So how come I celebrate any minor weight loss (with a donut or two, or three), and am willing to blame the same scales when the figure that appears on the liquid crystal display is higher than expected?
They are Weight Watchers brand bathroom scales, only a few years old, but some days I have to get on and off about five times, and take an average, because the variations are really so wild. Two or three kilograms in either direction: a minor fluctuation in either direction is meaningless when the scales seem to be capable of being so random.
Me, I mean, not the scales.
I'm not so sure I'm getting anywhere, but at least, I guess, I've essentially held to the same mass for a whole year now. But my willpower is so unreliable. I find I am craving certain treats and, if I do buy, see or am offered something naughty, I rarely refuse it, and if I know there's a whole packet lurking nearby, I'm likely to polish 'em off.
A typical Sunday, I've wasted nearly the whole day fiddling around with my Facebook page (when I probably should have been walking round the block - several times). This time last weekend I had 35 friends, and now a whole lot more acceptances have come through and I'm up to 80.
There are still plenty of other tasks awaiting round the house. Welcome to my latest period of... Denial.
Sunday's magic number: 94.0 - Or, just pick any random three digits and a decimal point!