Demented Dieter

Winter has come to Perth. The ever-so-blue sky has turned grey and cloudy. The temperature has dropped to a chilly 13 degrees. Jim has caught a cold and retired to bed with a hot whiskey toddy. It's perfect weather for comfort eating and to make it worse we've been watching Season 3 of The Royle Family again. I declare it impossible to get through even two episodes without a white sliced, bacon and brown sauce buttie washed down by a mug of tea and followed by a Penguin or Wagon Wheel. I may have to make do with a Tim Tam but you get the general idea. I may even have to take up smoking.

Current weight: Dunno. It's too cold to take my dressing gown off to stand on the scales.

Labels: Royle Family; bacon butties;

Today I received advice from three different doctors on how to lose weight. No, I haven't been trawling the clinics in desperation, I was helping some overseas-trained health professionals prepare for an English exam. They have to do a role-play with the examiner acting as a patient. Today I was the mother of a twelve year old girl who needed braces, a dyspeptic grandfather and an overweight, middle-aged woman who yearned to be slim. That one wasn't much of a stretch for me.

One doc recommended a complete change in lifestyle. She was brutally honest about my unhealthy habits and condemned me for my alcohol consumption. Another advocated gradual change, a series of small moves in the right direction and thought a glass of wine with my meal would do no harm. The third was in favour of drinking lots of water and taking up exercise. In so far as the test is concerned they could have recommended a steady intake of chocolate Hob Nobs and still passed provided they made their suggestions in the correct tense but I found it interesting to have confirmed what I've long suspected: the medical profession know no more than I do about losing weight.

Thought for the day: It's like, at the end, there's this surprise quiz: Am I proud of me? I gave my life to become the person I am right now. Was it worth what I paid?
-Richard Bach, writer (1936- )

Current weight: 78.1 kg

Labels: role-plays

Last week, as it had been two years since my last check-up, I popped into the optician's for a quick eye test. I thought. '15 mins reading the chart and then choose some new specs.' Alas no. He discovered what I have known for ten years that there is no vision in the bottom left quadrant of one eye. It's been checked out before and the conclusion was 'a congenital abnormality that we haven't had the technology to detect before.' However, all credit to him, he wanted to be thorough so I spent two hours in a darkened room reading eye charts and playing 'click when you see the light.' I came out with eyes like a bush baby (drops to dilate the pupils) and a referral to a specialist.

Today I went through the whole thing again with the ophthalmologist only for him to conclude, "Your eyes are good enough to get you into the army. You can hardly ask for more at your age!" Indeed not. I had to spend the rest of the day wearing dark glasses though. I imagined myself as a fading fifties film star going shopping incognito. And I wasn't mobbed in the queue at Officeworks so the disguise must have worked.

Current weight: 77.1 kg

Labels: eye test