New Year’s Eve to 3rd January Fireworks Wax Pots and Limoncello Therapy

New Year’s Eve for me was actually quite civilised. A couple of Baileys. Endless games of backgammon and Kalooki. Watching other people’s fireworks through the window like a woman who now values warmth snacks and not standing in a field freezing with zero regrets for staying indoors.

I went to bed feeling smug. Another year done. No heels. No hangover pending. Living my best quiet life.

Then at 12.30am BANG. BANG. BANG.

Not pretty fireworks. Not ooh look at that one. These were aggressive banger fireworks. The kind that sound like bins being attacked.

A group of people had been setting them off on a path between blocks of flats right next to trees and a postbox. Once they were done they took selfies wished each other Happy New Year and wandered off.

What they did not do was deal with the box of fireworks they left behind.

A few minutes later more bangs. Except there was no one there.

I looked out of the window and there it was. A box of fireworks is on fire, right next to the postbox.

Happy New Year Royal Mail.

I stood there having the very British internal debate. Is this my problem Am I overreacting Will it sort itself out

It did not.

So I called 999. The fire brigade arrived absolute legends and put it out using five buckets of water. They told me this happens all the time. People light fireworks and do not properly put them out afterwards.

If I had been asleep or ignored it or thought someone else would deal with it this could have been a lot worse. Trees flats fire. Not the vibe for January.

So next year please put water on your fireworks. Celebrate responsibly. Or at the very least do not start the new year by setting the neighbourhood on fire.

Saturday 3rd January Wax Pots and Emotional Recovery

Fast forward three days.

Saturday arrived calmer quieter and thankfully fire free. I actually left the house and got some beauty treatments sorted. A big win.

Then I saw the wax pot.

Instant horror. Brief regret. Internal screaming.

That thing has no right looking that hot.

But I survived. Everything was fine. No emergency services were required which felt important after New Year’s Eve.

And now I feel FRESH. Smoothed. Sorted. Slightly reborn.

Balance restored.

Saturday Night Ice Rinks Limoncello and Therapy via Steak

Saturday night I went out for dinner with friends and honestly it was exactly what I needed.

When we parked the car the car park was basically an ice skating rink. It had snowed once which I somehow missed even though I love watching snow fall. I was literally sliding towards the restaurant entrance like Bambi trying to keep dignity. I did not keep dignity.

Once seated, we immediately started discussing our ailments because that is what adults do. And weirdly, it helps. It reminds you that you are not the only one whose life is being dramatic.

Then came the drink.

Isolabella Limoncello Prosecco Lemonade Rosemary Lemon

Absolutely gorgeous.

Within five minutes my IBS reminded me that it exists.

Still worth it.

I had the first Limoncello Spritz and became extremely tipsy very quickly. I remember thinking that if the food didn't come soon, I might actually be drunk. My boyfriend suggested ordering another, not because he wanted me drunk, but because he could see I was relaxed, chatting, laughing, enjoying company, and not staring at hospital walls.

That alone felt medicinal.

We raised our glasses because all three couples had had a rubbish Christmas. We wished each other a Happy Christmas even though it was the 3rd of January. Rules do not apply when you have survived December.

The food was delicious. And that is saying something because I have not stopped cooking every single day. Not one takeaway. Not once. So, actually sitting down and being served food, I did not have to plan, prep, cook, or clean up after, felt like a genuine luxury. A delicious steak. Courgette fritters that were definitely more fritter than courgette as they should be. And a crème brûlée because the diet always starts tomorrow.

Obviously.

Sunday Morning Diets Déjà Vu and Doing It Again Again

Sunday morning, I stopped my Noom app. Two months of staying exactly the same weight was not helping anyone, least of all my sanity.

So yes I have rejoined Weight Watchers for the millionth time.

In the past I have lost loads of weight with it. Countless times I have lost around two and a half stone which proves I can do it when the plan suits my body and real life.

Two years ago I lost 27lb on the Fast 800. On paper amazing. In reality it destroyed my bowels gave me high cholesterol because so much of the food is dairy heavy and I have since heard various people say they ended up with kidney stones after doing it.

To be fair I did manage to keep one stone off from that diet so it was not a total waste. But it is not sustainable. Not for my gut. Not for my hormones. Not for menopause life.

I am fully in the menopause now and I just want to lose one and a half stone. That is it. I am not chasing skinny. I am chasing comfortable.

Because my daughter cannot eat much at the moment while she is waiting for gallbladder surgery I am really going to try to stick to this properly. More than three days this time.

Yesterday I made butternut squash soup and homemade sourdough croutons. Old bread from the freezer into the air fryer with sea salt, rosemary, and a drizzle of oil. Unreal in the soup.

And the thing is this is not just my daughter’s journey.

It is mine too.

Why Diets Do Not Work the Same After 50

Here is the truth nobody puts on the front of diet books.

After 40 your body changes the rules and does not tell you.

What worked at 30 suddenly stops working. What dropped weight in weeks now barely moves the needle. And the punishment for trying extreme diets is far worse.

Hormones matter. Sleep matters. Stress matters. Your gut absolutely matters.

You cannot starve menopause into submission. I have tried. You cannot live on shakes dairy and willpower without consequences. I have receipts.

After 40 weight loss is slower louder and far less forgiving. Your body wants consistency not punishment. Protein not panic. Food that supports your gut not fights it.

And mentally you need to stop pretending this is a moral failing.

It is not that you lack discipline. It is that your body is different now.

So this time I am aiming for realistic. Sustainable. Kind to my gut. Kind to my hormones. Kind to my sanity.

Not perfect. Just better.

And if losing weight more slowly means my body stops kicking off on a daily basis, then honestly, I will call that a win.