rabbit foood.

The diet is going well. So far, I've invested in about four tins of Slimfast powders, and they are sitting proudly above my washing machine. The chocolate one is actually quite nice, the strawberry - not so much. Apart from trying to measure exactly 250ml of skimmed-milk in an old plastic jug I found looking rather lonely at the back of one of our cupboards, and getting a little overexcited with a fork when trying to stir the mixture, it hasn't been too stressful. (Most of said mixture ended up on the floor/walls/my face).
Its quite a balanced relationship. All I have to commit to is drinking two of these delightful milkshakes a day, along with a six hundred calorie meal in the evenings. Yesterday I was naughty and had two caramel eggs (each at 195 calories) instead of a proper dinner but what you gonna do? This is a small side-effect of dieting I have noticed, and Glamour magazine recently discussed online. Dieting makes you erm, irritable at times. You get stressed out when your brother leaves a used plate by the sink. You feel like hurling something heavy at the person sat behind you in one of your seminars who chews on a cola cube like his life depends on it. And breathe. Just thinking about it is making me want some Pringles. I swear drinking these shakes can't be good for me. They don't taste like paper or make me want to dive into a bath of chocolate.
But there you go. Almost two weeks in and still going. I think I may have lost a little weight, either that or my lack of vitamins has altered my brain and I'm actually starting to hallucinate. (This is likely, I nearly screamed last night when I thought there was a spider sat quite comfortably on my shoulder; turns out it was a few strands of my hair).

I'm sorry. No one looks this happy about eating rabbit food. NO ONE.







When was the last time you went for a run along the beach with a big fat smile on your face? This is not what I look like at the gym.