isn't them, not in any way. It's the constant planning, preparing and eating of regular meals, taken at a properly-set table, and the treats in between.
And that's not really the problem either. It's the constant creeping of calories, the overload of delicious little morsels and embellishments, the starters, the puddings, the cream-in-everything, the finishing of leftovers as an extra, because we wouldn't want waste, would we? It's the relentless migration of those calories to hips and tummy. The little inspired thought that pops up in the evening and drives us to the mocha ice cream in the freezer, because we wouldn't drink coffee so close to bedtime, but coffee in home made ice cream? - no problem.
Tricia goes off to Yorkshire today, for the weekend. I may have to live on water and noble thoughts of self-restraint till her return, just to give my poor beleaguered innards a break.
Perhaps we should finish that ice cream before she leaves. After all, calories shared are calories halved, and noble thoughts of self-restraint might last longer in a kitchen without cream in any form.
But then there's the shopping for her return to think about....