING PUT IT???), so at least it didn't all go to waste.

Now, Mondays are usually my fast day, so if I didn't want to fast that day, I should've moved it to another day. But I didn't. Instead, I decided that as I was going to visit my mum on Tuesday I couldn't possibly fast then, and then Wednesday I wanted to run so I couldn't do that either… so my only fast day was Thursday. And that was a piss poor effort, let me tell you. I was fairly good all day, and then I just went home and caned several bits of fridge cake with tea, probably with some crisps as well. *Sigh* I think it was because earlier in the day, I had been writing the previous week's blog, and I realised I had 6 weeks until my weekend away with my uni gals. That made be realise I needed to get serious. But seeing as I had pretty much ruined the week with no exercise and only one fast day, there was no way I was going to lose weight. So I thought I would just eat what I wanted, and draw a line under it. I was OK with that though and I kinda felt good about having a fresh start with a challenge. 

I need to track more on the weekend, though. I end up eating so much due to boredom, and it's all the wrong food too. Well, it's the right food taste-wise, but the wrong food waist-wise — BOOM! At least if I know I've eaten most of my daily allowance by lunch, I will feel guilty and eat less for dinner (ha!). Next week I'm sticking to calories, drinking water, exercising and focusing on my six-week goal. 

OH, FUCKING HELL.

I almost forgot to tell you. So, by Friday, I knew it had been a week of epic fails, so a colleague and I decided to go out for lunch as we had recently been paid. A former colleague of ours was also meeting us with her baby and partner, but she was running late, so me and Work Mate decided to head down to the pub and order our food as we only had the one hour for lunch. Work Mate decided just to order some chips, but then she is tiny. I really didn't think a small portion of chips was going to fill me up (I'm about twice her girth), but they had a large chip option as well. Brilliant, I will order that. 

So we are sitting chatting and the waiter comes out and puts our chips on the table. I honestly could have died of embarrassment…

These chips tasted amazing — I WILL be going back!

I'm not even sure this picture does it justice. Suddenly — to anyone who may have been watching (mainly these two women who were just gawping at me from the next table, even though they were both bigger than me!) — it was quite apparent why and how I was double the size of Work Mate. I tried to distance myself from the chips as much I could, pushing them into the centre of the table, leaning forward to take one and then sitting right back into my seat whilst I ate it. I was hoping it would look like I was just a bit of a grazer who was nibbling a little, rather than some greedy pig hunched over a plate of chips. Oh, and I kept saying "You HAVE to help me eat these!" really loudly even though I didn't want to share them AT ALL. To be fair, it was only as much as you would get from down the chippy, and a normal person would probably manage to eat that. It just looked worse because of Work Mate's tiny bowl next to it… Yeah, let's blame her, stupid skinny bitch! Luckily, our friend arrived shortly and and I shoved the chip bucket in the direction of her and her partner and left them with it.

But I totally could have eaten them all. I just had to pretend I couldn't for the safety of general public.

Week 11 : "I'm Late! I'm Late!...

... And I've put on weight!
No time to say hello, goodbye!
I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"

Yes, sorry for the delay getting this post out. I really don't know why I didn't do it on Monday. But by now, you may have worked out that I put on this week. Probably because like in Alice In Wonderland, I am a big girl who basically just sees "EAT ME" written on everything… I packed on 1.2lbs — but I am totally OK with that. I was still fighting off sinusitis last week, making a very half-arsed attempt at fasting and absolutely no attempt at any exercise. So I was expecting this result.

What I was not expecting, was to arrive at the office last Monday to find clotted cream, jam and scones at work (brought in for a birthday) along with a million other snack foods. That was hard to deal with on a fast day, even though I had recently eaten the Scone Cake Monstrosity (see previous post). But I did manage to resist until the next day, which is something given how shit I was feeling. Oh, but I did eat three giant pretzels that day. And by three, I obviously mean five.

The rest of the week is a bit of a blur I'm afraid… All I wanted to do was eat nice things that felt comforting, although him indoors stopped me from going down the chippy, which initially I resented massively, but then was thankful afterwards. Sort of. And I really craved curry, probably for the strong flavours because I couldn't taste much, but I couldn't be arsed to make one, and my parents had made chicken with salad when I went round to visit. Not what I had in mind, but I kept telling myself it was better for me and really healthy, blah, blah…

However, by the weekend, I knew I would be well enough to re-start my new exercise programme. So you can imagine my excitement when Saturday finally came — at last, I can go running! Two weeks of feeling crap, but now I could run past the cows with wind in my hair, a burning sensation in my calves and sweat dripping from my brow — hallelujah!

I did nothing. And then I did nothing on Sunday either, deciding to sleep in until 1pm instead. Shame. On. Me. I felt really guilty by the end of the weekend, so naturally I drowned my sorrows/sabotaged myself even further with some pasta and garlic bread. Punishment Pasta, that's what it was…

I think my initial fasting excitement has waned a bit — it's understandable. But I think I just need to get a few good weeks of weight loss under my belt and I will be re-enthused (is that a word?). I have been a bit up and down so I think it's just about getting back into it, which doesn't really feel like an awful, terrible imposition on my life at all. In general, I feel good about my body — I am especially liking my legs right now — so overall, I think that's more important. My body looks better and I feel better about it than I did three months ago, so that's good enough for me right now.

Although next week will be Week 12 — time to have a review and get the measuring tape out I think…

Week 10 : A Bit Of A Blur

I am currently suffering from sinusitis, and it is really dragging too. I feel like I have been in a bit of a daze for a week now, and everything has been a bit hazy to say the least! I was genuinely excited about my new exercise plan, but it was halted before it even really got off the ground, but I would really like to run tomorrow, if only to not feel so bad about needing so much sleep at the moment! 

I went for a lovely Greek meal with two of my friends last week, and I didn't even have ice cream for dessert! I was pretty impressed with myself. Hey, it's a start… So I was very pleased to have lost a bit of weight (0.6lbs), given my fasts have been terrible. I have decided that soup is just not filling enough because when I get to the afternoon, I am ravenous and end up snacking, which takes me over my 500 calories. So going to have to think of some better food to eat. Sorry soup — you are cheap and easy, but you are not quite big enough for this ride (?)

I had a bit of a fuck up with a cake I was making in the week, actually. That was depressing because I was really looking forward to it and it was just a massive let down. So the story goes: I wanted to make a nice cake for my sister who was coming back from Japan after a year. Instead of rolling out the usual cupcakes, I decided to make a sponge filled with whipped cream and strawberries — summery and easy, right? Apparently not. I baked the sponges and they looked great, so I got to work on the filling, which was strawberries mixed with jam, and whipped cream. Fuck knows what was up with this pot of double cream. I decided against using an electric whisk because I wanted it to be in soft peaks, but I had literally only whisked it about five times with a balloon whisk when the cream went PROPER THICK. Like, way thicker than I needed it to be. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! OK, never mind, I thought. I will just gently mix in some more double cream, right? Wrong. It just got thicker and thicker. In a panic, I decided to dump it on the sponge as it was and then maybe just try again with the last of the cream. This did not work either. Even though I was stirring slowly WITH A SPOON, it went really thick again! There wasn't much I could do at that point, so I just popped on the top sponge, decorated it and put it in the fridge. The next day (after eating way too much of my mum's curry), I presented the cake to my sis and tried to cut a slice. Motherfucker. No joke — it was a struggle to get quite a large butcher knife through it. I reckon I might have knocked too much air out of the batter when folding in the flour, and it probably didn't help that I had chilled the cake in a very cold fridge for 24 hours. And because it was so dry, it had TOTALLY absorbed the little moisture that was left in the cream. If I had wanted to be positive about this baking monstrosity, I would have said it was like a scones-and-clotted-cream cake. Except the sponge was no way as nice as scones, the strawberries were soggy and the cream had turned into what felt like chunks of butter. Disaster. But everyone had a piece. It tasted OK, but it was not what I had in mind… Welcome home sis!

Like. A. Rock.

My sinusitis was getting worse and worse and come Friday, I had to take a sick day. I didn't feel like going down to the shops to get any food, but then I remembered I had bought something from the reduced aisle the day before — doughnut sandwiches. Yes, I know you all think they sound disgusting, but I kinda liked the idea! (They obviously aren't sugared or filled with jam.) I like to try new things and I had previously read about something similar here that made me drool : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luther_Burger. 

Eww. It was GROSS. I ate the BLT but I could not get through the second, and I will eat almost ANYTHING. I really hate waste, but this was too grim, and no amount of sriracha was going to help. Oh yes readers, I thought the situation was going to improve once I added a spicy eastern sauce to the mix. I think the combination of crisp salad veg against the backdrop of a greasy doughnut bun was what did pushed me over the edge... Yuk! I tossed it into the kitchen and shut the door for the rest of the day *shudder* On the plus side, it has put me right off doughnuts. 

Oh god, me and Blog Mate watched a very interesting documentary on the BBC. It was called The Men Who Made Us Thin, and it was depressing as fuck. Catch it on iPlayer if you can. It's all about diets and how basically everyone — after losing weight on ANY diet programme —will put it back on in five years. What the fuck is the fucking point??? How do we lose fucking weight then? Do fat people just have to accept they will always be fat?

URGH. I am going to try and watch it again and see if I can glean any meaning or hope from it… If you have any thoughts on it, please let me know!

Week 8 : Back on Track

Well, after the mess-up that was last week, you will be pleased to know that I lost this time. To be fair, it wasn't quite a full pound, but hell, it's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick (as my dad would say). However, I'm glad that I did lose it, because it keeps me motivated and proves that this diet is working for me — I just have to not fuck it up.

I went to a wedding on Saturday, which was lovely. However, after last week, I did have to stuff myself into my control pants, and only my second-best pair at that. I did try to wear my hardcore pants (it was a special occasion after all) but it was just too hot and I was just too sweaty to get them up past my knees. I didn't fancy re-enacting my huffing and puffing and groaning and tugging half pissed every time I needed the toilet, so Asda pants it was! As I wasn't going to be buying a new dress for the event, I decided to treat myself to a new clutch and fascinator to go with my shoes for the outfit below. 

I have to admit, I have Gok to thank for this inspiration!

I loved my outfit once I put it all together — very pleased with myself. And the accessories only cost me £20, so a bargain I think. I was less pleased with the fact that during the week I started developing a heat rash/allergy all over my face… I was hoping it would go away, but my Friday, it was mean and red and fucking itchy. I legged it to the chemist and got a cream, and I got some stronger antihistamine tablets whilst I was there too. I probably took a few too many tablets and rubbed in a bit too much cream (I was panicking, man!) but by Saturday, it was ever-so-slightly better. There was no way I was going to NOT wear make-up so I just had to deal with the itching and get on with it. It's kinda cleared up now, but my face feels weird and scaly…

ANYWAY… Back to the wedding. The couple looked very happy and a lovely day was had by all. They picked a cracking menu too, actually. Crab and avocado starter, lamb with mash and veg for the main and creme brulee with a strawberry sorbet for dessert — all very nice. Unfortunately, it was a traditional wedding cake (yuck!), which everyone took a piece of but no-one ate, because really, who the fuck likes fruit cake???  I ate the little strip of marzipan in mine and that's all I could manage, so I can probably add fruit cake to my list of foods I dislike — woot! Every cloud…

Nothing else to tell you really, other than I would really like to shift that pound-and-a-bit left from last week. I really don't want to put on again, so I am going to do my best to be good. Although that might be tricky given that on Tuesday I am going out for lunch, Wednesday I am meeting Blog Mate for a VERY unhealthy dinner, and Friday is my five-year anniversary. So it's a food fest. BUT I am going to try to be as good as I can the rest of the time. Here's hopin'…

 

Week 3 : Whoops…

Yup — I didn't lose this week. Well, technically I did lose a tiny bit. But I don't think a post-poo 0.2lbs is worth mentioning, do you? (And yet I just did…)

It's fine, seriously. In a way, it was good to test the limits of this diet a bit. This week, I did four exercise sessions and had about 2000 calories every day ( I know, what a lard-bucket), resulting in me staying exactly the same weight as last week. So as maintenance plans go, that's not bad! But seeing as I don't want to maintain this chubby body, I will be running a tight ship this week. And by 'tight' I obviously mean a fairly loose regimen that has me eating Cadbury Trifles and such. 

I am getting to grips with 5:2 otherwise. Soup for lunch, protein and veg for dinner — it's nice not having to obsess over EVERY meal, EVERY day. I tell you one thing though — I am so fucking pleased when I go to bed on a fast day, because tomorrow will be filled with a cheese muffin or some crisps or a biscuit.

However, I did notice one quite disgusting thing about last week! According to my weekly round-up on myfitnesspal (MFP), I ate 19% protein and a whopping 41% of FAT. DOUBLE THE AMOUNT. That is gross. And wrong. And explains a lot. So this week I need to keep an eye on my intake. Especially as I am terrified of dying. (Ha! You were not expecting me to bust that one out, were you?) Like, ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED. It is the one thing that genuinely makes me feel like I might throw up. My brain can't compute death — mine or anyone else's. I know I HAVE to die (as does everyone), but it might be nice to prolong my life by a) not getting diabetes, b) cutting back on salt, c) staying fit. URGH. 

Bearing this in mind, it means that running (or any exercise) can no longer be something I only do when I want to lose weight — it needs to be a way of life. Which is why God bestowed a lovely belated running injury on me at about 11pm on Saturday night. Fuck knows what happened — my run at 4pm was absolutely fine. Then suddenly, 7 hours later, I can barely walk on my left foot. I think my hardcore massaging just made it worse ("Squeeze out the pain! Squeeze out the pain!"), because it was still really stiff all of Sunday, but today it seems better. But I think I should skip Zumba tonight… you know, just in case... (Get nasty, get nasty…) 

Oh, I forgot to mention — last week in Zumba, we did what the instructor called "a song from the East" — it was some sort of Asian tune. I swear she was making waaaaaay more eye contact with me (being the only brown in town), as if to say "Come on, you've been shit at everything else today — you should at least be good at THIS one…" — that is fucking racist, man! What, just cos I'm brown?




Sadly, I nailed that dance. BIG TIME. 

Week 2 : I'm A Loser, Baby...

Sorry people - I know I was supposed to post on Monday! But I decided to do some actual work yesterday... well, sort of.

Anyway, it was good news on weigh day — I lost just over 2lbs. WOO BLIMMIN' HOO. So I'm pleased, but I had better not get too cocky because it's still early days of this diet and things are sure to slow down very soon. In fact, I did a fast yesterday and weighed myself this morning, because it's always nice to see the scales at a ridiculously low figure when you've barely eaten anything the day before — but I was up 0.5lbs…

Now, this really isn't a big deal in the long run, but it did make me thing that I need to be a bit careful this week. I have been eating 2000 calories each day, which is probably a bit much for me. Not because I am struggling to eat it (that is fucking easy as pie! Mmm… pie… *drool*), but because my body is already well-padded and doesn't need to eat that much. I know the whole point of this diet is to not count calories and realise when you are full, but I am not that enlightened yet. And given that I can put away a LOT more food than most people, I think it's a safer idea to keep an eye on things. 

I was reading another woman's blog about this diet and she lost nothing over 4 months because she was literally eating whatever she wanted on her feed days. Now, if you have long-term problems with your weight/are a massive foodie/have an unhealthy relationship with food (or like me, have all three of those motherfucking issues), eating whatever you want is not going to work. Because what you want to eat is almost certainly bad for you, full of fat and salt, and so delicious that you won't stop at one. FAT.  Er, I mean, FACT — sorry.

For example, I got into work at 10.15am today, and so far I've had a cup of tea, a banana, a cheese muffin with spread, a stem ginger crinkle and a WW coconut yoghurt. And it is only 11.31am. And I had to seriously stop myself from consuming any more food. To be fair, I went to Zumba yesterday (ON A FAST DAY!) and then this morning I went for a run, so I was ravenous. Actually, fuck it — who am I kidding? I know full well that I could eat that much on any given morning, exercise or no exercise. And seeing as I managed not to eat until 3.30pm yesterday, it is clearly just about self-control — or the lack of it! Ahem. 

Oh yes, so I attended a Zumba session last night. Actually, it was less Zumba and more me tripping over my apparently GIANT fucking feet for an hour. MY. GOD. Seriously, if you had seen me shake my rhythmless arse at that class, you would have questioned my credentials as a bass player. Firstly, I don't like world music of any kind, so am obviously really pleased that Zumba music tends to be of that genre. I cannot dance to save my life, so having to do merengue and salsa steps was fantastic. The fabric on my new running leggings meant that the long vest I was wearing to cover my crotch and butt kept sliding up to my stomach every 3 seconds, which was great. The overly-perky teacher only had 5 of us in her class, so she made a lot of eye contact with each of us, which I am a big fan of because it definitley doesn't make me feel awkward. And to top it all off, we were dancing in a windowed room within a gym, so people doing ACTUAL PROPER EXERCISE could see me flailing about like an absolute twat — FAB-U-LOUS. On the plus side, no one was shouting at me to “Get nasty! Get nasty!” like last time… *SIGH* 

Yeah — I'm going back next week.

Cancelling Weight Watchers

Or not. BUT I ALMOST DID! I don't know what stopped me really. But at the moment, I think it might be a bad idea. However, saying that, the slimmest I've ever been (through non-sickness) was when I was just calorie counting and eating more protein and and less fat. I was 9st 10lbs, and pretty happy with that. But I was also probably at least 8 years younger. Arse.

I have not been to Fat Club in weeks. Which is probably why I considered cancelling to be honest. I don't know why. Well, actually I do. I went a bit out of control around my birthday because I spent a lot of time treating myself. And so did my friends, hence this most excellent Daim Bar Brownie Birthday Cake.

I can almost taste the Daim at the bottom of this brownie as I type.

It was exceptional and delicious and made by a very good friend who does not really bake. Apparently, whilst researching what kind of cake to make in the first place, she did call the others for advice about a recipe she had found, mainly because she felt "uncomfortable about using 10 eggs". That made me laugh a lot. But yes — the brownie was divine. Which is why it got packed into her car before we went out clubbing, so I could take it home with all my birthday cards once we got back pissed, as her sober boyfriend was driving us all home.

Unfortunately, my other friend who let us drink round hers didn't realise we had done this, and promised her boyfriend that there would be lovely, tasty, delicious brownie to eat when they got back to the flat. I think they spent a long time looking for it before realising it had deffo been lifted from the premises…

ANYWAY. By the time I eventually got back on the ol' dieting wagon, a fair amount of time had passed. Weirdly (despite a fair amount of eating nice food) I have managed to keep my weight EXACTLY the same since the 25th April. Now, (seeing as you have have probably worked out I am a total food fiend), that is not bad at all! Yes, I know I am basically patting myself on the back for keeping myself in a state of chubby stasis, BUT in some weird world, it does prove that I must have been making at least some sensible food choices. So all I need to do now is lose 25lbs and THEN get into maintenance stage. Yeah man, I'm basically half way there! Piece of cake. 

Oh, speaking of cake: I am really sorry about the new layout. My boyfriend pointed out that the background now reminds him of the Kingfisher Bakery (he clearly meant the Hummingbird Bakery) and that my blog now looks like its more to do with cupcakes than weight loss. Which is true. But seriously, I don't think I can be fucked to change it again. Well, not this year anyway. The intense green and purple is gone, and let's just all be thankful for that.

Blog Mate and I are trying to set ourselves mini goals so that weight loss is not so daunting. So by Friday morning, I should be 3lbs lighter, as that was my goal for the last 2 weeks. Will I succeed? Well, maybe actually! I have been weighing myself every other day (I know, I know — it's stupid) but its kinda keeping me on track. It looks OK at the moment…

OH FUCKING HELL. So, I am in a band with this 65 year-old-woman who drums (have I told you this before? Because this is fairly weird information if not) who has been losing weight at an alarming rate. She has lost 10lbs in 6 weeks — which means I now can't use the excuse that it's hard to lose weight when you get to the rickety age of 31. She has done this by eating half of what she usually does, which she is finding very straightforward, as it turns out she EATS THE SAME THING EVERY DAY. I mean, fuck me — seriously??? I think I would kill myself. She isn't a foodie, so she eats, like, two chicken legs and an apple at lunch, then a pork chop and broccoli in the evening and a couple of gin and tonics. So now she is just consuming half of all of that. She gave herself 3 months to hit her target, and then her life will go back to normal. 

WHY CAN I NOT DO THIS? I have been trying to lose weight for fucking YEARS, and because she is focused, she is gonna be done in a few more weeks. FUCK. To be fair, we are quite different people — she is a salt-of-the-earth type who has a very direct approach to everything: she only started drumming when she was about 50 after hearing Metallica for the first time. Yup, you heard me. I, on the other hand, like to dither when it comes to any aspect of my life. I like to talk about it. I like to plan. I like to make lists. I like to dream about being thin, and buy clothes that almost fit, and write about it all in blogs. But I just can't seem to apply myself to actually doing it very well. Nothing has 'clicked', and no switch gets flipped. Nor am I OK with being this size. If I lost 1lb every week from now onwards, I would be done by mid November. DONE. DUSTED. OVER. SLIM.

I am going to try to channel my drummer. She said she wears her hunger like a badge, because she knows it means she is getting thinner. The thought of that fills me with terror, but maybe I need to get used to feelings of hunger. OH GOD, MY STOMACH IS RUMBLING LIKE A BITCH AS I TYPE THIS!!!!

There is no hope for me.

Holy CRAP. (And THAT teacher)

I did not realise it has been a month since I last posted... Sorry guys. 

So I should probably update you on what's been happening! Firstly, there HAS been running. That is something at least. I really am not improving as much as I should be, but my potential shin splints are not what we are here to talk about today.

Then there was dinner with my blogging school friend… Let's call her Blog Mate — she will love that I reckon. Or not. This should have just been a fun dinner, but unfortunately, it led to some weird stuff… OK, just realised I have made it sound like we lezzed out, so I will just get to the point. RIGHT. So, we had an English teacher at school who we probably all had a bit of a crush on because he was young and we were in a school for girls. He taught us in Year 10, but then left teaching altogether. Blog Mate said to him: 'I hope you know you're walking out on your career"… which is pretty funny, right? Yeah — until we found out he now owns several EXTREMELY popular restaurants in London…

For some reason, this has bugged the fuck out of me. I knew something was up when I saw him in the the British Airways magazine on a flight to Scotland, but I thought it was just a flash in the pan. I am not normally a jealous person, but this has made me go slightly mental with envy. I don't know why — I don't even want to be a fucking chef! I guess I am very jealous of his drive — he used to teach all week, and then work his butt off in restaurants on the weekend. I can't even bring myself to do one of my creative pursuits for just one hour after work. Blog mate and I calculated he was about 30 when he started doing the restaurant thing, so it means I really need to start doing my thing… oh… One year ago.

(OK, so it looks like this post is blatantly going to be about my obsession with my teacher. Sorry.)

Blog Mate and I figured that as we were meeting up, we should try out one of our teacher’s restaurants. I deliberately found some bad reviews of the Venetian one we went to so that I too could whinge about the chewy chicken and crap meatballs. Alas, it didn't quite work out that way... The place was buzzing, no, it was HEAVING. We sat down and took in the delicious menu, the gorgeous decor, the tasty smell of the food... CUNT CUNT CUNT. We ordered one dish off each section and a bit of wine, and then I asked the waiter if by any chance our teacher was there. The waiter smiled and said he wasn't, and we explained that he used to be our teacher, probably just to knock him down a peg or two. (Seeing as I was doing all the talking here, it was almost certainly for that reason.) I wonder if he believed us, since our teacher pretty much looks the same as he did 15 years ago, in the many, MANY Internet searches/extensive stalking I have conducted.

When the food came, it was all just brilliant. (I hate him. I hate him.) We had bread, an array of tasty starters, meatballs, pizza — everything was utterly delicious. Which just made me more mad and more hateful. It was a lovely evening, until some really quite inappropriate R&B came on the sound system very loudly... that was the one weird thing. So we both admitted he had done very well for himself, paid our bill and headed home. And I am so bitchy that I am not even going to give his amazing restaurant a shout-out. He doesn't fucking need it. 

(Wow, this happened over a month ago and I am still filled with so much resentment. Great.) 

But it did not stop there. I got a totally obsessed. The whole thing had riled me up for some reason, although I think it's fairly obvious it's to do with my own failings. Alongside the hate was the fact that we had eaten this totally dreamy cod paste thing there that I went crazy for, so I spent the next day violently trying to find a recipe for it. My search brought up the fact he had a recipe book out for this restaurant… I spent a lot of time looking at it. And I mean A LOT. Am I thinking about buying this book? Really? Am I actually going to put more money in his po... CLICK. Oh right, it appears I am. I have now made several things from the book, cursing my way through it at all times, for they were all delightful and it is a lovely cookbook. Well written, nice recipes, good paper, beautiful photos of Venice... I read all of it in bed across two nights. (I hate him. I hate him.) But now, every time someone reads about him in the paper, or sees him mentioned in an article, they tell me. Every time. He is everywhere. FUCKING everywhere. HAUNTING MY UNMOTIVATED SOUL.

So yeah — my boyfriend and I are planning to go to Venice for our anniversary… AND WHAT?

FINE! FINE! I will cook your stupid delicious food, you git…

Junk In My Trunk — Bank Holiday Special

So, predictably I just got fat over the Bank Holiday. Well, everyone else was treating themselves — why shouldn't I? My boyfriend was stocking up on multipacks of tomato ketchup flavour crisps, and my friend came down from Leeds so we were buying nice food and desserts… Recipe for disaster, but like we all kept saying — "Fuck it, it's the Bank Holiday!" 

And now I am paying the stupid price.

To be honest, I don't feel that bad — stuffing your face on holiday is to do with human rights or something. I had planned on being more mindful, but only because my mate was staying and we agreed that we wouldn't/shouldn't go mental on foodstuffs and would instead try to be good. She has been doing WW for over a year and has now lost a total of 72lbs. Yes, it is amazing and I hate her. (I kept joking all weekend, "You jammy cow… You're so skinny… Don't lose more weight… GET OUT OF MY FUCKING FACE YOU STUPID SKINNY BITCH!" — too much?) 'Being good' went out the window, ooh… about 34 minutes after she got to mine on Friday. (FYI — it went out the window because we went out and got wrecked, NOT because I kept shouting abuse at her. Probably.)  But I was fine with the decision to pig out because, secretly, I wanted to eat as many different forms of potato as I could all weekend. And lots of melted cheese.

In an effort to line my stomach before we all went out for another friend's birthday, I ate my own body weight in pasta. I mean, seriously — I'm surprised I managed to get drunk at all. I remember shovelling it in past the point where I was comfortable, but I kept thinking "It's your first meal today… You need the energy… You will feel sick if you don't… etc", and just kept lifting my spoon right into my gob. Thank fuck I was wearing a billowy top. A good night was had by all — if you get a chance to go to an Ultimate Power club night at any point, TAKE IT! It's fucking awesome. And not a wanker in sight — I promise. http://www.ultimatepowerclub.com/

I also visited another friend over the weekend to finally see the baby she had at Christmas. I must admit, she was very cute and hardly cried at all (I love a well-behaved baby), thus moving me closer to getting over my baby fear. However, she did fart on my lap, so it might be more of a 'one step forward, two steps back' kinda arrangement.

But let's get to the good part!

Great things I ate this weekend: corned beef pasta with cheese (it is brilliant), a homemade fry-up, a pub Sunday roast, mum's chicken curry, two luxury hot cross buns with butter, a wedge of billionaire's cheesecake, a pretty fucking awesome smorgasbord, more buttery food round my mum's, and chip shop chips. Ooh, and salt and vinegar sticks.

Shit things I ate this weekend: Burger King Whopper.

Fuck me, I can honestly say that was the worst burger I have ever eaten in my living memory. I mean, it's worse than a crappy frozen burger you made at home yourself with your eyes shut, worse than something from a dodgy van — THE WORST. I had gone shopping with my mum and we stopped at Burger King for lunch. I was toying with the idea of a cheeseburger (I'm obviously lying. You know fine well that I was eyeing up the Bacon Double Cheeseburger — it's the Bank Holiday, remember?), BUT THEN my mum made the point that for the same price we could get a Whopper. For some reason, I agreed, but I wasn't quite comfortable with this decision… Now I know why! The initial excitement of seeing the giant Whopper box quickly died when I saw that the bun wasn't toasted (I don't think it's supposed to be anyway) and it was just crumbling everywhere (TOO MUCH BREAD!), there was loads of ketchup in it and friggin' lettuce all over the shop. And I bet it wasn't hot either. URGH. And because bad food choices make me unreasonably angry, I blamed my mum for the whole thing. In fact, my constant moaning put her off her Whopper entirely — she didn't even finish it. But I assured her that it was shit anyway.

In other news, I totally forgot to tell you about a new American cake I found out about — The Icebox Cake! I was reading something on the Huffington Post website and I stumbled across it in an article and did a bit of research — and by the end of it my mouth was watering so badly that I knew I had to make it 'on the immediate' (I stole this line from Girls). It's a very simple cake that requires no baking, but it does need a night to set. Traditionally, it is made with a thin type of biscuit that is very similar to the biscuit part of an Oreo, but they are hard to source here, so I found a recipe that used chocolate-covered digestives. You layer some on a plate, they spread lightly whipped cream on them, then layer more biscuits, then more cream until it starts to resemble a seven-layer heart attack. I then grated chocolate over it and sprinkled some glitter, cos I'm fancy like that. And the results are below.

You creamy little fucker…

The overnight wait was pretty brutal. I just wanted to eat the bastard thing, and no amount of fridge-opening and dirty looks in its direction was going to make it speed up. But by the next night, when I poked it with the giant butcher knife I had been brandishing for the last 24 hours, I could tell the biscuit had absorbed the cream and it was finally ready to slice. OH MY GOD. It was epic — a really, REALLY good cream cake, best served with copious amounts of warm chocolate sauce. So my boyfriend and I did what any two sane people would do — eat so much of it that we were almost sick. Yup — by the end of the evening, I was already thinking who I could give it away to because the thought of it (accompanied by the strange smell of warm cream on my top lip) was making me want to vomit. So, we set aside quite a big portion to give to my mum the next day — this rash decision was one that I would soon come to regret… 

After a night's sleep, we were ready for Round 2 with the ice box cake and suddenly what was left in the fridge seemed pretty paltry for two people in the mood for a creamy, chocolatey, biscuity fix. In fact, my mum had to prise her portion out of my clammy, digestive-covered hands. But that aside, I was pleased that the results were as good as they were. With a bit more decorative piping-bag work, I think I would happily serve this to guests. But I do have a confession to make — I got so obsessed with this dessert that I ended up doing some regular (but secret) cake-scaping of my boyfriend's remaining piece… It was worth standing in a cold kitchen for, I tell you. 

Although… if I had been caught, it might not have been worth it. Picture: me. In pyjamas. Shivering by an open fridge. Stealthily stuffing cake into my mouth. With my utensil of choice — a bright green plastic knife from a picnic set. Nuff said.