I Can, You Can, DUKAN.

After the disaster that has been Sad September who would have thought that it would be BBB who has re-inspired the whole family. Even Geeta, who in my opinion is practically anorexic with her 'no more than four chips' policy, has decided to join the get fit regime that has swept the Bhatia family. Since being housebound for 3 weeks with syatica and has been unable to go on her daily marches around Oadby, she now considers herself 'doughy'. If she is doughy...I am the entire sodding bakery.

BBB has managed to shed a stone in a week. Puts my 2 stone in 2 months to utter shame. I need to massively up my game. However, whilst I make a song and dance about pretty much everything I do - even writing this blog, BBB started his health kick on the sly - naughty Baz. It wasn't until Wednesday that I realised the fridge had no wine bottles ready and chilling and there were no empty bowls of peanuts by his throne in the lounge. Baz had gone cold turkey. It wasn't until I bravely entered the boy's toilet that I found the source of the inspiration: The Dukan Diet.

Now already labelling myself the carb queen, I am not overly fond of the pure protein. Apparently Nando's isn't pure protein if you get it in the pitta with the chips and perinaise on the side...who knew. In fact I really don't like meat, unless its Waitrose or M&S chicken. I know there is no difference between Waitrose chicken and Sainsbury's chicken except a £4 increase but I just can't do it. It has to be like that. As my housemates will know Geeta was a gem and constantly supplied me with M&S Oakham reared finest for four years, I know no different...it is a problem I need to overcome but whilst they are my local supermarkets I see no reason in changing a perfectly good habit. This chicken snobbery has had some benefits though! When often stumbling/rolling/crawling (despite my pathetic 3 inch heels) I often found myself propped up against the Jaldi Jaldi bar with India ordering everything on the menu and the rest of the girls hot on her heels. Thinking a chicken tikka masala is the best thing for me at 3am I wait until they have poured out my little container with rice and everything to then ask, 'Is this free range organic chicken?' When the Jaldi Jaldi man then looks at me with a face that says, 'who do you think you are?!' I decide the appropriate response is: 'I don't want it then.' A brat to the core, even my drunk food has to adhere to my spoilt ways...unless its battered, then I don't give a shit.

So I am now on Dukan day 4 and feeling thoroughly suicidal. I hate protein. I hate it. I'm trying I really am, I have an egg in the morning - I haven't eaten eggs since I was 4 (unless of course they are beautifully beaten into a cake or a pastry....mmm I want a pecan plait). So I have embraced eggs, I'm not going to lie I do have to have ketchup with it and the grimace across my face looks as though I'm in agony. So Dukan breakfast is very rapidly eaten as not to actually taste the egg. Then comes lunch and I am greeted by a chunk of chicken - fabulous. No salad, no veg (no carbs obvs) not even any Mayo - apparently my argument that Mayo is made of eggs and thus protein is invalid. Cold chicken by itself is grim. The only way I can eat is by cutting it up into the tiniest pieces so that my mind is preoccupied with the task of cutting it and concentrating less on how horrid it is. The whole protein thing does seem to be working I suppose as in 4 days I have lost 4lb, but I really don't know how much longer I can go without some salad and veg. What harm can it really doing having a few veggies?! As if I'm craving greens...who have I become?!

I just have to keep this image in my head and all will be worth it...

Bloody ruins it by saying face in hole. Or maybe its more that my face is pointing in the wrong direction. So ignoring the fact this looks more creepy than sexy...get in line boys ;) 

Fatty BB xxx 

Sad September

September has not been a good month for 'fat to fit', except for my excursion into the country for Fi's birthday, September has been pretty shit. But hasn't September always been shit...going back to school, end of summer sunshine (or lack of for this year), the days start to get darker and M&S have already got their mince pies out - so tragic because it is not near Christmas at all, which means there is still 2 months until I can watch Elf.  September has also been a lack of motivation as I have hit rejection after rejection after rejection. Ok, that's a slight exaggeration, I got one email from Vogue saying the following:

Dear Kiran,

Thank you for your letter regarding work experience at Vogue. I am afraid your application has not been successful.
I am sorry to give you a disappointing reply and good luck with your search elsewhere.

Yours sincerely,

Nina Godfrey
Editorial Coordinator

Cheerrrsss Vogue. Naaattt. I suppose it is something that I got a reply, and I knew it was a long shot but  I was still kind of gutted. I wasn't expecting to be Alexandra Shulman over night but was maybe hoping for some feedback as to why I didn't get the work experience. At the end of the day it was worth a shot and onwards and upwards. But sad September continued, maybe it should be shit September. Making shit September even shittier September...I found myself employed. Employment is so overrated. For the following reasons:

The job: Accountant/Purchaser/Sales/Everythingandanythingpossibleformemtodo for a company that had gone into administration (can totally see why, it's shit) and are trying to rebuild themselves. The company specialises in making engines, got the job cos I know sooo much about engines...
 Day 1: Ended the day feeling rather suicidal - a freezing cold office with three other middle aged men, one dragon woman and 2 hour drive home (thanks to some stellar traffic) to consider all the ways I could quit after one day.

Day 2: Crash my car on the way to work. Good one! Didn't even have the office number to call to say 'Really soz I'll be late I slammed into another car, my bad.' In real life it didn't go that smoothly. Although it was a small bump I was still hysterical, and found myself on the verge of tears at any given moment at work. Great impression.

Day 4:  Just get chucked bits of paper about engine parts and supposed to know what to do with them - because I am just that good.

The majority of my time is spent staring at my blackberry waiting for the little red light to flash , getting overly excited that I have got a fun text or someone has done something stupid and put it in the group whatsapp, but 9 times out of 10 it is 'Topshop Style Notes' or 'Groupon'. I don't even like Groupon they sold me a dodgy TEFL. Bastards.

So as you can see employment isn''t really working out for me, as currently I am sat at my desk typing this, and this is only adding to Sad/ Shit September. Now the food part. It's been bad. Miserable days at work have found me dragging my feet to the petrol station and buying some crisps or worse. Most evening I am writing up my articles or looking for other jobs/internships and when nothing is really coming together, finding anything is fridge seems a better option. It is not.

Yesterday I gave myself a metaphorical slap across the face, for being such a wet rag. I tried to drag myself out of the abyss by watching highlights of London Fashion Week and reminding myself of the goals. Think of all the desginer clothes that are going to be h-amazing on me, I have already got my eye on a couple of Stella's pieces (take note Baz, they are going on the Christmas list). In essence PITY PARTY OVER - BACK TO WORK BITCH.

Optimistic October begins NOW.

Fatty BB xxx

The Only Indian In Shropshire

Since the beginning of this blog people have been asking whether they can get a mention, or when I have mentioned other people the question as to why they weren't mentioned arises. The answer to this question is: I am a selfish being. Being your classic middle child and I am certainly the most independent but also the biggest attention seeker. I am by no means in denial about it, I fully accept it. It is necessary in my family to speak up or stay silent and despite avoiding confrontation in nearly every other scenario in life, at home its a different story - it is unlikely that there will be an argument whereby I don't have the last word. BBB has taught me well, so much so he now loses (or just gives up on my hopeless advocacy that turns into a less articulate structure... and more slamming of doors and under-the-breath swearing).

Having said that I have decided to share this post with the wonderful Miss Fiona Sedgley - feel very, very privilged. I share almost everything even my prized MAC lipsticks and although I may fall into the 'Joey doesn't share food' category when it comes to certain food types (mainly chips, chocolate and cake), blogs I can handle. So here it is.

This weekend I ventured into Shropshire for Miss Sedgley's 21st birthday bash. All I knew was that Fi lived the countryside and on a working farm. Considering I live on an A-road, I realised this would be a little different to what I was used to. However I didn't consider that I would be the only Indian in an entire county. Two hours of holding up my tomtom because I broke holder in my drive before I even set off I found myself driving at a steady 20mph around these tiny country lanes, quite frankly thinking: "where the fuck am I?" With now quite a hefty stream of traffic behind me who obviously were used to bombing it down the roads, panic set in and by sheer luck I stumbled across the farm. As I pulled into the drive I jokingly said to Fi, 'Hey look there is another Indian in Shropshire!' Looking both perplexed and mildly disgusted she was bemused as to how another Indian had landed in white-country. All was cleared up when I pointed out that with her 4-5 layers of tan she was actually darker than me....was going to be a looonnnnggg weekend of clearly not enough casual racism.

I was like a fish out of water initially, all the farmer chat had me stumped so as I put on my best posh accent I attempted to blend in. Fat and Indian doesn't bode so well for blending into middle class farmers but as expected I was welcomed with open arms by the entire family and the weekend was incredible from start to finish.

Now getting down to the food business. Like most aspects of my life and definitely my diet it started off really went and ended in a hideous disaster. Friday I was a good little egg - no complaints. I had even gymed in the morning so that I could travel sans guilt. Saturday morning also good, I needed sustenance to keep up with the list of party prepping. Lunch was just as good fresh scrambled eggs and a piece of bread - I was being gold star worthy. And all good things must come an end. I blame Fi. Normally I'm a vodka kinda girl, I don't really drink wine but if its there...who's going to say no?! Certainly not me. (I am without a shadow of a doubt my father's daughter). So the party kicked off and everyone look amazing,   and I even felt good having lost some weight my dress fit perfectly. In an attempt to be a better girl I decided on heels. These gorgeous wedges from Reiss, not gonna lie they aren't particularly high - but it was like an elephant in stilettos. The only way to break through the pain barrier....Champers, and lots of it. An hour later I was in flats and the Champagne waitresses knew me by first name. After heading into the marquee I felt like I was in Harry Potter, every time I looked at my wine glass it was full again - some secret little wizard was constantly topping up my glass, who was I to refuse?! So I kept drinking it. The chicken curry may have come and gone but the wine was certainly a permanent fixture on the table...as was the chocolate m&m covered tree centre pieces - you know where this is headed.

Whilst everyone else delicately managed to pick a couple of m&ms off the sweetie tree, I had managed to rather skilfully lift the entire slab of chocolate which held the m&ms in place, off the polystyrene tree without dropping a single sweet. Genius. Now I had essenitally an m&m stuffed chocolate slab in front of me, the 'Joey doesn't share food' scenario may have occurred, may have. Oh it gets worse. Around 3am whilst Fi was entertaining one of the DJs under the dining room table, I entertained the other DJ....by having a cake icing eating contest. Clearly my body was saturated with sugar from the sweet tree and the 3 bottles of wine, because as soon as tried to eat the icing I had to spit it all out into my hand rather unattractively . No idea why I don't have a boyfriend. No idea.

The next day I woke up still smashed, and upon looking in the mirror I noticed my face had actually swelled over night because I drank so much wine. The only saving grace to this story is that enduring the hungover, hot drive home when I stopped at the service station I chose a Waitrose wrap and fruit over the McDs that was definitely calling to me. Thank you Fi for an amazing weekend and for allowing me to royally screw up my hard work. Same again next weekend? Probably.

Fatty BB xxx

The Vogue Diet

Being at home on my own I get bored very, very easily so I am always on the look out for new inspiration in life, mainly because the last thing I want this blog to be is 'I had yoghurt and fruit for breakfast, water for lunch and air for dinner...totally vommed up the water - unnecessary calories.' Not my style. My latest inspiration has actually be around for a while now, I would say a good few years so its hardly 'latest' but I feel I need to give it a significant nod. That inspiration being: fashion. I love clothes. I love jewellery. I love shoes (even the ones I have no chance of walking in - I still appreciate them). I love bags. I love make-up. Fashion is art, and I want to live in it.

Lucky for me I have recently started an internship writing for a luxury online magazine called 'GC Prive' whereby I get to write about luxury goods - perfect. I have been able to write about so many things that I love from Tom Ford make-up to the Chanel pop-up boutique. It has been amazing but it is difficult in that I am not given a huge amount of direction, it really is a write whatever you want - so yesterday I wrote about macaroons namely Lanvin for Laduree. Writing all of these articles just makes me want to be in fashion and fashion journalism even more. One problem: I don't exactly look the part. It looks as though the macaroons definitely found me.

But with all this love I decided to go for the long shot and apply for work experience at Vogue. I am hardly your standard Vogue girl: I studied Classics and Law, I can't walk in heels unless they are 3inches or preferably lower and probably most importantly I am definitely not a size 6. Not even close. But what do I have to lose? If I don't try, I will never know. I'm being brave and putting myself out there, something I wasn't sure I was even able to do until I published this blog. In some strange way I think being bigger has almost acted as a shield, it has been the excuse for why I didn't do things and although shedding the pounds will allow me to do so much more (so many more shops to be hit) it is also unnerving as this is all I have ever known - fat. Instead of eating my emotions (typical fat girl chat) now I take my frustrations and anger out on the treadmill, but in honesty there is a still a part of me (a very small part) that is shit-scared that even if I do lose all this weight it might not make a difference. I think one of the reasons I had never really shifted the weight when I was younger was that I was never really bullied about my weight like some kids. I made friends easily and I was perpetually known as 'bubbly' - the new fat adjective that replaced 'jolly'. I guess I don't want to lose that, being thinner I still want to be the same person and I think I will be, just better dressed. This is all far too deep for this kind of blog...back to being Beyonce.

So last week I lost 5lbs and weigh in is tomorrow for this week, somehow I don't think we hit 5lbs this week. For starters on Friday I went to my favourite Chinese restaurant - why does everything have to be fried?! However I normally have to be  rolled out of the restaurant (you know like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory), go home and lie upside on the sofa, but this time was all about portion control. And since I didn't feel uncomfortably full I think I actually managed the impossible I stopped eating when I was full and not when all the food had gone from my plate. It gets better. Saturday night I made Nandos for the troops and stuffed peppers - I left half a pepper and half of the chicken on my plate (Oh yes you did read that right). Geeta was shocked too. Especially when I said to her that I was FULL. This means one thing and one thing only kids, my stomach is shrinking. HELL YEAH. With all this jubilation I definitely went and ruined it on Sunday night. Mayville catch up with half the bitches (and Johnny) meant that we went for a curry. Why is it the curry always gets me?! Being Indian is a curse. I definitely over ate. I have hit the gym hard since, chicken tikka masala clearly gives me really bad anxiety and guilt. I have really tried to run off the extra naan bread so lets hope the scale tip in my favour tomorrow (not that I ever look, I shut my eyes really tight and beg Lewis Hamilton not to tell me). However I was more than a little bit excited when he told me I was not 100% body fat, which I previously thought I had been. Win.

So this weeks conclusion and words of wisdom: My covering letter to Vogue is ready I just have to man up and send it, I'm hoping for at least 4lb reduction and I vow to be as bubbly as I ever was even when I'm thin and Victoria Secret come a knocking.

Move over Anna Wintour, I'm coming for you.

Fatty BB xxx