Day 148 - 149: The Retching, the Recognition, and the Relentless British Weather - a two-day saga by your exhausted but still fabulous JABatha Christie

3 days ago
4 min read

Ahhh yes…

Thursday and Friday.

Days 148 and 149.

Two days so weird and chaotic they deserve their own Netflix mini-series.

Or at least a three-part BBC documentary narrated by David Attenborough:

“Here we observe the modern woman in her natural habitat… at home… staring blankly at her laptop… praying for WiFi stability.”

Because babes, I worked from home BOTH days.

Me.

WFH.

Back-to-back.

THURSDAY: DAY 148 — Emails, Retching & Riveting Glamour

I woke up like a Victorian child recovering from a long bout of consumption: pale, cold, zero energy, and aggressively not hungry.

My stomach currently behaves like a strict nightclub bouncer:

“Name on the list?”

“Ummm… toast?”

“NOT TONIGHT, LOVE.”

That’s how meals are going.

Work was the usual madness - emails, presentations, Teams calls where people pretend they didn’t hear you the first time.

I even got a recognition for my work, which was lovely, unexpected, and slightly worrying because it means they’re definitely going to ask me for something extra later.

Meanwhile, the weather looked like someone put a grey Instagram filter over the entire country.

Rubbish.

Dark.

Drizzly.

Basically December in the UK, also known as “the months where we all collectively lose the will to live.”

My Meowcasts continued, of course.

Because the public demands it.

By “public,” I mean absolutely nobody.

Not a soul.

But cats deliver anyway, like the dedicated broadcaster they are.

Somewhere in between work tasks and shivering under a blanket like a cold, damp meerkat, the retching began.

Occasional, unexpected, dramatic.

Like the jump scares in a horror movie - but inside my own body.

FRIDAY: DAY 149 - Pizza Slices & Productivity (Barely)

Friday began with more coldness, more exhaustion, and more irritation at absolutely nothing.

I blame the Mounjaro.

Yes.

I BLAME THE JAB.

I HAVE DECIDED.

But in fairness, I’m also blaming:

The weather

My own ambitious schedule

Christmas approaching too quickly

My lack of sleep

And the fact that I’m apparently turning into a human fridge

Work was another day of emails, tasks, more presentations, and me sitting there thinking:

“I’m doing AMAZING considering I’m being kept alive solely by muttering complaints and one tiny slice of pizza from Pizza Express… FROM MY FREEZER.”

Yes, one tiny slice.

Not fresh.

Not delivered.

Just a frozen Pizza Express relic revived in my oven - courtesy of my boyfriend’s generosity.

Weather update: still rubbish.

Morale: low.

Retch count: a couple, with a cameo appearance by vomiting.

Honestly, I could release a soundtrack. “The Sounds of Mounjaro.”

Limited edition. £12.99 on vinyl.

HOUSE LIFE: The Christmas Chaos Begins

Saturday is going to be intense.

Because:

House needs decorating

Outside needs decorating

Christmas tree shopping TOMORROW!

Ocado arriving in the morning

Guests coming over

I’m making a Bakewell tart because I’m basically Mary Berry but with more complaints

Then next week?

WORK XMAS PARTY.

Three days in the office.

Two WFH.

Next Monday off.

And then…

Nearly Christmas.

How?!

And yet…

I STILL don’t feel Christmassy.

Not even a little.

I blame the recent trip.

My body is here, but my soul is still at the Polish Christmas Market staring at pierogi.

THE GRAND RANT: Mounjaro & The Drama Llamas in the Media

Right, let me say it LOUD and CLEAR.

Because I’ve had enough.

Dear Media,

STOP SABOTAGING THE JAB.

STOP WRITING SHIT STORIES.

STOP TRYING TO CREATE DRAMA FOR CLICKS.

We ALL know it’s not a magic fix.

We ALL know weight loss is bloody hard work.

We ALL know side effects exist.

You don’t need to write eighteen articles a day about it like you’re uncovering Watergate.

Let people take their meds in peace.

Signed,

A very tired, slightly retchy, cold, hungry-but-not-hungry woman on Day 149.

Conclusion: I’m Alive. Barely. And Cold.

So yes, two weird days:

Worked like a busy little bee

Ate basically nothing except boyfriend-sponsored Pizza Express freezer pizza atoms

Retched more than anyone should

Did Meowcasts for my imaginary fanbase

Survived British weather

Prepared mentally for a weekend of domestic chaos

And shouted at the media

Life is glamorous, darling.

Catch me tomorrow decorating the house while sipping tea and questioning my life choices.

But hey…

Still here.

Still losing weight.

Still moaning.

Still iconic.

Yours in exhaustion, retching, and Bakewell tart dreams,

And Finally… Because My Life Isn’t Chaotic Enough

Before I crawl into bed like a 19th-century governess suffering from “the vapours,” let’s take a moment to honour the worst Mounjaro side effects I’ve personally experienced - a collection so iconic it deserves its own art exhibition:

Retching that sounds like I’m trying to summon a demon

Random vomits that come out of nowhere like surprise plot twists

Zero appetite unless it’s for one single leaf of lettuce or frozen Pizza Express pizza

Being cold enough to qualify as a human fridge

Fatigue that could knock out a small rhinoceros

And of course… the constipation diaries, a saga with more chapters than Harry Potter

And yes - I’m jabbing again on Sunday, because apparently I enjoy living on the edge!

Meanwhile, the whole country is gearing up for the King’s Speech for Stand Up To Cancer, waiting for him to talk openly about his diagnosis.

A rare moment of national unity, compassion, and all of us collectively going, “Awww King Charles, bless him.”

On top of THAT, there’s a flu outbreak brewing, because of course there is. Tis the season!

Everywhere you turn someone is coughing, sneezing, shivering, or claiming they have “just allergies” while looking like a Victorian chimney sweep.

Honestly, between flu, colds, Mounjaro side effects and the British weather, it’s a miracle we’re all still functioning.