The Contrary Diet

Diets are funny things. Some of the ones you read about are positively laughable. A bit like ours really. Last night, my lovely flatmate and I were sitting in the Coliseum waiting for Dr Dee to start and we started discussing this joint blog and how many people might think we make this stuff up. We don't. We really are this scatty.

Of course as we are on a serious diet in a bid to (a) get in to posh frocks and (b) get ourselves to the Dukes Hotel in search of martinis, decadence and a twist of debauchery, you would expect us to be sitting in the Dress Circle waiting area sipping chilled water as we ponder how responsible we are being.

Which was why we were sipping Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label.

I know, I know, but what could we do, they didn't have any Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque. Standards really are falling. As you may have realised by now we are firmly of the belief that we shouldn't compromise on nice things and make ourselves miserable, just reduce the number of nice things. So one glass each is officially sensible.

Got that? Good.

And, not to put too fine a point on it, we were both tired, we couldn't decide whether it was the weather or the lack of energy, something to ponder on. I think the phrase used was we felt like normal people. This can't be good and I think something we'll have to tackle next week. Anyway. At the interval, I'll talk about the performance in my own blog, we, sensibly, elected to stay in the auditorium, we talked about stuff, about how I felt of the performance, which she'd already seen once and then drifted back to food...

Clare: Can I treat you to an ice cream?
Me: Are they allowed?
Clare: Well they've got one (she points at two girls)
Me: *giggles*
Me: Your logic is an inspiration

She was so right. And you can't argue in the face of such searing logic. I gratefully accepted. When she came scurrying back, with actual ice cream and not some sorbet cop out, she added another gem of an observation...

Tonight is the first time I've sinned in a week. Well, since Monday...

Oh dear, I think I had actual tears. The ice cream was delicious and meant that we made it to the end of the evening and headed home for the delicious and healthy soup I made last night... Which if it had happened would have shown that we are capable of not being contrary.

Like that's going to happen.

We didn't get very far before my flatmate decided that what she really wanted was scrambled eggs. With Charlie chives. Pfft. Excellent, now I had scrambled eggs in my head. But. It made sense. It would be protein. And that's a good thing. Yes?

Soup. Err...

Now I should point out that when it comes to scrambled eggs I don't interfere. Really. Safer that way. They were delicious. She is good. The most amazing thing was it meant we had butter! We've gone though hardly any since we started the diet and we are big on butter. Oh. I can see a connection there. The same with bread, though in this case it was rye bread.

That'll go well with the dried fruit.