I am a slob.

No, really.

A major slob.

An example...I am sitting writing this in 2-year-old jeans (wrong size) and a pretty summer shirt (bleach spills on the sleeves).

For me, this actually constitutes dressing up...I have a visitor coming round.

But if you stopped by unexpectedly (and please don't, it would only embarrass us both), nine times out of 10 I would be in a fetching mix-and-match selected from ketchup stained pyjama bottoms/oversized terry towelling pants/a Topshop vest circa 1996 (three sizes too small)/my hubbie's £3 Primark trackkie bottoms that shrunk in the dryer/his ancient dressing gown/one of various t-shirts he won at fun runs/one of his old work t-shirts (sexy mud brown with concrete stains).

Actually, make that 10 times out of 10.

Just to make sure you have this straight, these are not examples. No, these are pretty much all the options.

Looking at the provenance of most of this exquisite wardrobe, it is actually a wonder my poor husband has any clothes left. And that he hasn't left me, come to think of it.

In fact, these are all items he has judged and condemned as unfit to wear.

I do sometimes dress up. If I go to the store, I put on something slightly better.

Though I tend to keep my head down and pray I don't bump into anyone I know. I once had to hide behind the fish sticks to avoid my old boss.

My personal grooming also leaves a lot to be desired. I mean, I do all the basics. I am clean (mostly), I shave my legs, I cut my toenails.

But it has been a long time since I cracked open the nail polish.

Makeup tends to consist of a swipe of mascara before I go out.

And just don't ask what your bikini line looks like after you go at it with your husband's hair clippers. 

I wouldn't recommend it.

And definitely don't tell your husband.

I do make an attempt, sporadically.

I blow-dried my hair. On Valentine's Day.

When I went to my mum's, I took the opportunity to give all my clothes a spin in her Posh Washer. It was great...for the span of about two whole days I could actually make out the colour of my trousers under the cat hair.

It's not even that I don't possess any decent clothes.

I go shopping every so often and buy some lovely stuff. I wear it with pride for a few days, then it all somehow seems to sink to the bottom of the laundry basket where the posh knickers live.

After stewing there for a few months, it gets eaten by those gremlins that munch half the socks, and it's back to the pyjamas until the next shopping season.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want to look this way.

It is truly amazing how much I don't want to look this way.

I sit on the couch and watch the beautiful young things on the telly, and remember how I used to be one of them. I make plan after plan for a radical transformation. But it always comes to nothing.

Why, why, why? I ask myself.

There are several reasons. I shall compile a nifty little list:

1. The Chameleon Complex. People tend to adopt the clothing style that is most common where they live. It isn't conscious, always. But what you see on the street every day tends to be what you pick out to wear.

So when I lived in Leeds, I was a fashion queen.

But now I live in Cornwall. Fleeces, waterproof trousers and walking boots abound. And being covered in mud is completely normal. No one even looks at you strangely at work.

2. I am Intimidated By Fashion. The kids today don't wear the things we did. How do they put those outfits together? Where do they get the money? And why are they all so darned thin?

3. I Just Can't Be Bothered.

Doing anything well takes time.

And I am getting old.

I am more than happy to spend hours and hours trawling websites selling plants, or cushions, or Handy Little Gadgets You Never Knew You Needed. But these days, I simply cannot bring the same enthusiasm to clothes shopping or face masks.

4. I Am A Perfectionist. I don't have the cash to look like a movie star. So why bother? (Honestly, I truly believe this).

5. And this is the main reason...

 I. AM. FAT.

Or should that be I Am My Mother's Daughter.

As many of you know, I grew up with a wonderful Mum...who happened to have a serious weight problem. She yoyo-dieted her way through my childhood - 100 pounds on, 100 pounds off - over and over again.

Whenever this happened, we could observe an odd phenomenon. 

When Mum was slimmer, or losing weight, she looked fantastic. Really fantastic. She made a huge effort with clothes, hair and makeup. She is, today, by far the most glamorous and good-looking of all her friends.

But when she was overweight, it was a different story.

I can still remember some of her various 'oufits' - much like the ones I now wear round the house. Her bobbly gray trousers and oversized red and yellow t-shirts. Her ski sweatshirt. Her 'curtain trousers' (don't ask). Day in, day out, she wore the same things, not buying new until the old simply fell apart.

Her hair was unstyled except for the most upmarket of events.

Cosmetics bought for Christmas - or even free samples from those snotty makeup women - were always put carefully away, still wrapped, 'for a special occasion'. But they never came back out.

And as a little girl, I watched, and I learned.

And, eventually, faithfully, I adopted my mother's habits, right down to putting away my Christmas cosmetics and forgetting about them.

I, too was saving them for a special occasion. The best special occasion there was. The only special occasion, in fact, that I could imagine.

I was saving them for When I Lost Weight.

And I would bet my bottom dollar my mum was doing the same thing.

So why didn't I just get on and use the bloody sachet of Vosene out of Good Housekeeping?

At the time, I really didn't know. Saving those things was just something I did. But, goodness knows, blogging gives plenty of opportunity for a bit of self-awareness, and I know why now.

I wasn't using that stuff because I knew there was no point.

Why wear my Christmas makeup when I'd just spent the whole of December stuffing my face? A sparkly top and a bit of body cream wasn't going to disguise the great, big, ugly mess that was me.

Nothing was going to.

Because I Was Fat.

I Was Disgusting.

And, unlike all those lovely L'Oreal girls, I Was Simply Not Worth It.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. What a horrible attitude. What a load of absolute b*******.

Hard to change, though. I am still struggling under those beliefs. I am working on it, one thing at a time. But I haven't got very far.

As you can probably tell from my wardrobe.

I can proudly say, however, that this year....drum roll please...I had used up every single little pot of Christmas cosmetics by March.

I am now working on the rest of my look. 

Because, if I actually own a nice shirt, maybe I won't say no again the next time someone asks me on a night out.

Maybe I'll go out and feel a teensy, tiny bit closer to OK about myself.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll start to feel I actually have some semblance of a life, spare tyre or not.

My visitor isn't here yet. Who knows, before she arrives I might even slap on a bit of blusher.

Because I'm Worth It.

And, more importantly, I don't want her to think I died.

Love Rach xxx

Stealing a little from Raspberry there, sorry! I am not feeling imaginative enough to come up with my own title today. Bodes well for the rest of the blog .

Soooo....ladies, sometimes we are a bit silly, right?

For example: my parents have a 1970s party coming up this weekend. It is their 30th wedding anniversary. I have been trawling through vintage sites online, and found one I love. I ordered two dresses - the one I really like, and a backup. Why do I need a backup? Because the one I like is a couple of inches too small. But I ordered it anyway in case it *magically* fits.

Anyone else this daft? I expect so!

But I want to look nice. I will be seeing lots of my parents' friends for the first time since I 'got fat'. I know how it goes - they sort of look you up and down in an odd way. This is NOT my imagination. And some of them always have to mention weight, you know?

But I shall take a deep breath and tell myself 'what does it matter what they think? They are no better than me'. The important thing is being there for my parents. And the cocktails.

Then I called up to book an announcement in the paper for my parent's anniversary. 'Around £60' they wanted to charge me! £60!

The woman, who was really snotty, started on about how she couldn't tell me exactly how much it would be - it 'depends how it fits on the page'. I said to her 'I can see selling advertising that way, but not announcements. They are all the same size after all.' (I didn't mention advertisers wouldn't put up with that).

She gave this huge sigh and launched into a spiel she had obviously used many thousands of times before: 'In newspapers...'

I didn't have the energy to tell her I am a journalist, and have set many thousands of pages myself. I also thought she probably wouldn't appreciate it.

I just said no. But I am disappointed and feel kind of guilty not to be able to do that for my parents. But that is just more money than I feel comfortable spending.

I ate really well yesterday, healthily and within my daily calorie limit.

Naturally, it wasn't quite good enough for me - but it was my out-of-control perfectionism that got me into this mess, so I need to see it for what it is - something negative!

I don't feel great about my long-term prospects for doing this, but hey, one day at a time. I planned out all my food for today and I have to say it sounds yummy (I just went to the store).

Ok, that's all folks, see you soon.

Lots of love R xxx

Well, it has been a long time!

My husband just took almost a full month off work, and we went away to my parents' home, and since we have been back we have been really busy.

I am glad to be back and looking forward to catching up with what has been going on in your lives!

So what has been going on in mine?

Well, not a lot. I have been struggling a lot with anxiety/bingeing/depression etc. Don't get me wrong, I have been having some great times too, but it has been very up-and-down.

The good news is, I have managed to maintain my weight at what it was last time. Don't ask me how, maybe a lot of garden work, but either way I am pleased.

Despite this, my health is in a mess! I look and feel BLEURGH!

So what am I doing about this? Well, I am not focusing on weight at all at the moment, rather on health and on control of bingeing.

I know why I binge, I know the techniques to use to stop myself. But a lot of the time, I just don't WANT to stop myself, if that makes sense.

For me, bingeing is so tied up with boosting my mood, that when I am seriously depressed, it is sometimes worth it to me to have that instant mood boost. Even though it only lasts till the next morning, sometimes it is worth that for just a little relief.

However, of course the depression is then worse for a few days. Not so much because of guilt over the food - the fact I am maintaining my weight has really helped minimise that. No, it is an actual physical reaction. And the only thing that makes it better seems to be more food!

However, I have promised myself and my husband that I am going to struggle through and work on stopping, because in the long run the damage this bingeing is doing is just immense.

So that is my little project at the moment. As well as treating my depression with nutritious foods and light exercise.

I am now going to get some light exercise working in the garden...if I don't end up reading on the garden swing (like a porch swing but with a frame) that my mom got me for my birthday.

Either way, it will be fun.

Lots of love, R xxx

Ooh, I meant to add...what do you do when you need to say no?? I am just terrible at saying no. Now a friend has asked me to train for a marathon with her. Now, I am in no condition to train for a marathon at the moment. I know myself, and I know the steps I need to be taking are small ones, not big ones.

The thing is, my friend is in no condition to be training for a marathon either! She has health problems, but more than that, she is just not in the right mental place to take that on. My level of confidence that she will train correctly and not leave it till the last minute...it is about 0 per cent. I cannot believe she will do it given the general way she is living at the moment.

Anyway, I am already stuck in the trap of not being honest with my friend about her own life - and also, who am I to say this isn't going to be the making of her?

But...she made it sound so important to her that I took part. Now I have to tell her no. And I can just see a phone call where 'yes' comes out of my mouth and then I am committed.

Well, I did make it yesterday. Not with the exercise, but with the eating. Ok, so it was 4 fudgesicles for breakfast and a pizza for dinner, and nothing else, but I made it.

I am currently having a problem with panic attacks about every four or five hours, and severe anxiety all the time I am awake, so I think I did pretty well!

All I am aiming for today is to do a little cleaning to keep the house OK - it is better now - and to do some gardening. However, the cat just knocked over two seed trays full of compost all over my spare room, so that will be some extra work! I need to make a phone call as well about flights, return my library books, buy something for dinner, and stick to calories!

Small stuff!

Rach xxx

PS. ROFL take a look at my goal time counter at the bottom of the page! REALLY worth a look today!

...am I going to stick to my diet plan today?

Answers on a postcard please .

Will let you know!

Rach xxx

PS. Now there are caterpillars

Ooo-kay...so what do I write about today?

...after that post yesterday, the blasted aphids have arrived in force now!

ATTACK! ATTACK!

I believe I shall look back on 2008 as The Year I Became A Gardener.

Also as The Year I Became A Cold-Blooded Murderess.

The two things are not unrelated.

I love gardening. It took me 27 years to realise it, but there it is. My husband and I began with a yard waist-high with docks and nettles and pretty much nothing else.

(It was something of a surprise. When we came to visit before buying the house, the garden was neatly mowed. We only learned when we moved in that the neighbours used to call it 'the jungle'.)

Anyway, we dug, weeded, hauled out a ton of dirt, hauled in a ton of gravel, sweated, cemented, bricklaid, dug again, bled, hammered, cried, dug some more...well, you get the idea.

Actually, my husband did most of that. Except the crying (he'd kill me if I allowed that to slip by).

I mainly provided coffee and sieved soil. And grew things. I raised hundreds of plants from seed. I would like to say this was because of some purist gardening ethic. It was actually because I am a cheapskate.

But I did find it very satisfying, watching my babies grow.

So many different emotions. Doubt as I stared at the bare soil in the greenhouse. 'D'you think they're duds?' I questioned my husband anxiously. 'No', he replied. 'You only planted them yesterday.'

Relief and pride as the first pale green shoots pushed their way out of the soil.

Amazement at the speed with which they shot up. Some of them, anyway. I am still waiting on the campanulas. Perhaps because my cat decided to use that seed tray as a bed .

True delight as I finally placed my tender new plants in the ground...their destiny fulfilled.

And then, finally, mounting horror as I went down the next morning and...they had disappeared. Almost all of them. Nothing left except the odd green stump or sad-looking shred of leaf.

That was when I felt the white-hot, unholy rage. It was their fault.

The Slugs.

They had to go. Now.

I began my war tentatively. I didn't actually want to kill them. Or my cats, which would undoubtedly view slug pellets as an exciting new treat. Or at least consider it their right to eat them, even if they did taste foul and make them sick.

So I did some internet research, and found a whole host of organic methods for slug control.

Many of them weren't even that murderous. But those were all so expensive. So I took a deep breath, and put out some beer traps.

It was a wet night. By morning, I had captured 40 of the miniature monsters. Initial triumph (involving a war-dance round the garden, in my dressing gown) turned to tears as I peered into the foul-smelling jars. The little bodies just looked so pitiful. Poor wee things. They didn't even die happy, because the beer had gone off. I was evil.

I didn't really function for the rest of the morning. Especially after I realised, beer traps or not, the slugs had finished off the rest of my morning glories overnight.

I was in mourning. I kept away from my garden for the next few days.

But then something happened. A small switch seemed to flick in my brain. Sure, slugs might be God's Creatures. But My Garden, I decided, was More Important Than Them. They probably didn't even have a central nervous system. Whatever that meant.

Since then, it has been all-out war. And I have to confess, I am loving it .

My methods and strategies are numerous. Beer traps, organic slug pellets, coke-bottle cloches (yep, I encourage coke consumption these days), copper tape, night raids with a torch (those are my personal favourites)...

Every morning, I bound triumphantly up the stairs to give my hubby (still in bed) the latest campaign updates. He groans and opens one eye as I report eagerly:

'An excellent night for our boys, sir. A few minor casualties in the greenhouse, but nothing to worry about. The Hun were completely unable to penetrate our cloche defences. Ingenious, sir, ingenious, if I do say it myself. And 42 fatalities in the enemy camp, 40 privates (that's the little ones) and two Majors (you know, the ones with the big orange stripes around the bottom).'

This could be seen as a little insensitive to my husband. He is in the military. He has been to war, himself.

But he doesn't mind. He just wants me to shut up so he can go back to sleep.

Errm, I could do with making this about weight loss, somehow.

And here we go...what have I learned from this whole experience (except that I am a foul Killer who can cast my morals aside like trash when it suits?)

Well, gardening has not been what I expected. I started the spring with clear ideas about how my yard would turn out. I envisioned a perfect English country garden. A gorgeous planting scheme of stunning, healthy specimens. The sort of garden that would blow my neighbours' out of the water.

Things haven't turned out quite that way. I encountered Problems.

Not all my seeds grew. Some of the plants didn't transplant well. Some died for no reason I could see. The rest were munched by slugs/trampled by cats/squashed by the neighbour's ball.

And it has all taken so long. I thought I would be relaxing in my paradise by now...but it is nowhere near finished.

Predictably, I knew straight away why all this had happened. It was My Fault. I was a Rubbish Gardener. I had Failed.

If I had been more educated/harder-working/better, this wouldn't have happened.

So I decided to forget about working on my yard. What was the point?

Except, I kept remembering how much I liked gardening. So I decided to have another try.

After more computer research, I realised a few things. Firstly, yes, some of the things that happened were down to me not knowing enough. I had done some things to harm my plants. But that was OK. It takes people years to learn about gardening. Mistakes are just a part of that.

Secondly, whatever I did, some problems were bound to occur. That is just the way gardening is. I had scoffed at the instructions on the seed packet. Plant them all? 150 of them? How wasteful, I only need 15 plants!

But I didn't allow for the facts of life - that however hard you work, some seeds just don't grow, some plants aren't strong, and some will always be eaten by slugs. And even if I do get my garden looking how I want it, the work to maintain that will be immense.

I had to accept these things as a part of gardening and just get on with it. I had to learn it doesn't matter if some of my stocks don't flower because I planted them too late, it doesn't matter if my ageratum looks a bit nibbled, it doesn't matter if my garden is that little bit less than perfect. It will still be beautiful and it will still be mine.

Gardening has taught me that I have a personality that likes perfection, in a world that is always flawed.

In gardening, and in life, I have to accept setbacks.

The same applies to weight loss. It won't turn out the way I planned. Things will go wrong - with my own behaviour and with life in general. Those things won't have easy fixes. It will get to summer and I will be less than half as far along as I thought I would be. And even when I do arrive at my goal, my battle to maintain my new weight will only just be beginning.

But if I keep going, I will learn as I go along. I will find ways of coping with those curve balls. I will get results, in the end. And, even those results aren't quite what I imagined, I will have achieved something beautiful just by making something a little better out of what I had.

And the slugs?

Well, luckily, I had some backup plants.

Most of them have survived, so far.

It's a war of attrition. I am going to have to keep on murdering the little blighters, probably forever...but hey, at least it's fun . Mwah ha ha! Love Rach

I am not feeling well at the moment.

I am looking back at my goals for June. I deliberately set them small. By June 20th, when I was/am going to Paris with my friends, I planned to have 1. got the important things in my life taken care of, 2. reached my lowest weight to date, 3. done two more weeks of C25K and 4. done some abs and upper body work.

I thought I would be reaching this point laughing!

Well, here is where I have been for the last two weeks:

I am seriously depressed.

I have spent way over budget.

I have done no work.

My bills etc are out of control, not because I can't pay them, but because I can't be bothered to.

My bedroom floor is a sea of dirty clothes. I have no clean clothes, not even underwear.

There are two flies in my house, probably because I have not got a single clean item of kitchenware and I have not scooped the cat litter boxes for days.

I buy food to cook, but can't be bothered, so I get a takeaway and end up throwing out the food I bought.

I have cancelled my trip to the US and am seriously considering cancelling my trip to Paris.

I have started self-medicating by putting my anti-depressant dose back up, because my doctor couldn't give me an appointment.

I have stopped calling my friends, even the two who have just had their first babies. I haven't even sent a card.

Needless to say, I haven't done any exercise.

I have binge eaten my way to an extra 5.5 pounds and am back in the 170s.

I am sleeping about 16 hours a day, even though I have not changed my sheets for nearly two weeks.

I have all these plans and hopes and dreams and no belief I will achieve them. I am so anxious I block everything out.

My therapist is away for a few weeks because her poor mom is seriously ill.

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

Anyway. It won't last forever, for me. It never does. I am going to try to clean up a little today, so the house may be messy but not dirty.

I'll keep on trucking! You keep on too!

Rach xxx

Just a quick note to say I am sorry for neglecting you. I have been awful at posting and replying to or making comments.

I have been hugely busy, and not really felt like I had much to post. I had a week or so where I really thought I was so off track I was going to gain all the weight back.

Somehow reading blogs and trying to write made it worse.

I am 3.5 good days down, now, and have lost the gain...but I am still in the tender stages! Will report back when I have some progress.

Blessings to you all, and hope you are getting on really well.

Rach x