Witches brew

Tapering means suddenly finding yourself with a calorific surplus and no easy way to get rid of it. Add to that the fact that the weather went from ”All this rain is making my brain rot” to ”Wow, what is that bright yellow disk in the sky?” (which made ice cream manufacturers finally breathe a sigh of relief as they watched their sales go from zero to a gazillion within the matter of three days and me be responsible for at least 1/3 of those sales) and you'll understand my conundrum.

No? Here, let me illustrate with a handy chart:

Charts. Making bullshit look like science since 1895.

This problem was only intensified by the fact that the unexpected good weather coincided with some other happy events in my life, events where it is encouraged, nay, expected that one engages in consumption of foodstuff of questionable nutritional value, for example cakes and sweets, all washed down with wine of course.

It's all fun and games until you can't fit in your favourite jeans anymore.

My attempts to compensate for this weekend's festivities have been as futile as trying to keep the flat clean (as the exasperated owner of two cats, one of which with luscious long fur, I never feel like more of a nihilist as when it's time to vacuum clean. I mean, in the great scheme of things, what does it matter? The flat will be just as dirty again two seconds later). 

I made a list to see if calories in < calories out but I don't think it adds up:

Not included in the list above is the energy I spent preparing this concoction:

Looks like piss, tastes like piss but piss is not one of the secret ingredients. Maybe.

Its secret ingredients DO NOT include viper venom from the 540835783^rd viper I saw on Vitberget yesterday. Nevertheless, I do hope it's a potent potion against real and imagined colds threatening to DNS my arse on Saturday. Because it doesn't taste as good as ice cream, so it better be worth it, dammit.