As many of you know, I am constantly fighting with my weight. It’s a genetic thing, one that I inherited from my Nana on my Dad’s side.

Nana Ruby told me the story of how her and my Papa met. Her and her sister were all dolled up, crisply pressed and set to stun. My Papa spied these two phillies across the dance hall and told his friend – “Ok mate, you take the tall blond good looking one, and I’ll take the chubby one.” I dont need to detail what happened then, because Nana and Papa Doyle spawned a generation of chubby smartarses. The world hasn’t been the same since.

Recently, I went on the Tony Furguson diet and had a moderate amount of success. At my best, I’d lost 14kgs, which for me was amazing. Since then, I’ve been on holidays, partied quite hard, and undone a lot of my hard work. My arse, that I strived so hard to lose – found me again. I’ve slipped a little bit which means its now time to go back onto the low-carb thing once more.

No spuds, no pasta, no rice, no crusty fresh bread – NO ARSE!

So this is my reward scale – with little goals along the way:

1kg – new nail polish
2kg – Bag of really nice coffee beans
3kg – Breakfast at David’s off Oxford
4kg – Magazine subscription
5kg – New set of gym clothes
6kg – New Perfume
7kg – Pedicure
8kg – Massage!

So, at the end of that I will be fabulous, minus the caboose. I will also be broke, but hey… life is more than a bank balance!

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