Something amazing just happened as I was trudging upstairs to bed: thinking about a meeting that’s in my diary for this Wednesday, I groaned at the prospect of having to be out of the office for an hour or so tomorrow. “Oh, but that’s not until Wednesday and tomorrow’s Tuesday. Oh no, it’s only Monday today!” My head cleared as I recalled snippets of events from yesterday. “Hang on, yesterday was Monday… today is Tuesday.”

So tomorrow is the hump of the week after all.

I must say that I prefer Moesday to Tuednesday, but nothing beats Le Weekend.

The F word
Talking of beets, I’ve got some in my fridge. They’re a superfood, apparently. In years to come, all these idiots who evangelise about the latest superfood will realise that they were being taken in by the latest fad for what I call “fresh produce”. A real superfood would be something like a massive pepperoni pizza that actually makes you lose loads of weight, reduces cholesterol, fixes all your broken bits of DNA and gives you whatever figure you happen to choose for yourself. If the figure you choose for yourself happens to be like mine, then Domino’s Pizza have exactly what you’re looking for right now.

I have a problem with food in that I can’t stop eating it. There’s no secret, magical way to having a healthy body and an appropriate weight: eat sensibly, move around a bit, don’t drink too much booze. I eat rubbish. Vegetables are a bloody chore, I could happily live off meat and carbohydrates and I have to pretend that I’m really enjoying anything that has a high cellulose content. Apart from peaches, nectarines and plums of course.

Exercise hurts me and always has done, so even the prospect of physical activity makes my joints and muscles ache. Why is this? Running should be exhilarating and fun, but you don’t do running in PE at school, you do standing around freezing your tits off while the teacher shows you how to throw a fucking ball. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the physical activity in that? Riding a bike can be fun, but I’m too much of a pussy it’s too scary to go onto the roads… and I live in a valley, so any destination involves a humiliating and lengthy push of my bike up a bloody great hill. Maybe I’d have more success if I traded in my Penny Farthing for something with gears and brakes.

Booze has become a pleasant weekend treat for me. I love not drinking on a school night. I love having a clear head for the majority of the week. I love having a clear head all of the week in all honesty. I’d recommend that everybody who drinks regularly goes teetotal for at least six months, it’s a very liberating experience.

From my experience, and this may only apply to me, I had to go for years without having any alcohol to really appreciate this rather than going through motions one weekend to another, just waiting for time to pass before I could get hammered on a Friday, Saturday, errrm, Sunday, well, most nights. Of course booze = empty calories + a compulsion to have pudding chips and gravy on the way home from the pub -> huge weight gain -> feeling crap -> an endless cycle of booze, chips, weight gain, feeling crap. Where’s this going? Oh yes, so, I hated all of that, who wouldn’t? These days I just feel pretty exhausted most of the time without needing any alcohol to help me.

But still, I’ll probably get drunk once or twice over the weekend. This will induce me into ordering a takeaway or two, stay up late watch crap TV then make me feel so rubbish the following day that I don’t go on quite the walk I’d intended with the Little Dog.

So yes, there you go. To anybody who complains that they don’t understand why they can’t lose weight, stop lying to yourself, it’s not your glands or your hormones, it’s you.

Now, I’d better put this to bed before I go and raid the cupboard for some tinned sardines or four year old sultanas. Even those raw beetroot seem very appetising at the moment.