Rebecca Hodge
‘Basically Bobbi’ is a creative writing project written by Edge Hill student Rebecca Hodge. Please enjoy the first chapter and look forward to more as we delve into the world of Bobbi…
Hartley Village Church Hall Notices:
Are you struggling to control your weight, unhappy with your body shape, or maybe
in need of some expert healthy dieting tips and tricks? Then Slimmersize is the perfect place to begin!
Come and join us every Thursday evening: 7:30 – 9pm
(£3 per session)
Alright then. Let’s think. Come on Bobbi, ‘How has your week been?’ How has my week been? How has it been?
“Not bad thanks.”
No no I can’t say that! Not bad, but not good either? Too vague but obvious I’m hiding something. Or a lot of things; most of which edible. Who am I kidding? All my secrets are edible.
I route through the draw by the side of my bed and grab my tangle brush. Pulling off the bobble that’s tied round the handle, I notice those strange white marks have appeared on my finger nails again. Not enough calcium I guess- I knew there was a reason I needed that Dairy Milk last night. See, she can’t tell me I’m not in touch with my nutritional needs, can she? I drag the brush through my tatty hair. I’m getting ready to leave the house for the weekly Slimmersize class which I joined three months ago; all the women I know seem to be doing it. And everyone kept recommending it to me like I’m some kind of desperate, lump of a woman, couch-bound, hooked on all of those daytime television shows, you know, like, Homes Under the Hammer, and Loose Women, ooh and 60 Minute Makeover. Come to think of it, I do love those shows… and Peter Andre. But that’s beside the point! I don’t need to attend these classes. No one needs a twiggy middle-aged woman supposedly helping you drop the pounds and counting your ‘blips’. I only signed up so that everyone, mostly Mum and Dad, would stop suggesting it subtly whenever I reach for another hobnob out of the biscuit tin.
I like food- doesn’t everybody? I don’t know what the big problem is. ‘Be careful’ they say. ‘You are what you eat’ they say. Really? Well I’ll quite happily take being a mint Aero every night of the week! Refreshing, bubbly, light- how flattering!
I pull my hair back into a simple ponytail. Oh crap! I forgot about the food diary she handed out last week. I was supposed to fill it in each day at different meal and snack times so we could ‘bestow our food habits amongst the group’. I do think it’s a bit odd that for each day there are only two tiny boxes to write down your snacks in, so no one would fit them in anyway. Besides, I’m more than capable of remembering what I’ve eaten over the past week- I’m 27, young, intelligent and come to think of it, actually quite peckish! I should probably just grab a couple of Kit Kats to keep me going on the way. Ooh! I knew I would thank myself later for buying the chunky ones. Mm, yes and maybe that half a pack of Digestives left over for the way home.
Okay Bobbi, now think. Where there’s a will there’s a way.
I’m racking my brain, my bottom lip pulled to the side, for any possible way of
bringing the Nutella with me without being weighed down by carrying the whole ’30 percent extra’ jar, then I realise… I scraped the last of it out last night- nooo! Gutted.
I spot the stupid food diary from behind the microwave as I sulkily close the cupboard door. I pull it out, wedged between a bunch of old wrappers I desperately crammed back there last time Aunty Enid decided to make an unexpected visit. She’s a private nutritionist.
“Who really needs a food diary?!”
I make myself jump as I subconsciously slap the crumpled pages down on the kitchen ledge. Not me anyway. I can remember everything! If I’ve eaten it, I won’t forget it! Well except for that one time when Will asked about the last pork pie that I’d completely forgotten about eating. Oh, and the time with the cocktail sausages. And the Pringles he hid in his sock draw. And the…
…but anyway, I am being extremely good lately! Everyone’s been commenting! People are very impressed! Well… you know, like when Will got home yesterday, he seemed stunned to find his mini fridge untouched and his pack of mini pork pies still intact.
Thinking about it, reading through each other’s diaries won’t even be beneficial- hearing about all the naughty nibbles and last-minute takeaways and midnight snacks. Dieter’s Hell! Or Heaven, however you want to look at it. You’re basically gaining all the lost pounds back in under the hour! That’s not doing me any favours, is it? Honestly! And then she weighs you. Fantastic! Who even is this twix?
I pick up my Kit Kats, Digestives, jar of Chunky Peanut Butter I’d forgotten I’d bought on Sunday on my way home from Mum and Dad’s, and the last of the mint Matchsticks from Friday night. Still, maybe I should take the diary with me and scribble some things down at the red lights. Just in case.
“Where are my keys?”
I drop my snack bits back on the kitchen ledge and empty everything out of my bag frantically, like I’m trying to get the last few crumbs out of a Walkers crisp packet. My keys drop out onto the floor. I pick them up, quickly shove everything back into my bag and lock the door behind me. My car is sitting opposite the house- a grey Volkswagen Polo. It’s not the car from the new KFC advert, but I like it. I press the button on the car fob and can’t help but wonder whether hearing the beep as you impressively unlock your car from a distance is just as satisfying to every car owner as it is to myself. Adjusting the mirror and starting the engine, I snap a mint Matchstick, put both halves in my mouth and think back to the start of the week.
“Right. Let’s recap. Monday.”
To be continued…
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