She's back!

Me: Where have you been? I need you!

Inner Goddess: On my hols. Even I need to cut loose and let myself go. It's not easy being perfect, y'know.

Me: No, I don't know, but it's a good thing you're back. You cutting loose for three whole weeks is not at all good for my mission. Things have been slipping, and I aint talking about my waistband.

IG: Slipping? You mean Curly Wurly consumption is on the rise, you're bored of all your new recipes AGAIN, and you're letting Inner Bitch get the better of you?

Me: Yeah, kinda. I'm still losing it, but it's getting awfully slow.

IG: What do you expect, miracles? For the last time, YOU ARE NOT ON A DIET, you are changing your habits. It TAKES TIME, but it IS working! And as for Inner Bitch, you KNOW she can't stand positivity, so stop whining and put on your happy face! Don't make me have to go and put on my Wonder Woman suit and crack my whip at you - even I couldn't get into it this week!

Me: But I want RESULTS and I want them FASTER. I want to lose more than one measly pound a week!

IG: Spoiled brat. If you really wanted faster results you could have them. But you'd need to get a whole lot more disciplined, strict... and we both know what happens then. You go great guns for 2 weeks, then give up and trough the entire contents of your fridge, then beat yourself up for another three weeks and gain a stone. Been there, done that, got the giant-sized T-shirt. When are you gonna learn? For you, SLOW AND STEADY WILL WIN THE RACE!

Me: OK, OK! You're right, as always.

IG: Of course I'm right. Now, quit with the moaning and let me see you do the 'I-lost-a-pound-and-I'm-gonna-shake-ma-bootie-celebration' dance!' Yeah, that's more like it!


Don't worry, there's no video footage, but boy I'm glad IG's back.

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!

Ding dong the Bitch is dead!

I haven't seen myself 'properly' in a mirror less than fully dressed for years. Myopia can be a real plus! Sure I've always been 'aware' of my wobbly bits, but that's not the same as actually SEEING them. But as I needed to take some body measurements to chart my progress through this odyssey, I thought I'd better put my specs on and do the job properly.

I had just got the tape measure round my waist when suddenly I heard HER.

'Good grief, who let the elephant in?'

It was Inner Bitch.

Unlike Inner Goddess, who can rile me but usually means well, Inner Bitch (a disturbing blend of Isadora from Bewitched and Anne Robinson) KNOWS when I'm vulnerable and can't wait to put the boot in.

'You've got so much extra flab, why don't you just donate it to science, or Paris Hilton or something. You really shouldn't be so greedy. And you'll never succeed with this blogging crusade of yours. Who ever heard of anything as stupid as blogging yourself slim. What a loser.'

Now on a bad day this might have had me heading for the Tunnocks tea cakes, but not today. I was ready for her this time. I'd brought reinforcements, allies! I'd brought... Paul McKenna!

'Don't listen to her Slimma. She's got a bad red wig and terrible clothes. YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL BODY! YOU FEEL CONFIDENT! NOW, I WANT YOU TO IMAGINE YOURSELF AT YOUR IDEAL WEIGHT AND STEP INTO THAT IMAGE NOW!'

'OK Paul, if you say so!. Here goes...'

'Wow! Hello there. Where did you come from? I know for a fact that my M&S knickers never looked that good on me before.'

Cyndi Crawford stared back. The Bitch was gone.

'Cheers Paul! And for your next trick?'

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Meanwhile, talking of transformations, look what happens when you drink 8 glasses of Evian a day!...