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I have always and I mean ALWAYS set far too high a standard for food. That does not mean what it sounds like. Please don’t think that unless a soufflé pirouettes out of the oven and handsprings in perfect form, dead centre of my plate...

Okay, Sho here’sh the shkinny shee!

I have always and I mean ALWAYS set far too high a standard for food. That does not mean what it sounds like. Please don’t think that unless a soufflé pirouettes out of the oven and handsprings in perfect form, dead centre of my plate,an imaginary judging panel and I will disapprovingly tweak our spectacles before awarding a measly 7.3. What I mean is rather than food merely being a means of sustenance, good all round health or at best a social-activity-enhancer; it’s my go-to for everything. Boredom? Food. Sadness? Food. Excitement? Joy? Grief? Got a long ass assignment to complete in a second degree because I wasted 3 years on a previous one thinking Ally McBeal was the way to go? FOOD!

On occasion however, I do remember that a packet of Jaffa cakes is not actually my friend, confidant, mother, father, sister, brother, or at really desperate times, my cat. I might add, I don’t own a cat.

If the above wasn’t problematic enough, it has in the past also been an issue in the reverse. During insane bouts of self-diagnosed low’s I have stopped eating all together. Those unsightly days of hair-loss and grave breath issues were simply not the antitheses worth the 27″ waist.

So here I am, just hit 30, a marriage and 2 children under my belt along side the extra 30 lbs of stomach and have decided, enough already! I need to Carpe Diem before I run out of Deims to Carpe. So join me on this twisted journey in to the realms of health, fitness and delusion according to Me, Mrs. Tea.

LET’S GO!..

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