1. I am very very very fat (for me) at the moment. I fit into about 13% of my wardrobe. Of that 13% I would say that 11% is dirty or requires ironing and 1% is broken or missing some essential part. As a result I had a total toddler tantrum yesterday when the only thing I could find to wear was - do NOT laugh, I am sensitive - cropped, Dorothy Perkins, man-made fibre trousers. There was crying. Snot. It was quite pathetic. I am over the worst of it now, but the dilemma remains, let me share it with you (so lucky!).
- I do not fit into most of my clothes
- I cannot afford to buy new ones
- I do not allow myself to restrict my diet due to my history of being a batshit crazy eating disorder type. Give me a couple of weeks of the most modest calorie control and I would either be breakfasting on an eighth of an apple, high on smugness, fondling my prominent collarbones, or having nothing but coffee until 9pm then emptying the entire contents of Kraft factory down my gullet. You get the picture. I value the fact that I am not 'funny' about food anymore. I consider it one of my greatest - indeed possibly my only - areas of personal growth in the last 5 years.
- I cannot be arsed with exercise, and when I do it, I invariably get gigantic thighs. No, don't argue, it's simply never going to happen.
So. The fatness, it is a struggle, currently. I am just saying. Mrs Trefusis and I were discussing it (though she is not at all fat, not even remotely, she is sylph-like and stylish, I am a whey faced slattern in purple tracksuit bottoms, wearing broken patent Miu Miu flats with one bow missing to trail around the house developing mild agoraphobia). She favours "L'Oréal Paris (NOT Garnier) everyday fake tan, red lippy, huge shades (even indoors, like Anna Wintour) and painted toenails" as a quick fix. I favour .. actually, I don't know. I favour only leaving the house under cover of darkness, Chanel Mademoiselle, having an affair with a dry cleaner and extensive surgery. That might do the trick. No, I suppose I will do what I always do, and wait for it to pass, furiously. But what if it doesn't? What if my metabolism is trundling to a halt?
2. I also have an attractive facial wound. I have no idea where it came from, maybe I started scratching a hole in my face during the night, as a change from grinding my teeth? Taken in conjuction with the red hayfever eyes, I look like I have been sleeping rough for approximately 5 years. It is quite the look, I can tell you. Sexy. Ideal for snaring myself a kindly, co-operative dry cleaner.
3. Apart from that, I am working on new money making schemes, because the current laughable one isn't working:
- Start my own version of the Bompas & Parr rabbit café here in Belgium. I reckon Nicolas from the Charleroi safari would be game, he likes a challenge. I just have to convince him to go into the rabbit breeding business with me. Easy, surely. I could make the cakes, he could deal with the rabbits and the customers. Who says it has to be rabbits, anyway? We'd probably have less of an intellectual property problem if we chose another animal. Tarsiers, say (my cephalopod correspondent of earlier today has got me thinking about them). They seem co-operative, and I bet you can get them in legendarily dodgy Belgian pet shop, Animals Express.
- Get someone to pay for me and F to go on a tour of all the most disgusting relics of Europe and write about it. F thrilled me recently with this quixotic promise:
"Someday we'll go to Gubbio. There's a whole saint there, all shriveled, in the church. Also there's a museum of torture. Great town. Good truffles in season. Saint in a box. Win win win win win"
- I still favour becoming a goat. I don't think goats have such a cult of physical appearance,but I may be wrong. Are your hooves pointy enough? Your eyes yellow and slotty? How luxuriant is your beard? Do my horns look big in this? Incidentally, Eireann suggested I open a goat café because "when it fails, there would be no problem with the excess stock and fixtures and fittings. The goats would eat it all". She has a point.
- I am open to other ideas. God knows, I don't seem to have any.