Monday. Office day. Also known as the weekly episode of “Will I Survive The Mounjaro Freeze or Become a Decorative Ice Sculpture Found in Zone 2?” Honestly, the way this jab has turned me into a walking glacier should qualify me for some sort of winter survival show. I slept in TWO layers of clothes, plus a duvet, plus a blanket, plus the heating on full blast. At this point I’m basically sleeping inside my own personal Michelin Man cosplay. And STILL I was cold. I woke up at

Saturday began with the kind of early start that makes you question your entire identity. Who books a hair appointment for 9am on a Saturday? I guess… me. Clearly I hate myself. Dragged myself out of bed, muttering something violent in the direction of my alarm, and immediately clutched my collagen coffee like it was an emotional support beverage. Honestly, at this point I don’t even know if collagen works but if it stops one hair from thinking about running away from my head

Thank GOD it’s Friday! And what a Friday it was - the kind of day that starts with you thinking, “Oh, I didn’t drink that much prosecco last night,” and ends with you clutching the kitchen counter like a Victorian heroine fainting at the sight of a corset. I genuinely didn’t think I drank that much. I was fine when I got home! Totally coherent, totally functional, totally not-on-the-verge-of-calling-myself-an-Uber-to-my-own-front-door. But no - the prosecco and all the rich f

Ohhhh buckle up, my darlings, because Thursday – DAY 127 served weather trauma, fashion excellence, public transport emotional damage, and Mounjaro-fuelled digestive foreshadowing. A buffet of chaos. A tasting menu of survival. A chef’s kiss of JABatha-level melodrama. Waking Up: The Ruby Radio Show™ Alarm goes off. Ruby immediately switches into her BREAKFAST BROADCAST MODE, like she’s about to read the 6am headlines on BBC News. Except the headlines are: “Mummy, I want snac

Weigh-In Week 18: The Tale Of The DISAPPEARING JABatha My darlings, gather round. Week 18 has arrived, and once again the scales have spoken, beeped, flashed, and declared: another 2.2lbs has left my body like a disgruntled tenant who finally realised they haven’t paid rent since 2016. This brings the grand total to a deliriously theatrical: 30.9lbs lost 14 entire kilograms evicted from my person - the equivalent of an ENTIRELY UNNECESSARY amount of mass that I will now compa

Buckle up. This one is LONG, chaotic and dripping in that signature Mounjaro-induced madness. Before We Begin: Mounjaro Truly Said “New Phone, Who Dis?” to My Habits Honestly - can we have a moment for the habit rewiring this pen has done? Because 125 days in, I’ve realised Mounjaro is basically that strict but loving Eastern European auntie who smacks the pierogi out of your hand and shouts “NO! Eat half! Better yet, don’t eat at all!!! Drink tea!!! THINK ABOUT YOUR CHOICES!

Ah… 5 am, that blessed/unholy hour when the universe reminds me I exist. Did I wake gracefully, smiling, stretching like a sophisticated human being? HAHAHAHAHAHA. NO. Instead: My phone screamed like a banshee hopped up on espresso. Ruby, my feline overlord, ran her 4–5 am Cat Podcast, featuring: “Mrrrrrp” Intro Theme Keyboard tapping like an office admin on steroids Head-butting me repeatedly (Subscriber Engagement Segment) Emergency Alert: “Mum, I Think You’re Dead So I Mus

By your girl, JABatha Christie - solving mysteries, losing appetites, and surviving cat podcasts since Day 1. Let me take you back… way back… to Friday at 3pm, when I jabbed myself with 10mg and promptly transformed into a medically-induced Sleeping Beauty. Honestly, I slept like a tranquilised otter drifting down a river of dreams, UNTIL the Cat Podcast between 5am and 6am - yes, Ruby and Molly launched their daily BBC MeowLive “Let’s ruin Mum’s REM cycle” episode. 10mg knoc

A JABatha Christie production Season 1, Episode 120 & 121: “Cement Arm & The Friday Redemption Arc” THURSDAY - DAY 120 A day that started earlier than the sanity of any human should allow. THE 5AM FOOLERY Another early start. Another office day. Another episode of Why The Hell Is My Alarm Awake Before The Sun. And of course - OF COURSE - I was woken up not by the gentle chime of my phone, but by the cat podcast happening live in my bedroom. Ruby, Queen of Chaos, Duchess of Dr

Weigh-In Week 17: The Return Of The Slay Ladies, gents, cats, rats, and household spirits hiding under the sofa - your girl has shed another 1.1lbs. Total: 28.7lbs lost AKA: 13 kilograms AKA: basically a medium-sized farm animal at this point Let me tell you… watching that scale drop was like watching a soap opera miracle. I half expected the theme tune to start playing and the scales to whisper: “You thought it was over, didn’t you?” “Plot twist, babe.” Week 17 came in with

A three-day saga of pain, drama, collagen powder and bacon-roll trauma. Let me start with this: I had to squeeze three days into one post because life decided to throw me into a blender set on “puree.” Honestly the first half of this week was so horrendous - at work and outside - that I’m convinced I briefly astral-projected out of my own body, looked at myself, and said: “No babe… not today.” But hey, it happens to the best of us, right? MONDAY — Aka: Who Woke Me Up at 5am a

Darling readers, gather round. Let Auntie JABatha pour herself a rum and Coke (because wine is now as welcome to my body as a wasp at a picnic) and tell you the tale of The Laziest Weekend Known to Humanity™ - brought to you by Dose 10mg, the pharmaceutical equivalent of being unplugged from the mains. Because WOW. Saturday (Day 115): I woke up… and immediately questioned my life choices. Specifically: Why did I increase to 10mg? Why does my arm feel like it’s been been used

Well, my darlings… it’s official. Thursday Jab Day has been retired. Gone. Over. Finished. He served me faithfully for 16 dramatic, bloated, and occasionally constipated weeks - but the time has come for change. Yes, I, JABatha Christie, have switched allegiance. The new era has dawned. Welcome to Friday Jab Day - same needle, new vibe. Thursday evenings were becoming… too much. The pressure. The anticipation. Jabbing too late. The emotional rollercoaster of weigh-ins, self-r

Ah, Thursday. The day formerly known as Jab Day, the day of office appearances, and apparently, the day I decided to become the fearless heroine of my own anxiety-inducing action film. Scene One: The Dawn of Courage (and Cat Chaos) It began, as all heroic journeys do, with an alarm. At 5 a.m. sharp, the delightful sound of my phone shrieking through the darkness like an angry robot demanding productivity. Of course, my first alarm had already gone off much earlier - not elect

Ahhh, the mornings of working from home. You know the ones - you convince yourself you’ll “sleep in a little” but still end up awake at 6:59am, staring at the ceiling, haunted by flashbacks of Monday’s car hijack attempt. Yes, THAT terrifying moment when I, JABATHA CHRISTIE herself, nearly became an episode of Crimewatch - all because I dared to drive the most elite vehicle known to mankind: my beloved Mini Cooper. They clearly picked the wrong woman. The wrong day. The wrong

Oh, my darlings! Before we begin - apologies for the radio silence! I know, I know. You probably thought I’d jabbed myself into another dimension or eloped with a pharmacist. But no. I’ve simply been living through a six-day emotional rollercoaster that made the Tower of Terror look like a gentle carousel. Buckle up - this is going to be a long one. Thursday Day 106 - Weigh-In and Jab Day: The Scales of Injustice Thursday dawned with hope, promise, and the faint whiff of desp

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

Ah, the sweet joy of working from home - also known as “the illusion of peace until your cat decides you’ve slept enough.” This morning, I was deep in a glorious dream involving a spa, Idris Elba, and unlimited snacks that somehow didn’t count as calories… when BAM! Molly the Cat decided I was her breakfast butler. Full leap, claws of doom, right onto my stomach. “FEED ME, WOMAN!” So naturally, I stumbled out of bed half-asleep, hair resembling a tumbleweed, muttering somethi

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