Redux

OK, I have calmed down slightly.

I went to see M@donna and Gwyn3th’s trainer yesterday – for work, not a workout – and he told me I looked like I’d lost weight. He was in a spectacularly good mood as he’d just gotten some super-flattering press, but still nice to hear, especially as the scales in his gym’s bathroom (which of course I couldn’t resist hopping on) were showing at least a seven-pound gain.

I also had to nip out to look for an outfit to wear to an ‘80s TV fancy dress party Saturday night, and from past experience I know costume sizing varies widely, often in spectacularly unflattering ways. I felt hugely fat in some of the skimpy costumes a friend coaxed me into trying, but did derive some small pleasure when a couple of the “one size fits most” ones actually were unflatteringly big on me. I can still vividly remember the times when I’d see those words and be sure the outfit would be way too small. (And if for some reason I wasn’t busting out from the seams, I’d be too worried someone else would appear at the party with the same outfit hanging off them, thus highlighting exactly how large I was. Hello, neurotic…)

I’m still struggling to keep to my usual London eating routines – what is it about going off piste that makes you feel so hungry all the time when you go back to the trail? Sigh. And I’m meeting up tonight with the ukelele player, which probably means at least a bit of alcohol and perhaps not the best food choices. We’re going to a show first (it’s at 7, so too early to eat first) so I know I’ve got to be careful: alcohol on empty stomach very often equals a binge for me.