One pound on. It's enough to make you bite the head off the last remaining chocolate bunny. Didn't go near chocolate over the Easter weekend. Honest. Went
really near a lot of other things, however. Had a giant scoffathon, actually. Carrot cake, gooseberry tart, the works. And all that grub had to be washed down with something extremely alcoholic. Wasn't fussed. Ate and drank like a Lord (certainly not a Lady). So despite a handbrake turn yesterday when I weaned myself off the good stuff and pumped myself full of green tea and rocket leaves, (not infused, in case there is any misconception) it was inevitable that my syns of the weekend would weigh heavily on the scales, if not my conscience. So there we are, I'm back to
finking fin, as one of my former students might have said.
So I wore a summer dress today (and took off the watch) in readiness for the score on the door, not because of the weather, because it is totally brass monkeys out there. It meant that I walked really briskly to slimming club, and luxuriated in the warmth of the universal menopausal flush of the crowded hall.
It made me recall the days spent on
Eastenders, when at this time of year, the costume department would be going mental trying to get us to peel off the winter layers,
"We're half way through May in the script. Coats off!"
It always amused me that they always assumed that May should have a mediterranean feel on screen.
Perma-goosepimples come high on my
things I don't miss list.
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| The last bun standing... |
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