I’ve often thought that maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Instead of dieting, perhaps I should just relocate to the South Pacific –  on the island of Tonga for example, to put it bluntly, fat women are where it’s at…if you’re fat, you’re in. And did you know, in Mauritania,  there’s even a ‘wife fattening farm’ – imagine that.  Rumour has it that stretch marks are a major turn-on for Mauritanian blokes…I must nip down to WH Smith and order the Mauritanian edition of FHM, just to have a look. The ultimate body shape in that neck of the woods (I shit you not) apparently comprises cascading stomach flab, overlapping thighs and a neck with ripples of fat. I mean come ON…it’s clearly my spiritual home.

In the same magazine article, which I found in Marie Claire (the irony wasn’t lost on me) they referenced a young woman who was using dodgy under-the-counter medication to increase her appetite because she was desperate to be bigger.  It seems that wherever in the world you live, your self-esteem takes a battering if your body shape doesn’t conform.

Not that I’m banging the ‘big is beautiful’ drum. To some people it may well be…my best male friend for example is particularly partial to a well built lady. He’d be more likely to fantasise about a hippo swinging on a grape over Miley Cyrus  on her wrecking ball, but I’m not in that space at all. I don’t especially want to be a size zero – given my years of yo-yo dieting I’d end up looking like a shar pei puppy if I took my clothes off.  But normal, average, medium sized…yes please.

So, where do I sit right now..? On the scale of thin – slender – slim – average – curvy – cuddly – large – extra large – fat knacker – sumo – mobility impaired – needs a crane to leave the house, I’m definitely a decent fat knacker with one foot in sumo. My knee hurts, all the time.  My feet ache, my back aches, and I can’t walk up a flight of stairs without being really out of breath. I can feel my backside following me when I walk and I’ve even got a spare tyre on my spare tyre. I’ve woken up more than once in a cold sweat, after a night terror where I’ve seen myself living out my days with my belly tucked into a pair of trackie pants, chins flapping in the breeze as I pootle around on a mobility scooter.

But I’m not going there. I’ve decided I’m going the other way.  And in the last 9 days, every step has been in the right direction. For now, I’m still in the game 🙂

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