Ooops, I forgot.

It's been a while since I visited my health trainer. She promised me a recipe list with portions on, to help me judge what was the right amount to eat each day. Time passed and the promise to deliver this eating chart seemed to slip away. I thought maybe Ms Sabbath had forgotten me, or maybe they were ignoring me, because I only write nasty things about them (who knows?).

I'm not sure why, but there was a feeling of relief. For a few weeks, I forgot to hate myself. I forgot about worrying about my hugeness. I forgave myself for not being perfect. I didn't berate myself for eating bad things. My weight changed not one ounce. I have no idea what my blood sugar was doing. I haven't tested it since Max's plan to starve me into lower sugar levels.

So, when the leaflet arrived this week, charting my future eating habits, I had to sit down and eat a couple of chocolate cream eclairs and think it over. I know I should get to grips with it. I know I should. The effort involved in organising each day in advance feels massive, though. So I did the head-in-the-sand trick and filed it away for future reference, with the intention of dealing with it later.

And here I am, a week on, two more chocolate eclairs further towards cholesterol induced artery clogging, and I haven't even read the list through properly. Nor have I made a decision. In the words of the advert: Maybe tomorrow, Jack.