Blood sugar diet: day 29 of 56

Today’s statistics:

  • Starting weight: 122.4kg
  • One week ago: 120.7kg
  • Today: 118.8kg

That’s 3.6kg off in four weeks.  I am happy.

A few observations.

  1. Last week I spent a long weekend at Schatz’, celebrating her birthday.  Over two or three days I ate a big pack of crisps (paprika flavour, yum) as well as eating lots of pizza and drinking several cocktail.  A blip on Sunday evening: 121.4kg.  I delayed weekly weigh-in by one day till today.  I know from past experience that if I over-eat, it takes 48 hours to lose the excess weight.  Hey presto!  Today it was my lowest weight since I started the diet, and indeed my lowest weight for several years.
  2. While walking past a shop window yesterday evening, I noticed my belly had definitely shrunk.  Still big, but not kettle drum shape now.  Obviously still a long way to go.  But the longest journey consists of but single steps.

Everyone keeps telling me:

Keep it up!

Au contraire!  I say:

Keep it down!

Finally, by no means am I a communist.  Only my hair is red, but just once let me leave you with this thought.

zitat-vorwarts-immer-ruckwarts-nimmer-erich-honecker-220507

Have a comradely day, won’t you!

Blood sugar diet: day 10 of 56

Today was a checkpoint day.  Nothing to do with the diet per se.  On day 1 of the diet I had my quarterly blood sugar sample taken.  Today I came back to see my GP to get the results.

  • Last reading: 7.1 units.
  • Today’s reading: 7.8 units.

An increase of 0.7 units, or 10, something I had anticipated as over the past few months, I had been overeating and less active than previous.  I won’t bore you with the reason.  (I should ideally be at 6.5 units.)

However, my GP had been briefed by his “civilian” staff (the army-speak never leaves you) that I had started the Low Blood Sugar Diet.  So, instead of slapping my wrist, our man was most positive about the diet, my efforts and results.  (He complimented me on my Redhead Days t-shirt which I was wearing.  Normally he wears a top with a witty slogan in English, eg “Cool story, bro.”  Today he did not, but I did.)

I digress.

Next steps…

  • No need to see him at the four-week point in the diet, unless I was constantly going hypoglaecemic and had lost a lot of weight.
  • Carry on, and don’t worry about all carbs, but do avoid the bad carbs, eg white bread, rice etc.

Fifteen minutes later, I left his surgery, and we shook hands.

Next weigh-in is in two days time.  Watch this space.

Have a healthy day, won’t you!

Being Old-Fashioned

I’m quite old-fashioned, and proudly so.  I believe in:

  • Saying please and thank you
  • Holding doors open for people
  • Waiting with female friends at the bus stop until they’ve boarded their bus
  • Saying “shedule”, not “skedule”
  • Using a fountain pen

I use a fountain pen.  I use it when writing my diary (Anne Frank/Samuel Pepys/Adrian Mole-style), which I often write while sitting in the local old folks waiting room local cafe. I’ve often found it to be an effective ice-breaker.

“Are you left-handed?”

(Your hearing might be going, but by Jove, your eyesight is still good, Kumpel.

“Is that a fountain pen?  It’s really stylish-looking.  What make is it?  Where can I buy one?”

Actually, they don’t bombard the questions.  That’s just a summary of what they ask.

The piece de resistance is when they see me filling my fountain pen with ink.  Even traditionalists who write with a fountain pen tend to use cartridges.  Not me.  I use a converter.

converter

 

Imagine the look of amazment on the face of a nine-year-old member of the Ipod generation, watching a left-hander writing a diary entry with a fountain pen and then seeing him drawing ink from a bottle into a converter.  She must have thought she was watching an episode of How We Used To Live.

Edit: Here is a sample of my handwriting, in in English and Russian/Cyrillic.  I messed one word up on the second line.

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Have an old-fashioned day, won’t you!

Redhead Festival – Ginger Power!

Wow!  What a great day!  The train from Düsseldorf to Breda in the Netherlands.  After check-in at the hotel (don’t ask!), off Schatz (a natural brunette) and I headed into Breda town centre.  Our taxi driver asked me in fluent English:

I presume you are here for the Redhead Festival?

A jolly clever chap.

The Grote Markt.  Scores of marquees.  Redheads – hundreds of ’em!  The first I see is Alan, an Irishman, standing outside O’Meara’s Irish bar.  We pose for a photo and shake hands.  We stroll round the Grote Markt.  Locals constantly smile to me and greet me.  I pick up an information pack, including timetable, event newspaper and adhesive England flag.

Further strolling.  Off to round the corner, where I find the merchandise marquee, as well as all the food concessions and stage.  I buy a hoodie and t-shirt.  It has to be done.  The hoodie is very warm and ideal for the cloudy, overcast weather.  Off to watch the singing on stage.  Maria from Moscow is singing.  She’s good.  Later on I chat to her in Russian.  This morning she recognised me at the train station when Schatz and I were heading off back to DUS.  I bought her CD, as it including Moscow Nights, one of my favourites.

More strolling round the park.  More marquees and events.  I decide I can spontaneously chat to anyone without needing a table to do that.  Yet more friendly people, including a blonde with “I AM NOT A REDHEAD” painted on her face.  Hey, some are called, few are chosen…

I never knew so many Germans and Dutch were redheads.  Schatz and I even met a redheaded woman from Hamburg, the blondest of German regions.  Wonders will never cease…

Have a ginger day, won’t you!