...for a little review.
Pro Points has now been up and running for 3 weeks, and this little blogger has lost three and a half pounds. Not a stellar rate of loss by any means, more of a slow, steady crawl down the scales – certainly nowhere near the dress size that WW suggested I could drop for Christmas.
But let’s look closer…
Week 1 – Monday to Friday
Pro Points rock! Hurrah! And then…
Week 1 – Saturday and Sunday
…D and I discovered the B52. By which I do not mean the late 90s pop group who invited us to join them in their love shack, but a shooter made up of coffee liqueur, Baileys and Cointreau. I could explain the complex emotional reasons for us deciding it was a good idea to start drinking shots at lunchtime, but it is probably easier if you just assume that we both like a drink. I would recommend the B52 – however, it comes with a health warning; three of these, washed down with a few pints of cider and it is quite likely that you will buy a box of mince pies on the way home, inhale two of them and fall asleep on the sofa at seven in the evening with pastry crumbs round your mouth.
Week 2 – Monday to Friday
Mostly spent sulking, refusing to exercise and eating cheese. See self indulgent post here.
Week 2 – Saturday and Sunday
Made a ten hour round trip on a bus in order to attend a friend’s thirtieth birthday party. Such are the lengths that I will go in order to see my dearest contemporaries and also to get plenty of cheap vodka. Consumed copious quantities of Smirnoff – and was mostly undeterred when the mixers started running out (“No more Diet Coke…? No problem, we’ll just use this wine that’s lying about instead! Hic!”) A good time was had by all – although the pain of five hours on a National Express bus with a hangover is not to be underestimated. I fed my poor, beleaguered system plastic sandwiches to try and perk it up.
Week 3 – Monday to Friday
Let’s haul ourselves back up on that Pro Points wagon! Free fruit – eat your fill of seasonal satsumas! Marvel at your own smugness.
Week 3 – Saturday and Sunday
My parents come round for dinner on Saturday night. Between us, D and I have created seven, delicious courses. The theme of the evening is “An Extravaganza of Cheese” in honour of my father’s fervent appreciation of the stuff. No one around the table succumbs to the cheese sweats – but it is a close run thing. Sunday finds D and I suffering from post dinner party ennui – possibly occasioned by the fact that each of the courses was accompanied by a different bottle of wine. At seven o clock we dive head first into a bucket of chicken and “special” coleslaw. My foodie credentials, slim to start off with, take a further battering.
I think, from this little round up, we can take the following points.
1) Pro Points would appear to work. Over three weeks I probably pointed 10 out of 21 days, and made six gym visits. This has been enough to not only counteract all the fervent eating and drinking that has gone on during the other 11 days, but also to make a three and a half pound dent in my existing paunch.
2) I definitely drink too much. And, as my thirtieth birthday fast approaches, I no longer fall into the category of debauched, “mad for it”* yoof. As a teenager, I did not spend Saturday evenings drinking White Lightening cider behind Romford library – preferring instead to stay in and watch Gladiators. But that appears to be the last time I adopted a sensible approach to alcohol consumption. If I have any hope of fitting into a size 10 wedding dress, the shots, the cider, the vodka and the wine all have to go…or, at least, have to become a less prevalent part of my weekend.
On a final note, can I just say how disproportionately excited I am about my lunch? M&S Turkey and vegetable soup with sage and onion stuffing balls – it’s Christmas Dinner soup! It’s 7 points for what looks to be a generous portion! And there are snowflakes on the packaging! Can you imagine a more comforting lunch for an extremely snowy November day?
*I suspect the fact that I have used this expression dates me even more than the admission that I’m fast approaching thirty. I don’t suppose even Liam Gallagher says “Mad for it!” anymore. Sigh.