Oh deary me, it’s been a tough week that’s for sure. Every night there has been something in the diary and nearly every single one of them has involved alcohol.
Looking in the mirror this morning I’d swear that I have aged a decade in seven days – the bags under my eyes would have a hard job getting past a Ryanair check-in girl and there’s a quite definite lack of a healthy glow.
However, the booze is the least of my problems – it’s the little nibbles that are my main downfall. I simply can’t let a plate of vol-au-vents pass me by, even though I am aware that pastry and creamy fillings are not going to be part of my five a day.
Having lost quite a lot of weight in the summer due to a course of i-lipo – a treatment that will get rid of inches without any surgeon coming near you – and a lot of walking around town in the glorious sunshine, my trousers are all getting a tad tight around the waistband. In fact, to be honest, it’s getting uncomfortable to sit down.
Like many women I have a sliding scale of clothes – there are some that I know that unless I get a terrible case of the norovirus I shall never fit into again.
Basically I like to keep them so I can show my daughter that I was once quite svelte. There are others which I keep for times like this – when I need coverage but don’t want to splash out on a heap of new schmutter.
And so to a further problem that I now have to consider. The clothes which I now have to wear are really dated. There’s vintage in a groovy retro style but my look is more bargain bucket from the local charity shop. I know that there are some people, like Kate Moss, who could easily chuck on anything and look like a million dollars, but I ain’t one of them.
So I now have an answer for my husband who keeps asking me what I want for Christmas. But where on Earth will he find a stretch kaftan?