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Self-pity doesn’t burn calories

(no, this isn’t the seven songs meme I owe on. That’ll come. Be patient my child.).

I’ve spent most of the last week in bed, in pain cause by a bunch of malignant viruses (and I believe this is the technical term for what they were doing) running up and down the length of my body setting off miniature shotguns with precise aim and intent. These nefarious negligible entities kept my eating very, very modest — my most attentive readers will remember that I have been attempting in some way to reduce my weight and improve my fitness — but, I’ve discovered, despite not really eating for a week Wii Fit tells me I’ve only lost about one pound. One pound!

This is going to take approximately forever, even once my activity consists of more than lying around, groaning melodramatically occasionally to impress the empty room, feeling sorry for myself and making occasional trips to Boots and The Doctor to obtain more magical pharmaceuticals*.

Ah well. Onwards and upwards. Hopefully be well enough for squash next week, and am back to work on Monday too so calorific burn rates will doubtless shoot through the roof.

*For reference: anti-nausea medication == awesome. Industrial grade cough mixture == awesome. Nurofen == magic. Rehydration sachets == taste of ground up dirt.

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