The bathroom scales were once again being nice to me this morning, making me feel on top of the world, as I gazed down at the readout. Not only because the figure shown let me know that I had cracked the ten kilos lost barrier, despite ever-irritating and painful rheumatoid arthritis,  but also because I was able, at last, to actually see the readout from above, my stomach having shrunk enough to let me do so, for the first time in several years.

Not giving way, even to small temptations in my daily life is getting harder to do all the time,  but the knowledge that this dietary discipline is still being so incredibly effective helps a great deal.  Now eleven weeks into the programme, I do find that the weight-loss appears to be making life easier in terms of physical activity, so perhaps starting a series of gentle strolls, in the local woods, might be feasible

I know, with dread certainty, that I will quite probably never find myself able to do aerobic exercises again, but there is no real evidence to suggest that such exercise has any genuine influence on weight anyway, so I shall try not to fret about it.  It has been said, by the doctor and a fellow sufferer, that gentle sessions at the swimming baths can help, so I may go for that option.

The number of sites on line, and indeed posts from other writers, on the subject of obesity and possible solutions for it, is truly staggering, and I would hardly have believed that so many conflicting ideas could purport to support the same ambitions, in a dietary sense.   The stark truth is very simple, and it is simply that willpower, and willpower alone, will get through the torture of depriving your insistent body of things it does NOT need.

I could so easily give in to these sensuous and subtle, creeping cravings that curl themselves around your head, with no regard for your situation.  The glorious scent of greasy bacon, the whiff of cruel chocolate, all serve to have me unconsciously drooling,  but you know what they say about slippery slopes, and as an ex-smoker, I am only too aware of how simple stepping backwards can be.

Instead of savoring the imagined, but forbidden taste sensations of the things I refuse to consume, I take extra pleasure in eating copious quantities of things I can, felling Roman Emperor like, as I quaff grapes and glorious smoked fish with gay abandon.  I never actually need to experience the pangs of hunger, because my chosen diet allows me as much as I want of things I CAN have.

Everything about my life now is fresh and invigorating, even my sex-drive experiencing a resurgence, an unexpected but extremely welcome bonus, which, at sixty years of age, goes a long way toward reinforcing my decision to follow this path, however long it might take.  With senses of smell and taste improving also, I find myself welcoming each morning with more zest than I have in years.

I managed, to be honest, and feel very proud of it, to stop smoking three years ago, after forty years, as a fifty a day man, and I have never touched a fag since, though I still have an unopened pack in my dresser drawer.  It is there to reinforce my will never to smoke again, and if that major hurdle was successfully overcome, then dieting ought to be a doddle. It is anything but, of course, but I am not going to waver. On the day the scales tell me I weigh 75 kilos, I will seriously consider a bacon roll, but almost certainly not have one.  A price well worth paying, I think