Yesterday was not a good day. It started in the morning with a telephone call from my car insurance company. They wanted to discuss a claim. The only claim I know anything about was from an incident absolutely ages ago when I stupidly reversed my car into the side of a parked car behind me. I didn't do very much damage to them, although my bumper was superficially dented, but I left a note with my details and contacted my insurer so they'd be ready if a claim was made. After a few days of humming and hawing, the other party decided not to claim as the damage was so superficial. My insurance company told me that if no claim was made within six months then it would be dismissed. So naturally, not really remembering when all this went on, I thought they were phoning to tell me that the six months was up.
What they were actually calling about was a new claim. Apparently, four days ago, they received notice of a claim against me for when I drove into the rear of a pick up truck. In February. In County Durham. Errrr....I don't think so. For a start, I don't think I've ever set foot in County Durham! And if I have, it wasn't in February. The nearest I'd have been was en route to Harrogate in April when I babysat my niece and nephew while my brother and his wife went to Paris. I think someone has made an error with the registration number. Or is winding me up!
Anyway, all that went on, and my resolve was still strong. I ate my porridge, and cycled along to a recording of the XFactor as is my wont. And then my washing machine died on me. I hadn't noticed that the drum was still full of water and when I opened the door it all gushed out all over my feet, the pile of clothes waiting to into the machine and the floor of the downstairs loo. Great. I tried turning it off and turning it on again, that being "the code" these days, but no joy. Just more water.
By this time, I can feel a headache on its way, and the mouth ulcer that has been lurking near my bottom lip has been joined by several more towards the back of my throat. I'm feeling decidedly ropey. My lunch, which consisted of a ham salad sandwich and a satsuma is now feeling wholly inadequate. I toast two crumpets, but manage not to slather them with butter.
Eventually I reckon a bath might help. It probably would have done had I only realised that one of the kids had redirected the water to the shower. As I turned the water on full blast, the shower head leapt off its stand, crashed against the wall and ricocheted off the taps, forcefully spraying cold water all over everything, including me. Scrambling to turn the water off, or at least redirect it back into the bath I slip on the wet floor and knock my teeth on the side of the bath. What next? What next torment lurks?
The bath was too hot and I'm left with that sick, dizzy, faint feeling. I know I have to pull myself together; kid in the middle has hockey club and needs a wholesome meal inside her before she goes running around in the chill dark all night. Oh but I've no energy. Although I do have a Freddo bar in the bottom of my handbag. Oh look. I have three. I must have bought them for the children. Even as I'm thinking this, I'm eating them.
Self-loathing hangs about in the air as I prepare a meal for the children. Cries of "What's for dinner? That smells good" torment me as much as the garlicky aroma wafting from the oven. I resolve to have only a little bit, in order to balance out the greed and weakness of earlier. But resolve isn't hanging around much today and I polish off a full portion and the leftovers. And finish it off with a packet of cheese and onion crisps because what I really wanted, but was determined not to have was a glass of wine. Which makes no sense whatsoever.
The irony of all this is that yesterday was supposed to be Day One of a five week dieting challenge. (Ten pounds in five weeks. No alcohol. Well I managed that alright. Stick to diet. Pah. Exercise every day. I exercised my Caving In Muscles.) Day One. And I have the biggest fail of the last eight weeks. What's that all about?
So this is Day Two. This will be the measure of how serious I am about losing this weight. Perhaps it would be a good idea to print off those awful photographs to remind me WHY I'm doing this.
Week thirty nine, nine months in. - 267. Two pictures for the price of one, because I so love my new (to me) car, and she now looks extra smart with her new number plates on. 268 An outi...