The Mayo Clinic, Atkins, food combining, blood type. Forget those old-timers – I’ve started a new fad. It’s called the reverse diet. I go on holiday a week on Saturday. To Spain to lounge around in the sun and to stay at the house I co-own (and which leeches money from my bank account every month, but that’s a whole other rant).
Every year around May I start thinking, right, must drink less, eat a bit more sensibly and up my running so I’ve got a nice flat tummy / six pack for my summer holiday.
And every year I miss my target.
Well, this year I have surpassed myself.
I’ve had a particularly boozy / eatty (or is eaty?) few weeks, which consequently have left me with a rather unbecoming roll of flab that hangs menancingly over my trousers when I sit down – it’s like I’ve already been on holiday and have the body one expects to have after a week lounging around eating rich food, drinking too much and doing no exercise.
The day before I go I am going for a fake tan.
And that’s where the reverse diet comes in. I am going to go away brown and ‘cuddly’ and come back certainly paler (sunbathing is a no no in these surgically enhanced / face ripped off and stuck back on again times, you know) and hopefully a bit less flabby.
Get it? Remember where you read it first.
No doubt my first entry back will read To Barcelona, where my tan faded and my stomach became firmer. Which brings me to today’s pet hate: people who, usually in the Londoner’s Diary pages of ES begin a story by saying ‘To The Wolseley…’ or ‘To the courts of justice’. Whatever happened to ‘I went…’?
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