Weigh-In Week 16: The Great Plateau Has Fallen! Friends, Romans, jabbed countrymen – lend me your needles! For I come bearing miraculous news. After three long, gruelling weeks of emotional turmoil, quiet rage, and dramatic sighing in front of my bathroom mirror, the scales have finally moved. Yes. After being trapped in a weight-loss desert - where the only thing shrinking was my patience - I have finally lost 1.8 lbs this week, bringing my glorious grand total to 27.6 lbs (

Weigh-In Week 15: The Great Plateau Panic! Well. Here we are. Week 15. Three. Whole. Weeks. Of. NOTHING. AGAIN! Not a single gram. Not even the faintest whisper of a decimal. The scales just sat there this morning, mocking me in complete silence, like “You again?” Honestly, at this point, I think my bathroom scales are gaslighting me. I’ve cleaned them. I’ve moved them. I’ve whispered affirmations at them. I even stepped on one foot first just to see if they’d show mercy. Nop

Well, hello darkness my old friend - literally. Because that’s what greeted me at 5am this morning. Again. Dragged myself out of bed expecting to trip over a cat or three… and nothing. Not a whisker in sight. Weird, I thought. Had they finally run away to a better life? But then it hit me - the heating! We had the radiators on last night because winter is creeping in, and I bet my last Mounjaro pen those little furballs were welded to them like fluffy hot water bottles. Hones

Ah, Day 103. Otherwise known as: “Why am I awake at 5am when I could be a cat?” After a gloriously lazy Sunday filled with Netflix marathons, cat cuddles that verged on emotional therapy, and zero ambition to do anything productive, my Monday morning self was not thriving. When the alarm went off at 5, I had an out-of-body experience. I could see myself in bed, wrapped up like a burrito of denial, muttering, “No. Absolutely not.” But in a true Jabatha Christie style, I rose f

(A JABatha Christie special: starring toast, gastroparesis, and one delusional Cruella De Vil) Wow. What. A. Weekend. Honestly, if there were medals for surviving chaos wrapped in glitter and digestive failure - I’d be a gold medallist by now. Saturday - The Witching Hour Begins 🧙‍♀️🎶 It started slow… too slow. A lazy Saturday morning, the calm before the storm. I had plans - big plans - but my stomach apparently had other ones, namely, “let’s retch dramatically for no reas

Well, my darling Jabbers… we made it. ONE. HUNDRED. DAYS. A whole century of jabs, cravings, burps, plateaus, triumphs, and toilets. And how did I celebrate this momentous milestone, you ask? By starting the morning with my head in the toilet. No, not because of champagne or questionable kebabs. Not even because I wanted to admire my new toilet duck. But because my stomach decided, “You know what would be fun? Let’s expel everything she’s eaten since August.” It was like a ga

Ah, Day 98. It began, as all glamorous mornings do, with me waking up at 5pm… wait. No. That’s not a typo. 5pm. I woke up to Molly’s butt in my face. The alarm hadn’t even gone off - apparently, I’m now on dog time. There I was, bleary-eyed, fumbling in the darkness, trying to locate my dignity and a pair of socks, before realising: I actually had to function like a human being today. So off I went, driving through the pitch-black abyss, muttering motivational quotes to mysel

Week 14: Plateau? I Hardly Know Her! Gather round, my darling Jabbers, for it is I - your ever-hopeful, ever-hungry heroine - reporting live from the Mounjaro rollercoaster, week 14 edition. And what a thrilling ride it’s been… except the ride seems to have stopped. On the same spot. For two. Whole. Weeks. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the scales and I are currently locked in a passive-aggressive staring contest. Every morning, I approach with optimism and perhaps a touch of del

My darlings, please accept my deepest apologies for the radio silence - I promise I haven’t been abducted by Vecna or enrolled in a champagne appreciation course (though both are equally plausible). The truth is far simpler and far more fabulous: I was celebrating my birthday. And not just any birthday - the kind that leaves your liver writing strongly worded letters to your brain. Let us rewind to Friday, a.k.a. Day 93, a.k.a. “The Great London Adventure.” FRIDAY - Strange

The Scale Betrayal Chronicles My darling Jabbers, gather round. I have news. Grim, unjust, soul-crushing news. After a week of saintly behaviour - salads, water, not even sniffing a biscuit - I stepped on the scales this morning and… nothing. Not an ounce. Not a gram. Not even the faint suggestion of a wobble in the right direction. The number glared back at me, smug and unchanging, as if to say, “Cute try, darling. But no.” Now, I know, I know - “weight loss isn’t linear,” “

Slept like an absolute dream. Honestly, my bed deserves an award. A BAFTA, an MBE, something. It’s the only consistent relationship in my...

Ah, Day 85. A day that began with feline chaos, ended under a duvet, and somewhere in between involved a monumental personal victory, a...

The Case of the Disappearing Me (Down 25.8 lbs!) Twelve weeks. Three months. 84 days of needles, nausea, dry heaving, and cats sitting on...

Worked from home today, which sounds relaxing in theory - in reality, it was a phlegm-filled, retch-powered symphony of coughs, wheezes...

Apologies for the radio silence, my fellow Jabbers! I have been under the weather - and not in a poetic, “moody raincloud over a Paris...

Slept like an absolute baby, with the chunky feline butt of Ruby the Purring Machine firmly planted on my chest. Honestly, if there were...

Weigh-in day, baby! The alarm went off and before I even opened my eyes, I knew today was the day of reckoning. First, though, I had to...

The Plot Thickens (or Should I Say Thins?) Ladies, gents, and fellow carb detectives – welcome to Episode 77 of CSI: My Waistline. This...

Day 77. WOW. Let’s talk about sevens. In numerology, a single 7 means wisdom, intuition, and spiritual awakening. Basically, it’s the...

Another office day. Another 5am wake-up. At this point, I feel like I should just legally change my name to “The Human Alarm Clock”...