Since I started this diet I have become obsessed with weighing myself. Obsessed is Hubbies word. I prefer intense self interest, it’s a phrase less likely to get you sectioned.

According to my best friend “They say you should only weigh yourself once a week” Who are THEY? They want to try coming here and saying it. They should mind their own beeswax in my opinion and leave me to my own obsessive self interested little ways.

Hubby has threatened to hide the scales. “Don‘t you dare” said I in what could be called a forceful manner, cradling my precious booty and rocking back and forth (!) “Holy Crap woman, he spluttered, calm down, or at least put the knife down and we’ll talk”. So the scales have stayed.

Sometimes I like them and most times I don’t. They can either be my best friend or my very worst enemy. Even when they tell me what I want to hear I don’t believe them. I move them from room to room and surface to surface just to check. I don’t know if standing on the flat roof outside the bathroom window naked in a hail storm could actually be classed as odd behaviour. But the neighbours have bought binoculars and I suspect that hazy image on You Tube could have been me.

Of course, whatever they say it still isn’t classed as my “official” weight. No, that is taken every Tuesday evening at Fat Fighters, presided over by the Guru of all knowledge “Our Consultant” (we’re not worthy).

The whole weigh in thing is, of course, confidential. Having said that we still queue near enough to see the other peoples expressions, hear their cries of despair or their triumphant punching of the air when they’ve shed a pound or two. Me being the Gobshite that I am can’t help cheering them on from the line up. Stand on one leg and lean back a bit, I encourage. Close one eye and stick your finger in your ear. Oops, blimey that was a nasty fall. Put some butter on it, yeah the low fat kind. It’ll be fine.

Anyhoo the good news is that last night I got my 2 stone certificate Yey for me. 2 stone for our non stone speaking readers equates to 28lbs, 14 bags of sugar or a small child, either way I am chuffed to little mint balls (sugar free.)

Right then, enough of this pontificating, the dog has a desperate look about him and has exercised the patience of a saint while I have been sat here boring the pants of you. If I had been him I would have chewed through the telephone wire and poohed in my handbag by now.

Hello? Hello? Ewww what’s that smell………………………………....................