The contents of my lunchbox are becoming a talking-point at the office. That's not a nice image for you or me, I know, but bear with me. As I'm pretty much off bread at the moment, my past sandwich-and-fried-potato-snackathon of a lunch is but a distant memory. Katie is doing great things with rice, cous-cous (I thought that was a sort of bird, like a warbler), fish, the occasional lean meat and loads of green leaf salads. This last bit actually is rocket science, I guess. Sorry.
Here's a secret. Don't tell anyone. But it's actually quite nice. However I like to play the 'grumpy fat bloke being disallowed pies' routine from time to time. I think it's expected of me; people would be disappointed if I didn't pout about it all from time to time.
The photo of my start weight got put around a whole load of people - it went on the homepage of our corporate intranet site. Someone told me, completely straight-faced, that this was a very brave thing to do. I thought that a little odd.
Brave? Saving a puppy from a burning house, that's brave. Standing up to bullies, that's brave. Telling my wife she's not having another handbag - that's valour in extremis. But letting everyone know your weight? No, that's not particularly brave to me. A tad embarrassing, perhaps, but not something I'm going to lose any sleep over.
I actually got asked for some nutrition advice by someone today. That's a little like asking King Herod for child-minding tips, so I politely made my excuses and left.
And more and more people tell me they're reading this blog, too. Good to know I'm sitting on my sofa with a cup of Roobois tea and an overheating laptop singing my thighs for a reason, at least.
Hmm. Unpleasant image no. 2 for this posting. Think I'll leave it there.