I have a confession to make. A quiet evening at home on a Saturday night watching a relatively successful movie about a blogger and her infatuation with an infamous French chef has really left me in a rather precarious position. I should have been in cosy-night-in-heaven, watching a film based on food, cooking, blogging and the often elusive goal so many of us aspire to; getting published. But I was left feeling confused about my goals.

And so I confess that yes, even the thought of being picked up to write a chatty column in my favourite weekend broadsheet leaves me squealing just a little. And to think my story interesting enough to make it even to the small screen, well, I just fell off my chair. But these are fantasies in the same department of crazy-town as climbing Mt Everest, growing straight blond locks, and let us be honest, flying.

Soldiering on with my curly brown hair, frizz and all, I ask what on earth I am doing here? Never fear, this is no existentialist question. I just wonder what all this weight loss blogging jazz is for…could I add a recipe or two? Maybe have a knock-knock joke theme? I know, I know, why’d the fat chicken cross the road?

To Hell With It. I just have to write what I know…but do I have the guts?

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