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Dieting is hard work. You probably already knew that, but it bears repeating.


It's especially hard work for me. Not because I lack willpower - I successfully resisted the siren song of raspberry custard tart at the office this morning - but because I have one of those bodies that's brilliantly designed for a massive famine that will never happen.


My metabolism is astonishingly slow. It's the Daewoo Matiz of metabolisms. The resting heart rate of the average adult male is 70 beats per minute. My heart, on the other hand, bangs along as less than 50 beats per minute. A few nights ago I did my usual 40 minutes on my exercise bike then slouched into my Eames chair to watch a movie, without taking off my heart rate monitor. Halfway through 'I'll Sleep When I'm Dead', my pulse was barely ticking over in the low 40s.


Of course it doesn't help that 'I'll Sleep When I'm Dead' is a very dull movie. It features Clive Owen as the hero and Malcolm McDowell as the villain, and tells the story of a burnt out London gangster sworn to vengeance when his little brother is raped and commits suicide. Normally this would mean excitement, fighting and action. In this movie, however, it means actors meandering onto sets and slowly delivering their lines with all the facial expression of an Easter Island statue. On thorazine. No wonder I had the heart rate of a hibernating bear.


Desipte all this, my weight loss is continuing, slowly and surely even though I have a lack of patience and a recalcitrant physiology. I've lost 7.5kg in seven weeks. Which means that I only have 1kg to go... before I hit the midway point. My overall target is a loss of 17kg, which will probably take me into the middle of the year. Ho-hum.


I will, however, take the night off for AndressFest. I may be dieting but I'm not insane.