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"Tut tut, Mary Berry, all that cake is no good..."
CHANGE is in the air at Casa Clarke this week.
I don’t want to utter the ‘d’ word and risk scaring away my willpower, but as my French friend Delphine would say: “I’m ‘aving a bit of the ‘ealthy.”
I’m channelling my inner Kate ‘just a side salad’ Moss. The gym is my new BFF (Best Friend Forever).
The biscuits and crisps have been replaced by fruit and yoghurts and I’ve said farewell to my usual evening inertia.
“I’m so pleased you’re improving your fitness,” said the fiance, as I star-jumped my way through an episode of Neighbours, my arms going like windscreen wipers in front of the telly.
“But it’s a bit distracting. And I’m not sure the grunting noises are necessary.”
It’s come as a bit of a shock to both of us, but The Fiance, who loves chippy tea more than life itself, seems to be suffering the most.
This is the man who accidentally drove to Birmingham while attempting to get from Manchester to North Wales because he got ‘distracted’ following signs to Burger King.
This is also the man who believes chips are one of his five a day. Or in some cases, five of his five a day.
But nobody wants to see a fat bride on wedding pictures and if I’m suffering, he’ll damn well suffer with me.
“Yay, more salad...” he said despondently, as I put last night’s tea in front of him. “And nothing fried in sight! Lucky me!”
“You’ll thank me when you’re 90 and have the arteries of a teenager,” I retorted, somewhat self-righteously.
But I think the lack of sugar has started to affect my brain.
With hindsight I can see it was a bit over the top shrieking for him to ‘drop and give me 50’ when he came back from the supermarket with a Mars bar.
And maybe padlocking the fridge was a step too far too.
But we’re getting there anyway, pound by pound.
“Now isn’t this lovely?” I asked, as I switched on the Great British Bake-Off and handed The Fiance a yoghurt.
“Ohh, that Mary Berry,” he tutted, now an expert in all things ‘healthy’. “She wants to watch her waistline with all that cake.”
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