Faddy diets killed my bank balance.

I've become a Jeremy Kyle episode. *wails*

You see, I never seem to have any money.

Fine. Slight exaggeration. Sometimes I have money. But it's for such a short amount of time that I can basically break the average month down to three days of skipping, flashing (steady) huge smiles at strangers, cooing at small children in supermarkets and saying YES to everything - juxtaposed with twenty-seven murderous days of walking around with a permanently dejected air, sighing dramatically, claiming found pennies from between my sofa cushions and scowling at other people's far more exciting, MONEY FILLED plans.

Other then the glaringly obvious fact that I happen to work in an industry that pays you in penny sweets and buttons, I tried to work out why this was the case. Why do I never seem to have any money? That's right.

Faddy diets.

Some girls do shoes, others do Touche Eclat. I do 'interesting' ingredients. 'Interesting' ingredients and an uncomfortable relationship with my wobbly bits, however, burn a nasty little hole in my pocket. Listen small, vampiric Scottish woman off the telly with extraordinarily vein-y hands and an unhealthy relationship with poo, I know I should be DITCHING THE CARRRBS but spaghetti is cheap. Ok? As is bread. Ditto potatoes. Do you know what's not cheap though? Essence of Pekingese mango skin or dittany of soya linseed rye bread. Oil from the back of the Neolamprologus Brichardi Kipili fish or nuts rich in Vitamin something-or-other delicately transported by trained parakeets. All just what I should be consuming four portions of before breakfast to intensely detoxify me and turn me into one of those shiny-toothed, glossy haired people who get photographed laughing as they eat their salad. Apparently. Diets with those sort of food types are cooked up by bored, thin people intent on tormenting others and are only followed by Jennifer Aniston, Megan Fox or Superwoman - all of whom have the money (I imagine being Superwoman would pay relatively well) and the mental (in?)stability to do so. But I'm in advertising, which quite often means you are in fact a total sucker for advertising. *nods somberly* It's silly, but pretty pictures, nice typography and the assurance that spending oodles on organic, hand reared, lovingly smothered in kisses, sung-to morsels retrieved from the bottom of some unreachable sea bed will be the best thing for your body since sliced bread (hmm, in this context that's more than a little ironic) I totally fall for it.

Ridiculous ingredient: I was hand crafted.

Me: Noooo.

Ridiculous ingredient: For reals. I was also lightly whipped and now nestle on something tousled and expensive and one of a kind.

Me: How exciting. I must have you. It'll make me all Nigella like if someone happens to rifle through my kitchen bin and finds your lovely, hypnotic wrapper.

Ridiculous ingredient: Well quite.

Just days after I'm back in the aisles wringing my hands as I gaze guiltily at the instant noodles for R6 - bargain - stocking up on tins of baked beans, wading through endless bowls of spaghetti, trying to decide what I can fashion out of an assortment of pickles and prunes and glaring at the offensive foods I gobbled in those three blissful days of dollar, that now taunt me prettily with their shiny packets and expensive price tags. I also have to battle with the knowledge that we have an entire cupboard in my office dedicated to crisps, biscuits, sweets and chocolate. Lunches are beginning to consist of crisp sandwiches without the bread (two can play at that game, Pret) and Quality streets. Gillian McKeith would have a fit.

So it seems like, until carrots have fancy labels on them and my inner faddy dieter moves out, I'm going to continue lurching from food joy - tra la la I'm bathing in food awesomeness - to food fail. Baked beans on toast is delicious. Baked beans on toast for twenty-seven days makes me want to walk in to Woolworths with a semi automatic.



* Oh and yes, the picture at the top bears absolutely no direct relevance to this post other then the fact that I like tacos (though I haven't had one in a-g-e-s) and I feel that said taco's sad little face resembles mine on my poor days. Besides, I have a frequent tendency to be tenuous and I only have three followers, so sod it.