Apparently Monday was Blue Monday – the most depressing day of the year, when the weather is lousy, the days are still too short and we are all despairing over having failed to keep our New Year resolutions.
I don’t make resolutions – which is probably the best way not to break them – but I do recognise that for me this last week has little to do with healthy eating, exercise, diets or other good habits that people tend to adopt at this time of year.
Indeed, today has been a day of almost unmitigated bingeing – perhaps fortunately limited by the fact the weather was too nasty for me to want to go out and replenish supplies of chocolate, crisps and wine.
I would have said that unlike so many people these days, I am not a great one for taking pictures of food, so was surprised to find just how easy it was to find the photos to illustrate this post.
The food-related poem below was written many years ago, first in Spanish and then transcreated into English.
Mi amiga la foca
Mi amiga es una foca
siempre con la boca
llena:
pronto será una ballena.Come cualquier cosa,
tanto salada como sosa,
y es una auténtica golosa.No le satisface
toda la comida que su madre hace
(quien cocina todo el día
para alimentar su voraz cría).Siempre quiere comida
incluso cuando está dormida;
no me deja sugerir
que se detenga para digerir.Sólo le interesa
la próxima hamburguesa,
espaguetis, macarrones,
aceitunas, boquerones,
pan, galletas, queso…
y todo eso.Sigue comiendo,
y tan gorda se está poniendo
que me parece que se hincha
como un globo:
¡A ver si no se pincha!
Eating disorder
My friend’s as fat as a cow
but she goes on eating anyhow;
there’s nothing frail
about her: she’s a whale.She’ll eat anything and everything, sweet or savoury, it
doesn’t matter, though pasta’s her favourite.Her mother has no time to do what she oughta –
always cooking for her daughter.Her appetite would take some beating:
she just goes on eating
ignoring all suggestions
about her digestion:she binges on cheese,
Devon cream teas,
mixing her toasties
with beef, yorkshires, roasties…
and all of that stuff:
it’s never enough.Now, she’s round as a ball:
as broad as she’s tall;
if she doesn’t stop
she’ll pop.
don't confuse the narrator 