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 (

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

(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, my darling Jabbers. We meet again. Day 99. Ninety-nine days of jabs, bloating, burping, bravery, and now… rain. So much rain. Let’s dive right in (quite literally, as you’ll soon see). 5am - Rise and Whine: Another 5am wake-up. Why? Who am I trying to impress? The King? The sunrise? Nevertheless, I heroically rolled out of bed, muttering obscenities and negotiating with my knees, who were not in the mood to bend. First mission of the day: weigh-in. And let me tell you - t

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

Wow. What. A. Night. Friends, Romans, Jabbers… lend me your disinfectant. Because I have survived the feline equivalent of a zombie apocalypse - but with more hairballs and less sense of mercy. Let’s start with the obvious: I did not sleep. At all. Well, maybe there was an hour in there somewhere, sandwiched between the sounds of retching, the frantic scrabble of paws, and me muttering, “Oh God, not again,” into a roll of kitchen towel. My poor baby Ruby - Queen of Chaos, Duc

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

A JABatha Christie Original: Thursday, Sponsored by Fatigue, Felines, and Fear of Coldwater. My darling Jabbers, we’ve made it to Day 92. Ninety-two whole days of jabs, naps, soup, and the occasional near-death experience with carpet vomit. And speaking of carpets - you’ll be delighted to know that there was no sick today! A small victory in the household, as I awoke to Ruby’s usual 5am Podcast of Chaos (working title: Purring, Shuffling, and Random Headbutts: The Feline Awak

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,” “

Ah, Wednesday. Bin day. The day of domestic glamour and olfactory challenges. I awoke to the gentle purr of Ruby - my sweet, spewy alarm clock - perched elegantly upon my chest. A vision of feline serenity… until I realised she had once again redecorated the carpet. And, for added flair, the freshly washed duvet. With undigested food. Truly, a multi-sensory experience. Poor baby. Although… between her nausea and my appetite swings, I’m beginning to suspect she’s been sneaking

My darling Jabbers, please forgive my radio silence these past four days - I assure you I have neither joined a cult nor eloped with a breadstick. It’s simply been… two lazy days and two crazy days. A true yin and yang of Mounjaro life. The scales of chaos and calm delicately balanced atop a pile of cat sick, mashed potatoes, and questionable decision-making. Let’s dive in. Saturday: The Day of the Sick Cat and Cancelled Zen The day began as all great tragedies do: with a noi

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...

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