Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
Doctor, Doctor
by admin - 21:22 on 11 September 2010
Since Matchgirl acquired a live-in chef, who has no objection to slaving over a hot stove, she's often bemoaned the fact that many of her clothes no longer fit. Allegedly. She looks fine to me.
But when her weight (a top secret figure known by no-one, especially me) became unacceptable, she put herself in the hands of Dr Dukan – a man beloved by the entire French female population for keeping them slim and trim. Allegedly.
His magic diet is nothing to do with twenty Gauloises a day. Instead, it involves stuffing yourself with as much protein as you want, limited vegetables, no fruit (until stage three) and no carbohydrate (until stage four). Exercise is encouraged too.
So it was a cruel irony that our three-monthly delivery from the Chocolate Tasting Club arrived the same day she began her diet.
As a supportive husband, not only did I leave the chocs unopened, I also joined her dietary regime. Those of you who know me will wonder, of course, from where I could lose weight, but the truth is that my trousers had become a little over-snug around the waist and that at 15st 11lbs I was heavier than I'd ever been. That's what married bliss does to you (so beware, James).
Dr Dukan reckoned that the ideal weight for my six-foot-six frame was 14st 6lbs. I disagreed (as did Matchgirl) and aimed for 15st. Perversely, her target weight was a few pounds less than the doctor advised, although that meant she still had fewer to lose than me.
So it was another cruel irony that this morning I hit my target weight (and ended stage two), almost three weeks after our self-denial began, while she still has a couple of pounds to go.
Protein is plentiful, but as Matchgirl doesn't eat meat, and I've an aversion to eggs, in the past few weeks we've between us consumed more fish than a great white shark. Quorn and yoghurt have also featured heavily on the menu.
However, things are looking up. From tomorrow I'll be allowed to add an apple, two slices of wholemeal bread and a matchbox-sized chunk of cheese to my daily allowance. And once a week, when Matchgirl joins me in the happy lands of stage three, we'll be allowed one unregulated feast (within reason) every week.
All being well, Matchgirl will hit her target on Monday – our second wedding anniversary. She dreams of chocolate cake. Celebrations just won't be the same with low calorie jelly and plain yoghurt.
Snappery Update: More miserable weather meant no trip was made to Chanonry Point. No doubt the dolphins were leaping in my absence.
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