Wedding Diet

Some people get fit for their weddings, or do yoga to try and minimise that horrible belly line that apparently happens to the best of us when we step into a wedding dress.  Others just drink smoothies for a year, or, like complete insaniacs, cut out carbs (think of all the wasted potatoes).  When I realised that even I was not immune to the cheeky little bagel ring around naval height, I too thought that bending myself in half and lifting the entire weight of my legs above my head repeatedly using just my core strength was the answer.  Other than the odd inexplicable 10km run at the end of a bad day, however, I have been unable to maintain this, and have found that gin is a better short term solution to a case of the grumps, chocolate to unanticipated feelings of homesickness and Disney films or Cancer Research ads the best thing for inducing catharsis by way of uncontrollable and unreasonable mid-week blubbing on the sofa.

None of these things, however, are doing anything for that naughty little belt bulge that the spanx will apparently hide, and so, as a firm and long term believer in the Power of Poo, I have begun my Wedding Diet.

Really, the WD is just the expat-friendly version of what is actually a desire to Experience More, following a number of comments from friends and loved ones that could indicate that I am not taking full advantage of my time in Vietnam.  In order to rebel against these comments, and, of course, cheat my way to minimum-effort slimness, I have decided that I refuse to cook at home until I have tried all the street food vendors in my local area.  That started tonight whilst I was waiting for Wobbler to be fixed.  Wobbler has been even more wobbly since I fell off him again last week in an utterly and spectacularly embarrassing scene where I worried about my laptop slipping, stopped, was stationery, and then fell sideways into some chalky gravel and bruised my knees.  A lady stopped to help me and I almost waved her away, wanting to say, 'Don't stop; I'm an embarrassment to humanity.  I don't deserve your help.'

Tonight's dinner consisted of rice, sketchy-looking pork belly and lady's fingers.  As I ate, I listed (in my mind) all the new things I am going to experience with this new diet.  I am likely to...

1. See more stray cats.
2. Be laughed at by more Vietnamese men
3. Become friendly with all the local taxi drivers who apparently do not eat at home.
4. Become very ill and lose all the weight I would have done by drinking smoothies for a year or going to yoga.
5. Save lots of money: a plate of food costs the equivalent of 60p.
6. See more babies running around without appropriate clothing on for running-around-in-the-street.
7. Be bitten by a lot of mosquitoes.
8. Drink a lot of paranoid Smecta.

I shall, of course, endeavour to take tourist photos and post them in this blog entry as often as I can, just so you can see how adventurous I'm being and how well I'm taking advantage of all that Vietnamese culture and lifestyle has to offer!  And of course, if the Power of Poo Diet fails me on this occasion, I've always got the spanx, the gusset and the basque to hide my little bagel for the required 24 hours.

I picked out the scary looking prawns and octopus in this and gave them to the Cambodian looking child who I had commanded to sit down and eat a decent meal with me rather than beg for my hard earned cash. Smiles all round: I had dinner guests, he and his mother got sustenance with a side of tentacles. 

I also picked out the offle type stuff in this dish, and of course, the ambiguous prawns. The noodles were weird and deep fried.