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 I will state for the record that I love carbohydrates. Those stodgy, glutinous delights in the form of bread, risotto and potato-bake are dear friends who have comforted me since childhood. My Grandmother’s Coconut Roughs and Baked Custard still rate highly in my annual list of must-have indulgences.
Carbohydrates are bad. But I am even badder. Because I have been on a carbohydrate bender that makes Kate Moss’s coke binges look piss-weak.
It’s not my fault. It’s Tasmania in winter.
A colleague of mine (who tends to throw about “facts” about Tasmanian life which, when researched, fail to be even remotely true), tells me Tasmanians pack on an average of 8 kilos over winter. It’s the whole “coastal alpine” climate thing. I can’t find anything in Google or Wikipedia to prove the existence of this weight-gain phenomenon or anything called a “coastal alpine climate”, but I can see how it could happen.
Now we’re in July, I have put on a grand total of 4 kilos. With our winter lasting well into September, I reckon I might even surpass that 8 kilo mark.
When hubby and I arrived in Tasmania, we immediately took to the food here with gay abandon. We’re both big boys, so it wasn’t hard to roast up scotch fillets at $8 a kilo and scoff down giant oysters at $7.99 a dozen. But some time later, the two of us are not fitting the clothes we moved here with and face a big decision: develop some self-restraint, or give up altogether and drown in a pool of steak, creamy pasta, Barilla Bay oysters and lamb chump chops.
With both of us in our mid-thirties, we have reached the point where we are almost on top of our finances and are entering our fifth or sixth career-changes. We’re a stable couple. We find each other irresistibly attractive. But a quick look in the mirror for me wonders what he sees in me. He met me around 15 kilos ago. I was tanned, happy, driven and had just lost a whopping 40 kilos.
Now I am pasty, overworked, unmotivated and am well on the way to gaining back the bulge that he, thankfully, never got to see.
I would like to think that I have the power to beat this alleged seasonal binge that Tasmanians seem to attribute to the climate.
But according to my learned colleague, it’s not my fault. It’s Tasmania’s fault.
Oh well.
At least I am cuddly.
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