Highly respected and influential Destination Blogger comes back from a blogmeet and posts almost nothing for two weeks; world keeps turning SHOCKAH.

So, explain this to me.

I’ve been weighing myself every weekday morning for about six weeks now. Frustratingly, and despite making a conscious effort to watch what I eat (K’s got me on starvation rations), my weight continues to oscillate between two fixed points: 11:4 and 11:8. (That’s stones and pounds; can’t be arsed to do metric conversions.)

Indeed, the only time I’ve ever dipped below 11:4 was over the weekend of the Secret London Gathering Of Extremely Nervous People With Weblogs, where a combination of a) forgetting to eat anything more than railway sandwiches and b) a heightened state of anxiety at Facing One’s Peers sent me briefly plummeting to 11:3 and a bit.

Yesterday, I enjoyed a large cooked FREE! lunch at Broadway cinema (the third occasion where blogging has earnt me a free lunch, but we’ll come to that another time), before chowing down on another large cooked FREE! supper at The Dragon. (Part office social, part colleague’s leaving do; see you around, A.)

I then proceeded to sit on my fat arse in the same pub for the best part of six hours, during the course of which I necked five pints of Adnams bitter. Not what you might call one of my healthiest days, then.

Perhaps this would be a good moment to explain my morning getting-out-of-bed routine, which is precision gauged to deliver optimal results. Whereas in the old Who Gives A F**k If I’m Fat days, I would…

1. Wake up.
2. Drink a pint of water in bed.
3. Have a wee.

…my new routine goes like this…

1. Wake up.
2. Have a wee.
3. Weigh myself.
4. Drink a pint of water.

…because when you’re watching your weight, it helps if you’re as, um, empty as possible. Come on, I’m no fool.

This morning, imagine my astonishment to find myself checking in at 11 stone, TWO AND A HALF POUNDS! A new record! Why, I’m positively sylph-like! I hardly have to breathe in, or anything!

I can only deduce that alcohol-induced dehydration works wonders for the figure.

Good. Better start doing it more often, then.

(I am SO hitting NG1 after tonight’s Broadcast gig. They’ll have to beat them off me with a shitty stick.)

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