...tummy ...this is serious business!

It's three weeks today. That's all I've got left to reach my goal. After a month of excessively violent coughing, resulting in a damaged ribcage muscle and a voice so husky I'm thinking of doing a Bonnie Tyler tribute show, I'm finally ready to go back to the gym. Nothing less than a miracle will do now to flatten that tummy. So, I've just got to stay on the straight and narrow, from today onwards it's fruits, vegetables, lots of fish and all the other healthy stuff, no coffee (except in emergencies of course), no chocolate (except green and black's organic of course), gym every day, I'll be the picture of health!
Aaaanyway, so I get up this morning, I'm at Spikey's house, so I've got about an hour and a half's journey ahead of me to work. Leave the house just slightly late (what else?), head for the bus stop. The bus comes along, I touch my oyster card on the reader, but instead of the cheerful 'bleeep', there's that dreaded 'bib-bib'. What! I look at the bus driver expecting him to act like a proper bus driver and do that sideways nodding thing that means I can just go in. No such thing. "There's no money on your oyster card ma'm." Don't you ma'm me you little... Off the bus I go, 'cause for some reason, in poshywoshy N10, you can't just pay on the bus, no, you have to buy a ticket in the ticket machine. So that's what I do, no, that's what I intend to do, but the damn thing doesn't work, even after I was lucky enough to have the right change on me. So the next bus comes along, and this time they have no choice but to let me in, after I mumble "machine broken" and do my backwards nodding thing. Right there I decide that this is the wrong day to give up coffee, and for the rest of the journey I'm happily hallucinating about that black magic fluid.
At the office, Bamse walks in with a fresh hair-cut and colour, and announces it's his birthday. Yiphee, that means we get cake! But not 'till after lunch of course. I decide to stay put by my desk in the lunchbreak, look a bit on the internet for a new flat, so I just pop out to Sainsbury's to get some food. A pasta/chicken salad is today's choice. Or as the packaging should have said: "mayonnaise with bits of pasta and chicken. And some red stuff to give it some colour, and something else to make the whole thing taste revolting." I've already written the letter: "Dear Sainsbury's. I'm writing to tell you that your pasta/chicken salad is absolutely inedible. Please remove it from your shelves, and provide us with something good, cheap and healthy instead. Your's truly, Scarpa."
Back at the office, I discover that Bamse has not bought one cake, he's bought three. And they're all my favorite. Sometimes when people buy cake, they just go for the biggest, loudest chocolate bomb they can find. Now I'm not one to slag off chocolate, but they just never live up to the expectations. But Bamse got it just right, so I spend the afternoon in cake heaven.
Rather than going to the gym after this orgie, I decide to go shopping. I've been so good for such a long time, I deserve just a quick peak in the shops, just to see what's new. Thankfully, I only have time to fall for a beautiful blue T-shirt before the shop closes, so I leave only £18 poorer today. I still haven't had dinner, and I'm getting dizzy, so I head to Borders, for a glossy magazine fix and something to eat, but as ususal, the papier maché sandwiches aren't that tempting, so I go for a bucket of green tea instead. What the hell, there's no day like tomorrow to start a health craze...