Diets. And why they suck. By Sam

My boss came in to work on Thursday raving about this new diet that he had started.  He called it the 8/2 diet but we worked out he meant the 5/2 diet.   Basically, his version was that you eat whatever the bloody hell you like for five days a week and then are restricted to 500 (for a lady) and 600 (for a man) calories for two days a week, but not consecutive days.  He says his niece is on it and she has lost loads of weight and was pigging out on Chinese takeaways and McDonalds the rest of the time.    So Thursday was his fast day, or his 600 calorie day, depending on whether you think 600 calories is enough to live on.    Well, I hadn't eaten yet, since it was only 8.30 in the morning so I thought, you know what?  I can do this.  I won't think about it, I'll start right now.    I won't fast today cos I'm in work and it might give me a migraine.  I'll do it tomorrow, I've only got to go to the dentist.    So, just to start myself in the right way, I didn't eat much on Thursday.    I had a banana for breakfast, a cup a soup for lunch and a tiny plate of pasta for tea.

Friday morning came and cos I knew this was my fast day all I could think about was food.  Normally I'm not even hungry til about 10.30 but today I woke up 6am starving hungry.    I went downstairs and had a large glass of water.   Then after the kids had gone to school I had three slices of turkey ham at eight calories each.    Then went to the dentist.  Tom came and we took the dogs so we could go for a walk round the castle seeing as they hadn't been back there since we moved house.

Lying in the dentist chair my stomach was rumbling so badly it hurt and I felt sick with hunger.   I came out and the chipshop next door smelt so appetising.   But we got in the car and we drove to the castle.   Luckily there is nowhere selling food nearby, unless you count the town centre which we couldn't get near cos of the massive roadworks in the centre of town that we got stuck in for twenty minutes with Lotty whining in the back.  And anyway we moved away for a reason, I don't want to spend my spare time wandering round the town centre hoping I don't bump into anyone I don't like.

The dogs had a lovely time down the castle and we met our old next door neighbour and her dog, Bertie.  The girls were ever so excited to bump into him and we walked with them for a while.

Then we came home and it was no good.  I took two anadin extra and an imigran and ate half a turkey baguette with cream cheese and Tom and I shared a bag of fruit pastilles.   I felt so ill that evening I didn't have any dinner and went to bed at 9 o'clock.

The moral of the story is fasting is stupid.  Don't do it.  You will die.  If God wants me to be fat then I will be fat.     I told Johnny this and he said that was ridiculous and you can't blame God for all your problems.    I told him he didn't have to take everything I say quite so literally.