Dieting Days Are Here Again!

It's the same thing every year. The sun starts flaunting it's rays hither and thither in gay abandon and my wardrobe responds accordingly. The dull greys and browns are pushed up the end of the rail and all the oranges, limes, whites and pinks are fluffed up for another summer season. So far, so great!

Trouble is my body is still sporting:
a. its Christmas excess (1980 on)
b. its remaining baby blubber (from 1993)
c. saddle-bag writers arse
d. indications of early onset middle age spread
e. sedentary flab from having the hideous Trochanteric Burtsitis for 4 years (Google it - you'll wish you hadn't!)
f. Lazyitis without even a lapsed Gym membership as an excuse.

Nothing else for it but to go back on the Grapefruit Diet! Which actually works if you've got the appetitie of an ant and the intelligence of a gnat to see it through. Hubbs and I did it for the fortnight leading up to our nuptials and lost a stone between us although it did absolutely nothing to help our pre-wedding jitters and actually made me feel a trillion times worse what with hunger headaches and my stomach lining eating itself.

I don't know how he's doing it, but Hubbs is still on the GD 12 hours later. And after a day of physically exhausting tasks at work, too. Whereas I merely had the arduous idea of popping into town to pick up my newly lensed glasses, have a bit of a browse then back home to write totally unhindered (as it's half term and MiniMe is off doing work experience - v.keen of her to give up her break, don't you think?). But no sooner had I grabbed my specs off the nice assistant lady, I'd hared back to the car and driven at warp speed back home, fried an egg, sandwiched it between a slice of cheese and ham, stuck it on a slice of toast and devoured it with all the delicacy of Hannibal Lecter after Lent.
I'm sorry but there has to come a time in your life when you just have to say Dieting's Off. No more. Bored now.
I don't like being hungry.
There's also millions of people in the world who are starving through no choice of their own and would give anything to have the luxury of being able to say 'no thanks' to a plate of food.
We should be grateful.
So, if anyone catches me moaning about my spare tyres again, they have permission to slap me round my stupid ungrateful face.