What is it about those two words that strikes fear into the heart of this particular dieter?
I’m on a four week training course at the moment (pauses for a minute to revel in deep, deep joy) and a buffet lunch is being provided. Every day. For four weeks.
I think I’ve mentioned my tendency towards points blindness in certain situations before, but never is it so pronounced as when I’m faced with a table full of dinky little sandwiches and mini pizzas and cocktail sausages (although I must say that I was quite disappointed yesterday at the lack of cheese and pineapple sticks). Do I somehow convince myself that if it is miniature it doesn’t count?
Yesterday I managed to confine myself to a single plateful. Three quarter sandwiches – chicken (good), tuna mayo (less good – there was a lot of mayo and I bet it wasn’t low fat) and cheese (awful), a chicken finger type thing (like a fish finger but, er, chicken. And cold) and yes, a mini pizza. By no means disastrous but I was sorely tempted by all the other bits and pieces – especially the cake table. Bakewell tarts! Battenberg!
I think as of tomorrow I’m going to bring a pack up in with me. It’s not the frugal way, but for the sake of my waistline I need to eschew the buffet table altogether. The day the cheese and pineapple sticks turn up it could get messy.