Ice Cream in Paris

This was supposed to be the jaunty entry where I wrote about my adventures with tit tape – definitely not something this Former-and-Fearing-I-Will-Soon-Be-Again-Fat-Girl thought would ever be in contact with her 32Es.

However, before I got round to writing I got round to bingeing.

Yesterday. At the cricket. With a revolver.

Well, not really. (Not sure what made me think of Clue at this particular moment. I think too much food always makes me a little loopy.)

I had a feeling yesterday might be disastrous. Me + hunger + alcohol + exhaustion + obligation = nothing very good. Frankly, I had debated skipping the cricket, except (a) I've never been, (b) I was going to be in the members' area at Lords, (c) who knows when I might get the opportunity again, (d) it was a friend/quasi-contact who has invited me to various things lately and I've had to keep turning him down, (e) I slightly resist the idea of turning down events because I might eat there.

I had one glass of white wine and felt quite drunk – dehydration? Exhaustion? Who knows? I was having a hungry day and so kept thinking about the snack I'd tucked in my bag, which I ducked off to the bathroom to eat. Then my friend suggested a piece of cake at teatime (whoever heard of a sport with tea breaks?) and I couldn't resist. I spied banana chocolate chip muffins while we were there and it was all over – I couldn't stop thinking how I was going to plot to get one. And so I did. Two, in fact – on top of the Victoria sponge I'd already eaten.

I won't go into the gory details of the rest of the binge, but suffice it to say it carried on to the sweets stall, on to stops the way up the road to the St Johns Wood tube, down another road on the way home, and – after several hours' break -- finished with cheese, bread, crackers, and squirty cream. Sigh. At first I sank into food the way one sinks into a comfortable chair after a long day, with an aaaaah. I was tired of feeling hungry. But then it just became almost how full can I feel?

I felt so ill I could barely sleep last night, and still felt hot and full and sick when I woke up this morning. I'd originally planned to go to the gym this morning, but wondered if perhaps a couple of days off is really what I need, anyway. I'm in Paris until Monday night, and I debated not bringing my trainers at all (though did end up throwing them in the bag at the last minute). I'd planned not to eat until I felt hungry, then decided that might be a recipe for disaster. So then I thought I'd eat breakfast and maybe skip my snack. Of course I spotted chocolate in the train station and decided I had to have some (but just one bar). I bought lunch for the train and ate it. A bit later I got a call from my friend in Paris, wondering if she and her husband should wait for me for lunch.

I paused. I wavered. I used to love that about travelling – that you could turn up somewhere and eat without anyone knowing how much or if you'd eaten recently. I told her to go ahead. For the rest of the train ride I thought about eating a second lunch in Paris, then decided against it, thinking: I cannot have another two-day binge. That cannot become the pattern.

I struggled a bit to stay on track today: Waiting in a long queue to buy a Metro ticket, and staring at what was available. Then when I arrived at my friend's and saw a package of biscuits on the counter. Then again when she offered me lunch. And at various other points throughout the day.

I ate my dinner (salad, grilled salmon, rice and some vegetable-type side dishes at a Japanese place) and wasn't exactly upset when she and her husband suggested an ice cream at Berthillon. I ordered a scoop of white peach sorbet and a scoop of bitter chocolate sorbet in a cone, something I haven't eaten for years. Frankly, I ordered the cone because at that point I just wanted more food, but I realized it takes an awful lot longer to lick an ice cream than it does when you eat it with a spoon. I am usually a speed-eater, but I was still working on my cone until nearly the moment my friend finished hers. That never happens. I'd felt antsy after dinner, both like I wanted more and also fearing that an ice cream cone could set off a binge. But I felt satisfied when I finished my cone; happy.

My friend is the sort of person who – in her own words – saves sweating for sex and, even when starving, would rather take the time to make something lovely to eat rather than wasting time with anything that doesn't taste delicious. I've vowed to try to eat as she eats for the rest of the time I'm with her. In general I do need rules and guidelines to keep myself in check – after all, for 34 years I've been a pretty poor judge of portion and satiety -- but maybe what I really need right now is a little experiment in moderation; how to enjoy myself without going completely off the rails. And where better than Paris and with friends who know everything worth eating here to really enjoy food?