Going South: Friends and dieting

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Imogen Edwards-Jones was hoping to rely on her friends during the tough times of dieting but it seems they are simply evil

There comes a time in any diet/regime when, no matter how good and worthy and goddamn saintly you are, you want to cheat. I have been following the Metabolic Balance® diet with nutritionist Amelia Freer - more commonly known as the #ChristhaveyouseenhowthinBoyGeorgeisdiet - for just over three weeks now. And quite frankly I’ve had it.
 
I have gone through the mad stage of buzzing around like some pre-Oscar nominated carb-starved starlet only capable of shopping, manicures and Googling myself and I have now moved on to the dull, sensible lemon-sucking stage (although that is obviously a metaphor as I am NOT ALLOWED citrus). Basically I am pure Paltrow, or indeed Paltrow-pure, and I have all the joy and humour and madcap spontaneity associated with that.
 
Obviously I have lost the weight. 16lbs and counting. Yeah, I know that is a LOT! A huge amount. You should see my skinny jeans. I am in and out the other side of those old things. They are so baggy around the bum it looks like I might have had some terrible incident. I think I may even have to go shopping soon. But quite frankly, weight shmeight… is that ALL that's on my plate?
 
It is at this tricky stage of a diet, when you’re about to sprint into Marks's and roll all over the pudding counter, shovelling fistfuls of whipped cream into your wide-open cakehole, that you need your friends. Your lovely friends who support you through the thick, the fat and the impecunious. Well, maybe not all of your friends. But some. Your bridesmaids, perhaps? They’re always there for you, right?
 
Well, apparently not. One of my ex-bridesmaids is evil. And since she works for this glamorous website she shall henceforth be known as Resident Evil. So Resident Evil is the first to crack open a bottle of very cold, very crisp champagne when I come through the door. She’ll also serve something so mouth-wateringly delicious for dinner (she is a sublime cook) that I am powerless to resist. And guess what? The other day she even asked me to pop to the shop for her to purchase some M&Ms. Peanut M&Ms! Peanut! See what I mean? Resident Evil.

But it is not just my ex-bridesmaids who are proving tricky. Just the other day I went to stay with a friend for the weekend and she insisted on cooking me chips. Fat, twice-fried chips with garlic mayonnaise. Quite literally my last meal before electrocution. You are officially allowed, encouraged and indeed advised to have a treat meal once a week on Metabolic Balance, as it is supposed to confuse your system and stop it from expecting teeny, tiny portions of good-for-you-food all the time. But perhaps not EVERY meal for a WHOLE weekend.
 
So with friends like these, you can imagine how trepidatious I was for my weekly weigh-in with Amelia.
“So how’s it been going?” she asked as she snapped open her tape measure and pushed her scales towards me.
“Oh, terribly well,” I lied. “Terribly well indeed. I admit I’ve had a few drinks and… stuff.”
“Right,” she nodded, looking down at the scales. “Well you’ve lost another 3lbs.”
“What! Three? Are you sure?”
“Yes, it would have been more without the ‘drinks and… stuff’.”
“Yes, of course,” I smiled, going slightly deaf.
 
Nineteen pounds and counting! Nineteen! Nineteen! I ran out into the street and immediately called up Resident Evil. This calls for some sort of celebration!
 
To be continued….

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