So I’d be the first one to admit that I’m not always the best at planning. I think it’s something to do with the fact that in my working life I have to be super organised and that goes against my nature, so outside work with nobody to bollock me if I’m not on top of everything it quite often goes to pot. And broadly speaking I’m okay with that, I mean occasionally I make life a bit more difficult for myself than it needs to be but things have a habit of working out in the end. I think you might call that blind faith.

Yesterday was one of those days where in respect of my food plan it didn’t work out that well, in fact it went completely tits up. You might call that the exception which proves the rule. I had an afternoon meeting a couple of hours away from home which started at lunchtime, and it wasn’t catered in the way it usually would have been. I didn’t realise this, so my plans to skip breakfast and preserve a few extra points to spend on the lunchtime buffet backfired.

By the time the meeting started I could have happily eaten my own arm. No breakfast, a long drive and no lunch either…it’s fair to say the day wasn’t going well. There was a large glass jar of Fox’s Glacier Mints on the table, and having flirted with them from a distance for an hour or so I caved and ate one, followed in quick succession by two more.

It was only the thought of everyone noticing my fat arm snaking across the table again as I went in for number four which prevented me hoovering up the lot. I wouldn’t care, I don’t even like Fox’s Glacier Mints…my Grandad always had them and I swear they wouldn’t have been his sweetie of choice, except they were the only ones which allowed him half a hope of having some left after I’d been for a visit. Normal Grandads have Werthers Original, I mean come on, everybody knows that, right?

Anyway…I’d arranged to meet a friend for dinner last night but the traffic was shocking on the way back and it took me almost three hours to drive home. Bear in mind I’m still running this body on three mints and a gallon of coffee, so it’s fair to say by the time we hit the restaurant I was really knackered, and I felt like I hadn’t eaten for a month.

You can see where this is going, right? Not the best mind-set in which to make food decisions…the Asshole voice was seething with indignation that I’d experienced an actual hunger pang or two and pulled out the stops to try and make me order the biggest fattest dinner available. He was so pushing on an open door. You’ve barely eaten all day so why don’t you have a big fat juicy steak with all the trimmings and a side order of that, that and THAT…yeah, go on then, don’t mind if I do.

Thankfully, the Gods of Skinny were on my side. It came, and it wasn’t good. Whichever muppet was in charge of the grill had ruined a perfectly good steak by overcooking it until it resembled shoe leather, I mean if that was medium rare I swear I’ll bare my arse to the world. There was nothing green on the plate at all, not even a salad garnish, and the chips and onion rings just tasted of cooking oil. Even the mushrooms came wrapped in breadcrumbs. Brown, surrounded by three sides of beige…mmmmm, lovely.

I sat there and thought you know what, it serves me right…I should have gone for a healthier choice. Just because I had a huge chunk of food budget to spend didn’t mean I had to go for the most points-laden option on the menu, you know? That’s fat-girl thinking. It was only the fact that it was truly minging which saved me from myself. I sort of picked at it and ate the mushrooms but most of it went back untouched. And despite being sorely tempted, I didn’t order the sticky toffee pudding although I have to ‘fess up to a bit of spare spoon activity with my friend’s portion.

So yesterday, the Gods of Skinny were in my corner. Today, they’re taking the piss. I collected a mystery parcel with my name on from the post office this morning after the postman left a card yesterday and it seems my utility company decided to send me a box of chocolates to say thanks for my custom. Hotel Chocolat chocolates…if only they knew.

One foot in front of the other and repeat, right?

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