Size 18 Drama Queen

Dare I?

Dare I try on my size 18 trousers?

Hmmm. It's only been a week and a half since I started my flab-fighting crusade. Can I really expect miracles so soon? Maybe I'll just stick with my trusty size 20 fatpants for another week.

'Oh go on! Try them,' goaded Inner Bitch, losing an accusing forefinger in the blancmange that is my belly and clearly hoping to revel in my certain failure.

But I'm feeling so chipper these days, not even IB has enough negativity to dampen my enthusiasm. SO I DARED - slowly!

"Woooo-hoooo, would you look at that!'

Size 18 waistband nonchalantly passed through Checkpoint Charlie (my hips) without the slightest hint of torture or interrogation and took a police escort (sirens and everything!) all the way up to my belly button. Once there, not even that usually cruel sartorial thug, the zip, put up a fight. Bingo, the eagle had landed!

IB was NOT a happy bunny.

'Well, that'll just be fluid retention you've lost. It's a fluke, a fluke I tell you! You'll be back in your fatpants within a week, mark my words!'

'Oh bog off IB. You are the weakest link, goodbye!'

With the Bitch in retreat, there I was, resplendent in my size 18s in front of the mirror, brimming with pride - welling up, even.

'I'd like to thank everyone who has supported me on this gargantuan weight loss journey; my agent, Mr Slimma, George Clooney..'

Inner Goddess was applauding. 'Now THAT's what I call an Oscar winning performance! Move over Gwyneth and Halle!'

I was just getting into my stride, you know, when you're thanking everyone from God to the garden gnomes in B&Q that you are SURE winked wickedly in your direction last week, when all of a sudden...

KA -BOOM!

IG hit the deck. 'What was THAT?', she whimpered. 'The boiler, An earthquake? Your stomach?'

'Nah, it's just Shakespeare there falling back down to earth,' scoffed Inner Bitch.

'Oh, shut it, the pair of you. I'm off!

And with that I flounced off to my desk - maybe with just a teeny-weeny extra wee bit of a wiggle!