I have returned from my hols and I just don't know where the hell to start with a blog post.
There are so many areas I want to wax lyrical about but there just ain't the time and quite frankly, I've been so poop with my posts it's feeling pretty quiet around here so there might be the odd spam bot (hee hee - BOT!) that is reading them! Whatevs - I shall blether on regardless and let's start with what's at the heart of this here blog, the big ole fatty fatterson issue.
I was on my game big time in the run up to the holiday and I weighed in the morning we flew out to Crete (which was lovely by the way). I had stayed the same which I was okay about. I lost 1.5lbs the week before that perhaps was a little generous so, okay.
I went on hols and oooooooooh weeeeee! Do I really need to spell it out for you? There was a lotta drinking, there was a lotta eating. I had a gooo-oood time. But those good time, my friend? They are over. They are done. No more. Good times = DEAD.
I got home at 4.30 in the flippin AM on Saturday and since then... oh lordy. It is game on! I might feel like utter poop thanks to the mother of all colds I caught while on hols, but I am a lean mean non-eating machine, or something like that. You get the gist, right... I am the picture of eating perfection. For once I even have planned all my meals for the whole week. Check me!
And because I am having a small moment of wedding excitement (amongst the mainly overwhelming feeling I have) did I ever show you my emmefffing bling?! That is also a kitten yawn in the background. Too much cute. TOO MUCH.