Everything else went pear-shaped, mind. But things started well cos I got a blog award, which always puts me in a good mood.
So anyway, train to work and I hatch a cunning plan to go to Boots and weigh myself. I know, I KNOW! I've sworn never to darken their scales again. I've abjured the humiliation and the loud voice that says 'fat woman weighing herself, come and have a laugh' when I put my 50p in the slot.
And still the scales draw me. It's the need to know thing.
I stand there, in my stockinged feet, trying to look nonchalant, with my coat and bag and hat on the hook attached to the scales (someone thought that one out properly, didn't they?) and my shoes next to them, and wait an interminable age for the machine to spit out the little paper receipt thing that tells me my weight.
Talk about performance anxiety. Last time the scales told me I had put on five pounds.
This time they tell me I have lost five pounds.
Now, concentrate, boys and girls: not the same five pounds.
I didn't count the weigh-in that told me I had put on five pounds. This one tells me I weigh five pounds less than my official weight on SP, that is 10 pounds less than when I weighed myself on 19 November and went into a two and a half week SparkWobble.
Oh frabjous day!
Of course, I haven't lost 10 pounds since 19 November. There was as I said at the time something wrong with those scales. What the scales do tell me is that I am heading in the right direction, which is good because I have to see my doctor in a couple of weeks' time and there will be Trouble for me if I haven't lost weight. I wanted to have lost a stone, which is 14 pounds. Not sure about that.
But I'll tell you one thing. Today and yesterday I wore my size 18 trousers to work and they are not nearly as tight as they were last time I wore them.
Don't talk stretchy to me. Just don't.