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Last Monday I waddled down to Boots for my first weigh-in, fairly confident that although I hadn’t been especially strict with myself I should at least have lost a little bit of weight in the course of my first week of dieting. I was a bit disappointed therefore when the scales informed me I had gained 0.2kg. This wasn’t surprising when I reflected on what I’d eaten that week. I won’t bore you with the specifics but I had treated myself to: fish and chips (Monday), pizza and a few beers (Friday), full English breakfast with black pudding and fried bread, several pints of Guinness, kebab (Saturday), a BBQ and more pizza (Sunday). Writing that out makes me quite ashamed. And a bit hungry.

But anyway, it was a minor blip, I told myself. This week I’d be better. So, on Monday I made my way back to Boots to find I’d gained two pounds. That’s right. I’ve been telling myself I’m on a diet, cutting back, being sensible etc, and I managed to gain two pounds. Again, a moment of reflection on what I’d consumed that week: large (20) meatballs and chips at IKEA (Tuesday), three bottles of Peroni (Friday), sausage bacon and egg torpedo, four pints of Guinness, two bags of Doritos and two Peroni (Saturday), bacon, egg, cheese and harissa sandwich, enough canapés to feed a small country, beer, several pints of Guinness (ten at a guess), three course meal, wine, champagne, sausage cob x2 (Sunday—it was a wedding to be fair).

Feeling depressed upon realising I’d gained two pounds I did what any sane person would. I went for a curry and a couple of pints. Then last night I went for a carvery. And had a Guinness. And a can of Red Stripe.

In conclusion I need to make active steps towards losing weight. Annoyingly, it would appear that I need to start exercising. And I hate exercise. I’ll also keep trying to shame myself by posting details of all the rubbish I allow myself to eat.

I’ll finish with a dream I had last night; an epiphany of sorts I think.

I dreamt I was in Tesco, and they’d installed a drop-in medical centre. So I went up to see the doctor, who, it turned out, was Jason Donovan. I asked Jase to have a look at me. He loudly announced that I might have a tumour but I was too obese for him to be able to tell. He told me to go away and lose some weight and come back.

I’m no expert on dream meanings, so I tried http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamdictionary/ which offers the following insightful comments:

“To dream that you are fat, signifies a fortunate change in your life or you may be overindulgent. A more literal interpretation of this dream is your fears of gaining weight. You have an skewed perception of your own image which may stem from low self-esteem.”

They have no entries for Jason Donovan, which I’ll be honest, is the part of the dream I’m more worried about.

The plan for this week: just do better.