What aspect of your personality could use a little work?
Probably ... every aspect. Most of all, I could do with being patient - not more patient, because that would imply that I'm at all patient now. No, I could just be patient. Once I have that, if I could be less of a complainer then great, thanks. I'll take them both.
Thinking back to when I had to measure my head circumference in November for my upcoming graduation ceremony, I decided to try to find out the average head size for a woman in the UK as of today. I found that I am correct - I do have a larger head than average - and while I couldn't find the female measurement, I'm 0.8 inches above the average male. I chose not to include any of the ruder 'head' measurement figures found on google, not least as they really would make my head seem huge...
Old passport, nice and bendy:
New passport, not bendy:
My partner insists that I'm not allowed to talk about dieting on here (or elsewhere) but it is one of my greatest preoccupations right now. Dieting is ever so boring, I find. It's not the restricted eating part that I dislike, and it's not giving up crisps or having to think about how much alcohol I do or don't drink, and it's not taking pasta or potatoes mostly out of everything. With this diet, right now, I don't mind those. It's really more of a healthy eating plan and it's going well. The thing that bothers me is that the weight has stopped falling off. I had a great first few weeks - I lost around 6lbs and no matter how much was water or digestive improvement I really can see the difference. And I really do fit better into my tightest two pairs of trousers. I'm eager to lose more and I'm afraid I'm going to have to get on the damn exercise bike to do so. And I really don't want to get on that bike.
I was in Wales on the weekend and in discussion with my sister I realised that I'll never be thin in her eyes. She was stood in front of me, having toned herself up nicely in the two months since her second child was born, complaining about being too fat. She's a size twelve - and looks good - but won't be happy until she's back to being a size eight. I thought she'd been a size ten, but surely not eight. Eight's too thin. It emerged that her weight at the height of her pregnancy was the same as my target weight after my diet is finished. I am still a stone and a half off reaching that, but I've realised that when I do I'll still be fat in her eyes. Don't get me wrong - she'd never actually say it - but I guess I always will be. Even if I end up looking fantastic, I'll never be - or would want to be - a size eight. I'll be happy with twelve to fourteen.
Daft things that I have considered to burn calories or to weigh less include: donating blood and cutting my hair. I would actually donate blood to lose 1000 calories, but 600 just don't cut it for the pain. This really isn't meant to sound as grim as it reads - I'm just thinking that if I ate the equivalent of a pint of blood as black pudding I could expect to put on a bit of weight and that wouldn't it be nice if I could take that off instead. 600's just rubbish. So not worth it.
After yesterday's event, I was keen to find out what I would weigh after my bath this morning. From X stone, 5.1lbs, I weighed.... yes, X stone, 4.2lbs. I got off, brushed my wet hair, tied it back and voila! X stone, 4.7lbs. Still, at least I wasn't the X stone, 5.6 lbs they said I was when I got up.
I have written to the makers to tell them that their scales are shonky. How can my electronic kitchen scales be so good and these so poor?
My weight before I got in the shower: X stone, 5.2lbs. Weight after the shower, X stone, 4.9lbs. Either my scales aren't entirely accurate or I was caked in heavy, invisible grime. Still, I'll take its second estimate.
If you think you spot me in a crowd today but aren't too sure, just take a look at my trousers. I have soy sauce spilled all down my right thigh.
A very kind Freecycler has agreed to send me his copy of the Observer Food Monthly from January, much to my absolute delight. Not only will I get to see one pervy picture of lovely Hugh, but according to Pog I'll see several.
I'd like to thank all of my friends, family, freecycle, mother nature (for blessing us with lovely Hugh and his - ahem - nudity), and basically all of the world for this fantastic opportunity to see him largely nekkid. I only hope that he's holding his chicken.
Last night, in a lovely dream that I had, I was shown around Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's chicken enclosure. I must say, I had a wail heck/ball/extravaganza of a time.
