I caught myself this evening with a piece of bread in one hand and, in the other, a knife plunging into butter. Dear oh dear. Sheer absent-mindedness. I ate the bread without the butter.
I've been feeling fat and lugubrious all week, but I can't think there's any reason. I didn't get the bike out today, but I didn't have time - I was interviewing at the high school in the morning so needed to look quite tidy and then hurry back to babysit. The children took up the rest of the day, but at least we went along to the playground, and I left them on the baby swings and had a jolly few minutes on the, um, older children's swing. We're going to the swimming pool on Friday.
I've been really busy and it's been difficult to focus on myself. I did make that soup - there was a little butter in it, but otherwise it was just leeks, a little potato and the stock, with a little milk - about 100mlat the most, which I added as it was a little salty from the stock. I liquidised it and it was lovely.
I'm planning a couple of days in London next week. I usually walk for miles and don't eat much during the day. In fact, the last time I dieted, nineteen years ago (there's a reason for remembering) it was kicked off by a long weekend in London, during which I lost several pounds and was encouraged to keep going. After three months I'd lost another stone and kept it off for several years, until I became both complacent and harrassed. And over forty, which is a total bugger as far as potential weight gain in concerned.