Real life horror story

Or Why I Will Never Ever Be Part Of The Diet Industry Ever Again

One of my colleagues was ill over Christmas and new year, bad enough to have been hospitalised and still unable to return to work two weeks later. Which led to the following conversation.

Colleague 1: She can’t even eat; she’s lost about a stone

Colleague 2: Oh well that’s alright then!

Colleague 1: I know, she must be so happy

Colleague 3: Every cloud and all that

Colleague 4: I’m so jealous

Colleague 1: Aye, me too. I might go for a visit – see if I can catch something!

*All laughing*

Me: *silently screaming into my hands*


I’ve heard of people with cancer who lost weight because they were unable to eat without throwing up or their gums were too sore for food, who were then told “cancer really suits you!”. But I didn’t really believe that could have happened, that people could be so phenomenally superficial.  That anyone could ever say to another human being, “Yes, you might die, but at least you’ll go out skinny!”.

I believe it now.

This is what our beauty ideal and the diet industry have created. Thin is good, praiseworthy, to be envied, no matter how it’s achieved. Anything that makes us lose weight is automatically good, even if it will kill us.

How did we let this become a thing? How did we get to a point where people can have a conversation like that and not be utterly, utterly horrified? I know I am.


Camo smile


Today I’m smiling because the view from my office window is vastly improved by the Army recruitment drive set up in George Square.

So much uniform…

Anniversary smile

#‎BodyLoveChallenge2016‬ ‪#‎SmileChallenge

As I sat at my desk, basking in the sunlight flooding through the wall of windows, looking onto the view of George Sqare, I realised I have been with Babcock for a year today.

It’s strange to think a whole year has passed already. I remember the terror of my very first day, the few seconds of panic every day of the first week when I thought I wouldn’t find my desk after my break, and the weeks of collapsing in an exhausted heap as soon as I got home.

But now there have been no more incidents, I have a fixed desk with my name on, and I get to practise my sarcasm on a daily basis. Somehow I fit right in.

Obviously I have to work, and today I’m smiling because I’ve never yet found a better place to do so.