Blood sugar diet: day 39 of 56

Today’s statistics:

  • Starting weight: 122.4kg
  • One week ago: 120.2kg
  • Today: 118.3kg

That’s 4.1kg off in four weeks.  I am happy.

So what had happened?  A week ago I had blipped upwards due to a slack weekend.  I had had food porn – Irish English breakfast – down the Irish pub in the city centre, bread rolls and a few cocktails.  No regrets.  It’s a way of eating, not a diet.  I now know after several weeks on this diet/WoE, that as soon as I get back on track without making anny big fuss, the weight comes off, generally within 3-5 days.

On a positive point, friends have started noticing my weight loss, asking what diet I am trying.  Two of them have ordered the book and have started within the last fortnight.

“If Ginge in Germany can manage it, so can I.”

And my new Marmite cycling top fits me just nicely.  It even has a nice jar-like shape.  Not long now till the Tour de France starts in Düsseldorf.  Los!

marmite

Have a love it-or-hate-it day, won’t you!

 

When the debt collector just will not leave you in peace…

Vocab point for native German-speakers: debt collector = der Inkassobeauftragte or der Schuldeneintreiber.  They are people whose job it is to knock on your door and get the debtor to pay their debts.  I think you get the idea, especially if one these people hass ever paid you a visit.

What I wonder is this:

  • Train driver
  • Army officer
  • Policeman
  • Doctor
  • Nurse
  • Bricklayer

I can understand why youngsters will tell the careers adviser that they would like to, would love to, would dream of becoming one.  But has any careers adviser ever had a year 11 student ever say:

Please, Sir, my career ambition is to become a debt collector.

My first experience of dealing with a debt collector hammering on the door was back in 2003.

The place: a village in North Yorkshire, England.

The time: tea-time on a Friday evening.

Boom, boom, boom, tap, tap, tap, thump, thump, rattle, rattle on letter box.

I leave the sofa and the ITV news to head to the door, while my Dad enjoys his tea, for I was visiting him for the weekend  NB: Chain is on door.  Old HM Forces habits of being security-conscious.

At the door – a man looking like a stereotypical night club doorman.

Good evening, sir.  Are you John Barleycorn?

Who?

John Barleycorn.

An unfriendly scowl from the visitor, holding his clipboard.

Never heard of him, I’m afraid.

Yeah, yeah, everyone tells me that.  Are you Mr John Barleycorn?

Nope.

Well, who are you?

Well, who are you, first of all.  Can I see some form of ID, please?

Tut and humph and sigh, and ID badge with name, Nick H***, on it.  Acme Recovery Services.  “Recovery” being a euphemism for “debt collectors.”

Can you produce some form of ID then?

No.  I don’t have to.

Well, do you know where John Barleycorn has moved to? 

Time for a bit of fun (for me, at least)…

Actually, I do know where he lives.  John Barleycorn, you say?  Now, hang on a minute.  He did leave a note, giving a forwarding address.  Now, I had a tidy-up yesterday.  I can’t find the piece of paper right now, but it’ll be somewhere in my study.  Tell you what, I don’t want to have people knocking on my door again, wasting my time and their time.  If you could give me your mobile number, I can give you a bell and give you his new address.  I think it’s somewhere in Northallerton.

Would you?  That would be much appreciated, mate.  Here’s my calling card, with my mobile on.

Conversation ends.  Our man walks off back to his 4WD.

Two minutes later a quick phone call to my old boss.

Mike, you’re not exactly interested in the opposite sex.  Can you give me an address of a good gay dating website, please,?  Oh, and some good buzzwords to use.  I’ll explain later.

Er, yeah, whatever.  Try www….

Thanks!

Within ten minutes I have registered a profile for our visitor on the website, including his mobile number.

25 year old bi-curious guy in London seeks new adventures, etc etc.

Fast forward two weeks.  A payphone in a Yorkshire village.  Insert coins of the realm.  Dial 07… etc, the debt collector’s mobile.

I get voicemail.  A gem.  Ein Knaller.

A grumpy, annoyed and altogether unhappy-sounding voice announces:

This is Nick H.  Unfortunately I have had to change my mobile number.  Please leave me your number, and I will ring you back from my new number.

(I wonder why he changed his mobile number…)

anger-management1

Have a mischievious day, won’t you!

 

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 21 of 56

So, slightly disappointing news to report.

  • Starting weight: 122.4kg
  • One week ago: 119.9kg
  • Today: 120.7kg

What went wrong?  Too many Haribos and Balisto snacks.  These things happen.  I am treating this as a blip.  I slackened off slightly on the weekend while at Schatz’, albeit less slackly than before.  Today I have been back on track.

One tweak I need to make to the regime – certainly, while the sun shines during this week’s heatwave in “Drizzledorf.”  I will be going out for an hours’s cycle ride tonight and tomorrow to get some fresh air and spend time away from surfing the net.  Burn a few calories and get some cardio-vascular training in.  Oh, and fly the flag. 🙂

Give up the diet?  No way at all!  This is a setback, not a failure.

Forwards to victory!

ForwardToVictory

Have a victorious day, won’t you!

Blood sugar diet: day 15 of 56

So, the past weekend.  I allowed the shackles to come off a bit.  Over the weekend, I ate white bread rolls, and I also had curry twice.  Oh, and a couple of bottles of beer.  I probably blipped up a bit on weight, but on Monday I was back in the groove today.  I tend to think of it as being analogous to a prisoner going on weekend leave and returning to HMP Wherever.  (Vocab note: HMP – Her Majesty’s Prison.)

Since the weekend I have been as good as gold, albeit with about ten Haribo sweets altogether.  I had been tempted to eat a Halbeshänchen (half a rotisserie chicken) on the way to a meeting yesterday evening, but instead chose to enjoy a nice home-made omelette (mushroom, ham and sliced gouda cheese – most pleasing to the palate).

Yesterday I cycled to a church meeting in glorious sunshine.  I cycled back in the dark.  I wore my Union Jack Flag cycling top and Union Flag helmet.  The rationale was not patriotism, but somewhat more prosaic.  One month ago, I could not get that top on.  Well, maybe I could have, but I would have done a very good impression of Doctor David Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk, with the slow rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-rip sound of shirt material slowly tearing.

Yesterday evening the top fitted me, albeit slightly tightly, but it certainly came down below my belly button.  I shall keep wearing the top every time I go cycling to measure progress in terms of looser clothes, as well as scales being friendlier.

Here I am in Union Flab Flag clothing.  It turned a few heads as joggers and cyclists headed past me along the banks of the River Rhine…

UnionFlagPic

Have a patriotic day, won’t you!

Blood Sugar Diet: Day 7 of 56

So, here we go. I have a confession to make. I deviated from the strict programme on the weekend.

We have sinned in thought and word and deed…”

Saturday

Breakfast consisted of two cheese bread rolls (white bread), filled with turkey slices, slice of hard-boiled egg, tomato and lettuce, washed down with a cup of coffee. By no means ideal. However, I am not going to do self-flagellation about it. I had no cravings or hunger pangs for carbs. I just wanted to sit down in my local café, write my diary, have my breakfast and then go. I actually enjoyed my breakfast. However, an hour after eating the rolls, I did feel quite drowsy for nearly an hour. Maybe my body has become averse to bad carbs like processed white bread?

Lunch was Irish (English) breakfast down the Irish pub in the city centre. That was most pleasing to the palate. Arguably it was, notwithstanding portions, not too horrific. I don’t plan to have the all-day breakfast every day. Probably once a quarter. I don’t have the cravings for it.

Evening meal was dinner at the vicarage. Asparagus, creamy potatoes, ham slices, followed by strawberry cake, and washed down with a glass of white wine (Spanish, €7.99 from Kaisers supermarket).

Sunday

Breakfast: two croissants and a coffee at a Bäckerei near church.

Lunch: shared church lunch, a bit of curry, rice, casserole and ginger cake. I enjoyed it.

In the afternoon I was invited out for coffee and biscuits. I enjoyed the biscuits, too. Home-made.

Evening: Stopped off at Turkish café and had doner kebab with a small bottle of Coke zero. My first cola in a week. It tasted really, really nice, I have to say.

Monday (today)

Breakfast: two hard-boiled eggs, with a small amount of Marmite dabbed on to add flavour.

Lunch: bowl of salad in the canteen.

Evening meal: Hallbeshaenchen: half a roast chicken.followed by a Pink Lady apple.

In the evening I attended a lengthy meeting from 20:00 till gone 22:00. There I let my guard down (and the side down), by succumbing to temptation to eat biscuits, probably about ten of them.

Observations

Yes, I did not follow the programme on the weekend. I did try carbs. What have I learnt?

  1. I don’t have cravings for carbs. White bread makes me very drowsy. Next time I will order omelette down my local café, which is more satisfying anyway.
  2. All-day breakfasts are delicious. Next time I will ask for it without the bread. Next time will not be till t’other side of the 8-week diet. (I was showing a colleague round the city centre anyway. Normally I’d have been alone or with Schatz, having a coffee and small lunch together.)
  3. Home-made biscuits are moreish. All biscuits are moreish. Next time I am offered some, I will politely decline.
  4. I feel no shame about vicarage dinner or church lunch. I will not be anal retentive about diet if invited to dinner. I get invited to dinner once every three months anyway. Church lunch I attend once every six months.
  5. Sunday evening meal: next time I’ll bring a packed evening meal to eat on the train when I head home from evening service, or I’ll keep something healthy at home for when I get back to “base.
  6. Tonight I was at a meeting of Church Council. I had brought the tea and biscuits. I should not have touched the biscuits. One biscuit becomes 2, 3, 4… 10 biscuits.

Excuses, excuses? Thin end of the wedge? No. Please spare me the righteous indignation. I applied a variant of the 5:2 rule – 5 days “on-task”, 2 days not on-task. Today, without hesitation or difficulty, I am back on track. Shrug shoulders, move on.

As Erich Honecker once said:

Vorwärts immer, rückwärts nimmer!

Next checkpoint is on day 10: check-up with GP when I found out 3-monthly blood sugar score. Watch this space…

Have an appetising day, won’t you!

What did Greta Garbo actually say?

What did Greta Garbo actually say?  I want to be left alone.  The “left” makes a big semantic difference.

What prompted me to think of that quotation?  This Huffington Post article did.

I sometimes go to my local cafe.  I nickname it “Das Wartezimmer” (“the Waiting Room”).  Why?  Let me tell you.  [Rant mode on]

The local cafe is full of people sitting in their cliques round each table.

Fair enough so far.

But once you’ve drunk up your cup of coffee, is it not time to either order another one or to vacate your table so other paying customers can enjoy a coffee/tea/brunch etc in peace and quiet?  After all, you have been sitting there, hogging that table for over an hour.

Last week, and not for the first time, I called into the Wartezimmer at 16:50L after work.  Not a single spare table for me to sit on my own.  Each table has one empty cup of coffee, surrounded by three or for people standing guard over each cup.  By the time I had left at 18:20L, having:

  • Eaten two cheese and ham rolls and a piece of apple pie
  • Drunk two large cups of coffee
  • Written a week’s worth of diary notes (for I was in catch-up mode)
  • Scanned through the latest edition of Private Eye.

For us Brits, to have a table to oneself if sacrosanct.  Never mind “me” time.  We Brits also need “me space.”  No need to wish me, a stranger, Guten Appetit/Guten Hunger/Mahlzeit.  Just leave me alonePunkt.

I am reasonably empathetic.  But as per the Huffington Past article, even though I am not eye candy, I just want my space.  Yet every time I writing my diary or reading my book or magazine, I get one of my enforced neighbours trying to help me out of my loneliness.

Man standing guard over empty coffee cup:

Is that book interesting?

Ginge in Germany:

Yes.  I’m halfway through it.

(I’d be three-quarters through it, matey, if you’d just kindly go and hold court elsewhere, preferably in another city.)

MSGOECC:

I saw you a few minutes ago writing in a book.  Is that your diary?

G in G:

It is.

(I’m tempted to say, “No.  I’m doing another forgery of Hitler’s diaries, to see if I can fool the historians again.”  But I decide that passive-aggressive tutting, curt replies and absence of eye contact should be sufficient hint that I have come here to eat, drink, be merry, read and write in peace.)

MSGOECC:

Are you left-handed?

G in G:

I am.

(What I wanted to say: “You should know.  You’ve been watching me for the past 20 minutes, writing my diary, using my left hand.”)

All I can think is, thank goodness I did that interrogator’s course nearly two decades ago.

Come on, I dare you, ask me more questions.  I’m so itching to give you the ICATQ treatment.

I think MSGOECC finally got the message.  He finally stands up, pays for his coffee and wishes me, “Schönen Tag noch,” and heads out to… wherever.

Have an aloof day, won’t you!