Proven scientific weight reduction technique - Move the Dial

This didn't seem to work either

It was the morning after the Leinster House dinner, surely a drop of wine and a seafood platter, ok, and a fruit pavlova dessert to be sociable, can’t set me back on the detox diet?

The trick is to weigh yourself first thing in the morning, before you drink any water. So up I got on the digital scales, where every percentage pound counts. It can't be. There must be something wrong with it. Not a single nano pound less. I try getting on slowly, then I try balancing against the doorframe, no change.  WTF?

I left it out in the arctic weather for neighbour, Kerry, my detox buddy to pick it up from my porch. We think that might be the cause of the problem, because she got six different readings, none of which amused her. Deflated doesn’t even nearly describe how we feel. And I wish it did describe one’s waistline.

I shared the disappointment with the sportsman of the house, cc#2, who just scoffed at our angst. 

‘Your body has been holding on to your fat, that's obvious,’ he said, ‘it went into hunger. You have to eat fat now, and it will start burning it up.’

It made absolutely no sense, but that night after college, I had a feast of cheese and crackers.

Two days later, the scales showed a 5lb reduction. So there you go, the scientific way to lose a few pounds, and no running around the block!

As this blog is about landlady life, not a proper health blog the way other people do it, I’m putting in a disclaimer.This works: Starve on three days of juice (must be delivered because you will never buy enough fruit and veg and make it every day). 

Then you will feel faint, lose concentration, look better, so without exercise, personal trainer, boxing partner, treadmill and dumb bells or pulley gadgets you can lose 5lbs in five days.

Keeping them off, well that’s a work in progress. It's a week later, I want to throw the scales in a skip.They seem to be counting upwards again.

I saw an old-fashioned set in a hardware store. Supporting my local business and in the interest of further scientific research I bought them and felt sure this was all we needed. A needle that pointed to the correct weight at last.

I took it out of the box, carefully calibrated the needle, gingerly stepped on and discovered they’re only in kilos! Back to the shop tomorrow, and we better get the right answer soon.

Amid all this effort, Daft.ie lodger no 4 (I think) has moved in. It looks like the male-rule rules here. They can be exceedingly quiet if you get a good one.  They only want to watch Top Gear and at a push a rugby international, though I’ve recommended the local pub for that, good to mix with the locals. 

So far so good, from Essex ‘e is. Doesn’t boil chickens anyway, so we’re off to a good start, as for a name, Wyndham, will do.

De-Tox in the Dail - they need it

It was the last night of the juice detox. The 25 year old sporty teacher in my class was morbidly inquisitive about bowel movement, nudging me nightly for detail. I lied. Anyway, I was going to have real food next day, my neighbor and I had arranged a scrambled egg breakfast to bolster our rehab.

My next challenge was to meet a couple after college in a restaurant, so that’s 8.30pm and my resolve was no problem, I ordered hot water and lemon and chatted, perhaps tapping my feet a bit manically as their food arrived. My phone was going a bit ballistic, I checked it. Lots of missed calls and an urgent text to call a senator. Oh holy f**k, I bumbled, slight oversight, a long planned dinner in Leinster House had been forgotten, you see it really does affect your concentration. I was wearing jeans (just to prove I could get back into them), a tee shirt and Uggs. I think I'd slept in the tee shirt, I have six wardrobes of cocktail dresses, and two of shoes, for once I’d have had an excuse to get dressed up this year.

My girlfriend was wearing a very fetching dress and offered to do a swap in the loo, the Uggs wouldn't have gone with it and her dainty feet didn't match mine. Hell, it was only Leinster House, I muttered bravely.  But I was already an hour late, that's bad no matter where you're going for dinner.

I zoomed up to the gates and asked the garda if I could come in, there were loads of spaces, I love when guards aren't checking your tax or breath. I got profuse apologies instead, they would let me in but those indoors wouldn't have it. Legging it back from several streets distant, the usher was very decent about me keeping him waiting and escorted me through.

My host was beyond understanding, he’d been late too, but I doubt if I'll be asked again, he and the other guest had already tucked into wine, no way could I heap bad manners on to the already bad mix up, and tell them about the detox. I couldn't even remember why I was there, to discuss senate reform or something, activism of some sort, but why waste time on that when there was gossip to be exchanged.  So I had the delicious seafood platter, it would have been rude not to have just the one glass of wine. Flip anyway, I nearly did the full 72 hours.

With the exception of my very healthy host, the Dail diners looked like they could do with a good de-tox. James O'Reilly came over to our table, all curious, and then Richard Bruton, and nice, charming rural TDs, wondering why the eminent senator had such a ruffian at his table. Well Chatham House rules about the gossip, but whatever you suspected about a certain high office, it is true. Only Worse.