Skinny

I'm rubbish at counting calories. I don't own a set of scales. I do a little exercise (to the point that if I miss it it ruins my day) but nowhere near as much as is probably required or recommended for the amount I eat.

As far as I'm concerned I'm thin enough if my jeans fit and fit enough if I can run up the stairs without getting out of breath. Both are true almost 100% of the time.

I have a lot of rules about food, mostly I make them up as I go along, but they seem to do the job. For example;

1. Anything I eat whilst standing up doesn't count.
2. If I break it into smaller pieces it's better for me.
3. I can eat all the chocolate if I've left the flat and eaten a stick of celery - not necessarily at the same time.

Also, if I think really hard about being thinner, I usually feel thinner. Mind over matter and all that jazz. I'd like to believe that my mind was good enough to actually destroy matter - I only wish it worked on everything else. Imagine the fun I could have!

I'm going on holiday to Cornwall in about a month (exotic, I know). I would like to be able to wear cutesy surfer shorts and a bikini top to play games on the beach. Maybe even just the bikini, and if I'm honest, I'm probably confident enough to do it, so long as the weather's good. But I feel guilty that I don't feel obliged to diet or do more exercise in order to prepare.

I also feel guilty that I can eat as much as the guys I live with (occasionally more) and not be the size of a rhino. I do sometimes skip lunch, but that's more out of forgetfulness than a concern for my calorie intake.

I am better at feeling guilty than doing anything about my guilt. I am also better at thought than action - since thought rarely involves me having to organise anything. I hear it's the thought that counts. So I'll be thinking very hard about being skinny.

One day my metabolism will crash and I'll put on six stone in 48 hours. It's all I deserve.

Present

My friends' visit this weekend went off with only one hitch, and it wasn't my fault. They got on the wrong train and showed up two hours late. It should really have been expected. Nice girls, but not to be trusted in navigation.

On Friday before they showed up I got a call from my mother. Having updated me on stuff going on at home she told me that she had a present for me that she was going to send up with Jenny and Hannah. She refused to say what it was, hinting only that it wasn't pink or fluffy. Though she also said that she was quite excited about sending it and that she thought I'd like it.

By the time the girls showed up I had forgotten all about this, terrified that they'd get it wrong again and end up in Northern Scotland. A place in which they surely could never have survived. We got back to the flat, they had a wander round, enjoying the opportunity to be nosy. We drank hot chocolate and gossiped and shared rumors that were only occasionally true, but which we will now spread as indisputable fact.

Then Jenny remembered and said, "Oh, your mum wanted me to give you something. I think it's a lump of meat."

Turned out to be a pork joint. Admittedly not pink and fluffy. Admittedly I liked it (roast dinner for the win). However, even with those clues, I would never have guessed.

The fact that this is not a normal thing to do is completely lost on my mother. This women brought me up. My continued ability to function semi-well is one of society's great unsolved mysteries.