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The Freshers' fifteen: A warning

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SandwichMy calorie fascist mum is a marketers dream. She loves words like 'organic' and 'wholesome' and will but anything with a green light on the packaging. At home, I had never been exposed to the charms of junk food and lived a blissful slim existence full of fibre and 'super fruits' (which are no relation to Clark Kent, I am led to believe).

Before I arrived at University I had never really properly cooked for myself. I mean, I had done the usual novelty things, a few fairy cakes, a burnt pancake or two on pancake day. But it never had been necessary for my survival before.The words 'self catered' meant very little indeed.

Freshers week was like being on holiday, we whipped up what we could but no one really cared. Yet I soon realised I was solely responsible for my own shopping list and what followed was a deep dark journey of discovery of the junk food underworld. Suddenly I could buy anything I wanted. So, fatally, I did. 

I actually bought those pies in a can which could survive two nuclear wars and have a sell by date not before your 97th birthday. On the eve of the freshers ball I ate TWO pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream with a fork (if your quick enough, it works). I was a woman out of control. Who knew you could have a jam roly poly delivered to your door at 1am? Thanks to the kind folks at Krispys take away for making that dream possible. 

I would cover a baking tray with these smiley potato things, their little mocking smiley faces blanketed with cheese, and eat them for 'brunch'. I even ordered a mixed seafood pizza from a rather untrustworthy pizza 'restaurant' and the mentally scarring episode still repeats on me to this day. 

I sampled every takeaway which would answer the phone. In case you are wondering: Bengali Spice in Leeds does a lovely korma. I had a tub the size of a dinner plate filled with pick n mix sweets designated to the side of my laptop. 

Much to my surprise but probably not yours, I gained TWO STONE by Christmas. I knew toddlers who weighed less. It wasn't like I could chose where the weight went either. It just so happened it ALL decided my bum would make for a comfortable home. Sorry I lie – I also got rather porky around the old mug. It was anywhere with cheeks, basically.

Intensive porker reverse therapy ensued. Absurd amounts of green veg was imposed and the boyfriend had to grit and teeth and be 'supportive' all the way. It was that or have a pudding for a girlfriend.

Now I do not need to share my horrific tales of iced buns before bed and zero self control I decided to as a warning: do not suffer 'the freshers fifteen' as I did. 

Rather take inspiration from my wise mum and all hail Weight Watchers carrot cakes! Only 63 calories a piece you know?




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