It has been a sad and stressful week away from the world of food.
- We had a two-year-old grandson with toxic tonsillitis,
- Angela became the victim of some scumbag remote sim-swap identity theft,
- We have a dog who’s become allergic to something to the point where his face swells up like a balloon,
- Another dog who gashed one of his paws open and had to have it stitched (see picture below)
- A daughter who decided to head-butt a wardrobe, winding up in accident and emergency.
Especially upsetting was the passing away of a much-loved uncle and, on the same day, an equally admired former work-colleague.
It is interesting to consider how this series of unfortunate events might have affected my diet. You could be forgiven for thinking that the difficulties would have naturally caused me to lose weight. You could equally be forgiven for thinking that I would have been tempted to allow the diet to temporarily take a back seat and pick it up again next week which would have resulted in a disappointing weight gain. The truth of the matter is that I ended up losing 1 pound; this was all the more surprising because, at the end of a rubbish week, Angela allowed me what I called a “dietary hall pass”. This meant we were able to have a guilt-free Kentucky Fried Chicken on Friday night and a takeaway curry on Saturday. She even said I could blame her for any consequences. I argued a strong case, saying that I couldn’t possibly go ahead on this basis and that a KFC meal would be completely infeasible and destructive to everything I have been trying to achieve. I offered to have a healthy salad or to cook a low-fat chicken meal but the Lady from Del Monte, “she say no”. Who am I kidding? Of course, the conversation did not go that way, and I metaphorically snapped her hand off. I couldn’t decide what we should have so I went for the ultimate-wicked-zinger-bargain-family-bucket-flame-grilled-popcorn-chicken-feast; Angela had the same. I turned them into healthy meals by ordering a side portion of coleslaw.
My official trainer and health coach (Angela) give me an old-fashioned “tongue lashing” this week. For those of you unfamiliar with this Yorkshire term, it is the equivalent of a “bollocking”. For those of you unfamiliar with that Yorkshire term, I was unceremoniously admonished. I have started to become more confident on the treadmill and began to run for short distances instead of fast walking all the time. Keyhole surgery operations on my left knee cartilage in years gone by have rendered my fitness vulnerable and it sometimes only takes a few hundred yards of running to force me to take a week off. That is what happened last Sunday as my cartilage decided to pop out for a good look round; my coach made it perfectly clear that running was not part of the deal. She later admitted that in my situation she would have done exactly the same in an effort to make faster progress, so it was clearly a case of “do as I say, not as I do”.
Here’s hoping for a better week next week.
George and Ivor – I dedicate this blog post to you both. You were wonderful men, full of humour and a pleasure to be around. I reckon I’m the only person to have known you both, but if there’s an afterlife, I’m sure you will already be getting on famously. I’m uncertain which of you will find it harder to get a word in edgeways.