Junk Food and the Meaning of Life

Today I can honestly say, I haven't had anything resembling a normal meal. Mother Hubbard's cupboards are packed compared to mine. In the end I just gathered together foods I liked and hoped for the best. Yes, I did cut the mould off the tomato first. And anyway, everything was stir fried in olive oil, so obviously that process killed all things dodgy.

Last night I watched The Ice House. A faithfully TV serialisation of the Minnette Walters novel of the same name. It was great. Really enjoyed it. The adaptation kept to the atmosphere and wit of the novel. Today I watched The Sculptress. A less enjoyable experience. The screenwriter cut out a major character and the pacing was awful. It dragged it's concrete boots from scene to scene, the really interesting parts got left out and they shuffled events, so the impact was watered down. Minnette Walter's subtlety got completely stomped on, so the twist in the tale became a chinese burn.

Found this really thought provoking article from The Observer Woman on women and their preoccupation with their weight by Mimi Spence. Definitely worth a look. One of the points she makes is that fashion designers want skinny models because they make their clothes look good. My jaw dropped. I had been taught through my various snore-worthy economics classes, that there was an inexorable link between Supply and Demand, and that we were in the Consumer Age. No more Fordism where we can have any colour car we want as long as it's black. We the consumer are supposed to rule; here we have the ridiculous situation that these fashion producers are setting the agenda to what a 'normal' size woman should be. Thus, fashion designers are so lazy, they can't design clothes to fit real women. Or perhaps they're just badly trained?

Not being funny or anything, but I really can't go the whole Victoria Beckham route to skinniness. I really can't work up the energy to be that obsessive. And as for that whole sticking your fingers down your throat business. Eeewww!! What a miserable way to live. I like food. I really like junk food. If I would exercise more, I suspect I'd be a lot happier, but as for the misery of a constant diet? Not me.