Well, it still seems to be working. Weight stable, within a few pounds either side of my target. The Consolidation Phase, so vital because 'you are like a deep-sea diver coming up from the depths who has to do it in stages for safety's sake', lasts a set length of time: 5 days for each pound lost. In my case 100 days. I have reached the halfway point, and may now eat two celebration meals a week, instead of one, and two servings of starchy crap; while still faithfully maintaining 'the famous protein Thursday' and the 3tbsp of oatbran a day, without which Dukan is not Dukan.
In fact, I passed the magic 50 days on Wednesday without noticing. If I'd known that yesterday, I would have eaten chocolate cake with my champagne. The chancellor and I were celebrating the successful re-display of the Anglo-Saxon Lichfield angel and the Chad Gospel (older than the Book of Kells) in their posh new glass cases, ready for the Staffordshire Hoard Touring Exhibition next month. It was a hair-raising day (from 8.30am till 6.30pm) in the chapter House, all captured on CCTV. Never again will I make the mistake of thinking museum curators and conservators lead a dull bookish life.
But back to Dukan. Hats off to the fellow. Or 'Chappeau!' as I believe the French say. I went for my usual 3mile run this morning, and I have to tell you, It's a whole lot easier to get round when you're not lugging the equivalent of 40 packs of butter. Of course, the real test comes two years down the line. I acknowledge there is still time for the whole Doodah Diet to go pear-shaped. I use the term advisedly.
About this blog
This is a window into the weird world of Anglicanism, as experienced on a Cathedral Close. Has anything much happened since Trollope's Barchester Chronicles? You will still see the 'canon in residence' hurrying across to choral Evensong, robes flapping, as the late bell chimes. But look carefully and you will notice he is checking the football score on his iPhone as he runs. This is also a writer's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the novelist's life. And it's a fighter's blog. It charts the agony and ecstasy of the judo mat. Well, the agony, anyway.