So Colin Firth has shed a stone or two, prompting much media back slapping and extolling of the benefits of the ‘man diet’. It’s not clear how he did it – colonic irrigation? Weight Watchers? Hypnotherapy? – but I’m willing to bet his wife played no small part in proceedings, and I’ve not seen her similarly congratulated.
I suspect there’s a woman’s hand in this because so far this year Misery Guts has also managed to shed a stone or two embracing the paleo diet, aka the caveman diet, which means no carbs and lots of meat, fish and eggs.
It sounds simple enough, but try coming up with decent evening meals with no pasta, potatoes, rice, noodles, grain or bread week in week out. We’re going through 24 eggs a week (the checking of them alone adds 5 minutes to the weekly shop) and of course I’ve inadvertently been on the diet too because I
can’t be bothered don’t have the time to prepare two separate meals.
What I’d give for a steaming plate of spaghetti Bolognese with garlic bread, or a short crust pastry pie and chips. Even worse, the diet makes me look like Fatty Arbuckle when it comes to eating out – my one chance to have what I really want – because waiters automatically assume the salad with dressing on the side is for me and the burger and chips is for him.
So I’ve come to conclusion that it must be true: behind every great man is a great woman. Or behind every man on a ‘man diet’ is a great woman.