Using the oven? Are you mad?

I came home from another balls-deep-in-sweat day at work to find Philippa cooking a lasagne in our kitchen.

Jesus, that woman makes some bad decisions sometimes.

The kitchen was hotter than a Saharan sauna.

I retreated into the bathroom and stood beneath a cooling shower, washing off the dust and debris of another shift. (Metaphorically speaking, of course, it’s not as if one gets covered in grime while sitting in an air-conditioned office planning staff rotas.) The food, I have to say, was delicious. I’ve always been a fan of Italian food, but cut back on it back in my ‘losing weight and eating well’ phase. The Mediterranean diet is supposed to be the healthiest, but not when you attack it the way I did. Pasta dishes are already full of carbohydrates, you don’t need to have garlic bread as a side dish, especially a whole stick of it that is supposed to feed eight people.

Ah, memories.

These days I try and maintain better control over my food portions. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I fail, but at least every waking moment isn’t an onslaught of poor-quality snack shit into my intestines, the way it used to be back in my early twenties. I’d rather have a piece of fruit than a biscuit or chocolate bar (most of the time) and I stick very carefully to set meal times, not allowing myself to graze all day.

Having said all that – I ate a ridiculous amount at teatime tonight, and yet all this typing about food has made me peckish….

RC 11-8-20