The hideous squawking hubbub in the kitchen at work is starting to die a death now the joys of spring have naturally lifted a few pounds from everyone’s post-stollen haunches.
They think it’s the new diet plan. The one they’ve been monotonously droning on about since January 2, or whenever it was we were forced to come back and growl over our cookie-crumbed keyboards.
The one that caused a constant high-pitched hubbub between twelve and two. That has now gone down the non-stick frying pan. Bring back the glorious deep-fat fryer.
The diet plan they have all happily become slave to is the new ‘pro-points’ weight watchers plan. Fools. My friend explains to me early in January:
“It’s great. You get 19 points a day, and an extra 48 a week! I use mine on wine…..”
A rough n ready bolstress at work showcases this flexibility to me from another angle: ‘Well, you know I don’t drink, so I can have an extra yoghurt a day’. Hm. I have sampled these products. Saccharin.
Two weeks later the story has changed.
The first friend is in uproar. “AUUUUUUUGH, I can’t eat anything! Do you know what I’ve had today?! Two skinny lattes and a bleedin’ banana” (blood an extra 2 points).
“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH 30 GRAMS GETS YOU NOWADAYS?” She grabs some electronic scales from the cupboard. “This! You may as well not bother!”
The second victim has had enough. “I put on a paaaaaaaand!” She says. “What’s the point? Sasha ate two whole packets of kettle chips at the weekend and lost three! It doesn’t make sense. It’s bollocks. I’m alright as I am.”
Pro-points? I don’t scoffing think so! Pro-plus and a flutter on the game would get you thinner in days……
The other diet plan worthy of hellish mention is the christian’s plan of choice – slimming world. Yes, a two-dimensional, confined approach for those who like rules. The fallacy of choice – green or red days.
A green day is one where you can scoff as much carbie shite as you like, whilst gloating at your peers with their 30 grams. A red day is where you burden your liver with a ton of cancer-causing red meat. Producing the bad breath of an atkins-freak and a gas cloud himmler would be proud of. Let that add some christianly guilt to your carbon footprint.
My sister followed this and nye-on disappeared, much to my aggressively-competitive cheek-sucking annoyance. Then, when satisfied that god still loved her, whatever the shape, piled it all bag on like a sack of maris pipers.
Another religious relic at work followed this plan, and her George-at-Asda trousers became so loose I nearly bought her a clown’s hoop to hold them up with. She has since gone on to churn out several litters of genetically-modified sprogs to challenge her waistline with. God bless her.
Meanwhile, I myself have been quietly trying to lose half a stone. I’m a kickboxer, and I am dangerously near to entering a heftier weight category. Which could be to my advantage; there is more likelihood that I will be matched to a sloppy-titted veteran with anger issues than a sprightly asian half my age.
And my approach? Starvation for as many days of the week as I can, combined with the stuffing of anything calorific I can get my trotters on from my friend’s high-fat fridge.
But if you want to know the ultimate diet, come a little bit closer – hear what I have to say. The most effective diet of all time. Guaranteed to make you thinner than a green-day, 2-pointed string bean.
1. fall in love.
2. bonk until your thighs are reduced to spatchcock-legs.
3. add a dose of amphetamine – your choice on this one!
4. when bonking stops, fall out of love.
5. the grief diet.
Good luck with this one – it worked for me! (And, bar the drugs, is completely free).