As for that pesky lard, don’t think I don’t have a plan, cos by crikey I do! Mwahahaha!
Now the Plan is This: after the sherbet-fuelled scoff-fest and party-extravaganza that is December in our household (I blame my inlaws; if they’d canoodled in January 1961 instead of March the Spousal Unit J would have a nice convenient October birthday instead of exposing us to incipient hyperglycaemia every Christmas), there will be no chips, no chocolate, and no cake of any kind for the duration (other than in exceptional circumstances). I’ll restart my strategy of five days a week with no more than one drink, and only after 9pm (so I’m having it because I want to, not to mute the chaos). I’ll write ‘STOP’ on my hand so as to thwart its frequent sneaky forays to the cracker jar. Most importantly, I will move my lardy - yet fabulous - posterior every day. I’ve fallen into the trap of saying oh woe, oh woe, I haven’t (made/organised/managed) enough time for the workout I planned. Well fine, I’ll just sulk and fold washing instead. Then suddenly it's been three days since I last worked out and my pants are even tighter.
All very basic and Captain Obvious. I don't like to fail. All the 'wins' in this plan are behavioural rather than weight based because, well, me and the Scale Gods, we don't get on. I don't need those b#$%&*s messing with my head. Don't tell anyone, but my real aim is to look sensational in my new red dress, which is only ok at the moment if I concentrate really hard on sucking my tummy in. I'll let you know how it goes...
Next: LBTEPA decides that two weeks is not enough preparation for an Olympic distance tri.
More anon, Fancy Nancies!













