Becoming round again

Fascinating though I am in every possible way, my weight is so cyclical that even I have started to find the pattern massively boring. Massive being the most appropriate word. I start at Bad Weight A. I feel fat, so I exercise and eat less. My thighs tone up a bit, my bingo wings shrink, and over the course of a few months, I reach Good Weight B. Good Weight B is never as low as my original goal, Unreachable Weight C, but it's OK. I fit into some thinner jeans. I get cocky.

And then I get ill, or I go to a festival, or the snake bites, or some other event disrupts my routine, and I stop exercising. Without the threat of undoing lots of hard gym work hanging over me, I then just give up altogether and start eating normally forbidden food such as cake. And this is where the cruel part kicks in. For a blissful couple of months, I don't gain. I remain at Weight B. "This is brrrrrrrrilliant!" I think, delightedly, inwardly clapping like a seal. "I've finally done it! I've permanently altered my metabolism! I'm now one of those people who can eat Pret a Manger pizza wraps for lunch every day and never go to the gym and still remain lithe and slender like a standard lamp." For several weeks, I cruise along at Weight B in a haze of smugness, wearing skimpy clothes while knocking back Krispy Kremes with gay abandon.

But gradually, inevitably, I start to creep back towards Weight A. At first, I am in denial. "I'm not heading back to Weight A," I chuckle confidently. "That muffin top over the edge of my jeans? An optical illusion - it's my shit Ikea mirror. Fucking Swedes." Or later, "I haven't got fatter! OK, my dress is tighter - but that's because it shrunk in the wash! Yes. Even though I've washed it on the same setting a billion times, this is the one time that it's shrunk. Yup. Definitely. That's what's happened. It's all Hotpoint's fault." And then a few days or weeks later, I finally concede that I'm heading back to where I started, with 'motivation to exercise' about as high on my things to do list as 'drink Rooney's vomit' and no desire whatsoever to eat anything that isn't topped with melted cheese or mayonnaise.

No prizes for correctly identifying that I am currently reaching the nadir of Bad Weight A, tired and a bit ill after Glasto, DESPERATE to avoid the gym, unrelentingly and frantically craving deeply unhealthy food and booze from the moment I awaken to the moment I go to sleep. I'm not sure what will kickstart me onto the slope to Good Weight B, but it sure as hell better hurry up before I need to be wheeled around by a third party and have to buy two seats on aeroplanes. Hmmmm. Maybe I'll go on a gym kick as of Monday. Yes. Monday sounds plausible. And still pleasantly distant. I'm off to the vending machine.