I try to veg out but party for one has more appeal

Idon’t want to be harping on about the weight thing but I definitely have worms. There has to be an external force. I’m eating 25 meals a day, all carbohydrate laden, and then I have my very own cheese and wine reception circa six o’clock. In the evening. Soon it’ll be in the morning. My whole day is focused on getting to six and the little party. I will have to be eventually winched out through the large Velux window in my bedroom. With a cherry picker.

And now that I know nobody is going to see me or get close to me for some time, I’ve given myself a sort of carte blanche. I’m also hoping that any fatty classes will be deemed dangerous and cancelled. Forever. There is one major disadvantage to people being at home all day. I’m acutely aware that the people in the houses behind me can see my voluptuous shape when the sun comes out and I have the audacity to remove some of my clothes. There is one little area where I think I’m obscured by a large bush but I can’t be sure. I’ll be relieved when they all go back to work.

I can lose a half stone in a week when I put my mind to it. It just depends on which week and which part of my mind is receptive. I try to be good every time I go out shopping. Dodging down the aisles with my gloves and mask, grabbing fruit and veg at a rate of knots. And then coming home and putting them all in a bowl. I stand back and look at them admiringly. Very Instagrammable, I think. And then they go rancid before I get to them, and I realise I should have brought the black refuse bag to the shop and put them straight into it. Save the use of a bowl. Or maybe I should put chocolates and biscuits in the bowl.