Not long before I went on holiday, I joined a gym. Now, I could bang on about how special, unusual and altogether ideal this gym is - but it would probably be the endorphins talking, as I've just got back from a good workout. Suffice to say, it offers a programme which suits me down to the ground.
One of the things they do at this gym is to weigh and measure you once a month and produce a graph for you of how you're doing. In the first month, I exercised for a week and a half, spent half a week babysitting and getting ready for my holiday, then ate red meat and cheesecake and drank Castle lager for two weeks, almost without stopping. So when I had my first weigh-in yesterday, I was not displeased to find that I had lost a whole pound.
At this rate, I should reach my target weight by about March 2012. Fortunately, though, I haven't yet managed to persuade my boss to give me two weeks' holiday every month, so I'm hoping the rate of weight loss may pick up a bit this month. One of the side effects of exercise for me is that after exercise, I can't bear to eat anything that might undo the good I've just done, so I've just eaten a very nice salad with king prawns.
Of course, I did say after exercise I can't bear to eat anything unhealthy. We won't mention what happens before exercise. I mean, it was my colleague's birthday, and it would have been rude to refuse those cream cakes.
Yes, that was plural. It was another colleague's last day in the office before he went off to get married. Well, having accepted the cake to celebrate the birthday, it would have been even ruder to refuse the cake to celebrate the wedding.
OK, maybe March 2012 is a realistic date for reaching my target weight, then. I don't care. I feel gooooood. They should bottle endorphins and sell them as a cure for depression...