I am back on Tony Ferguson.

I lost 1.4kg this week, my first week back.

I mostly miss eating bread, I love bread. There are plenty of sweet sugar substitutes but nothing can replace soft white bread.

I had chinese food, garlic chicken, without the rice (well, I snuck a couple of tablespoons of rice) one night, and a few bottles of passion pop another night, but I have largely stuck to keeping off the carbs.

I've been having tinned fruit with a scoop of the "no added sugar" icecream, or a Skinny Cow sundae, plus oodles of low joule jelly. I also snack on cashews and Sugarless chocolate. For drinks I have low joule cordial, Coke Zero, Waterfords pink grapefruit soda, or plain soda water.

I bought the "Restart" package that included the multi-vitamin, fibre, chromium (yes, I think of Erin Brockovich every time I see that word), cookbook, magazines, and new shaker etc.

I am going to water aerobics tomorrow night with one of my super-fit friends. It has been recommended to me for so long as a way of managing chronic back pain, so when I heard someone I knew was doing it I jumped at the opportunity.

Ive got a few things going on with study and work opportunities, which I will go into more detail about later, but I hope I dont use them as an excuse to fall off the Tony Ferguson wagon again.

Long time no blog, on the old blogspot.

I got my cat back. My parents flew her up last week and she's been settling in just fine. She spends most of her time in the cupboard or on my bed, but the last few days she's been venturing out to the loungeroom and the great outdoors.

She approaches each new situation with trepidation ( much like me). She quickly found her safe zones and is little by little expanding her horizons.

I feel like such a great metaphor must be really significant.

I did fall off the wagon with almost everything I had been doing, but now when I see her little neurotic face a sense of normalcy washes over me.

I've started up so many blogs in so many places, but I have no routine.

Maybe I could write myself out a little roster and try to stick to it. I have a terrible habit of just waiting around for inspiration to hit me. I need to read news more often so I can write news.

I need to see a physio, get a gym program (possibly aquatics), see a counselor, get out of this agonising back pain, get back into taking Tony Ferguson seriously, have a bedtime, start my next course, and really start churning out these blogs.

Im half considering making an effort with Helium again.

But thats me, I always have such big plans and then I overdo it.

No more over-reaching. Patience my friend. Listen to your cat.

It probably seemed like a strange thing to do, but last night I asked a friend if I could boil some eggs at her house.

The thing is, the house I have moved into is still being renovated and the new kitchen has not yet been installed. My cooking appliances are limited to a George Foreman grill and a microwave. Not a huge problem when it comes to cooking many things, but how do I boil an egg?

My housemate rang his mum for advice and I was told to wrap the eggs in foil and sumerge them in a microwave-safe plastic container full of water. However, housemate No.2 preferred it if I didnt put foil in the microwave, an understandable request as we all learnt from a young age that that could potentially cause a nuclear explosion.

I bought a microwave-safe plastic container and a dozen free-range super great giant eggs. I boiled the kettle and submerged the eggs in the boiling water and set the time to 14mins.

Completely overcooked!

Infact so revolting I had to throw them in the outside bin. Putrid. Grotesque. Turning brown and black where the yolk meets the white. And an abomnible stench worse than the bog in David Bowie's labyrinth!

In short: foul.

After kicking myself for putting half of the dozen in in one go, I then put just two in the plastic container and filled it with cold tap water, microwave for 9min.

Still overcooked. So disappointed. The yolk was hard and there was still a disgusting smell, more faint than the first attempt but clearly not fit for consumption.

So why so obsessed about eggs?

Well I discoved they are a nice little low-carb, high-protein snack. When I was at my parents house I got into a routine of having an egg-salad mountain bread wrap to fill me up between Tony Ferguson shakes.

Another friend of mine is doing Body Trim which is a bit like an Atkins diet where they increase their protein with meat and eggs. I took a little dash of her program and applied it to mine.

So I go for drinks at a mates place in Sydney and before I leave I request to commandeer the kitchen so I can boil up my precious googie friends on a real stove. Absolute perfection. Bring water to boil, plop in eggs, boil for 9min. Delish.

And I got the added cooking tip of putting a little vinegar in the boiling water to stop any egg from leaking out of hairline cracks in the shells - you know how it is when you get over-eager with your plopping!

When these twelve googie eggs run out I will have to find a new friend with a stove . . .

Progress: 5.6kg loss in 5 weeks

I have a little joke between myself and my friends that I am a Giant.

Some variations of this are that Im an amazon, or a tranny, and I respond by referring to my smaller stature acquaintances as miniature, midgets, shrunken, or something of that nature. I also refer to small homosexual men as "pocket-gays" ever since Jack from Will & Grace coined the term and it spread through-out the queer community.

There is no malice or spite in these little terms of endearment, and they serve the purpose of acknowledging the elephant in the room (excuse the pun): Im a 6ft tall woman.

I have friends of all shapes and sizes, but more often than not I am the tallest person in the room.

I further accentuate this with my choice of footwear sometimes, because as a woman most of our "dressy" shoes presume we are seeking an extra inch or two . . . or three . . . or five.

Being the "Giant" had become part of my identity, and since I was already a Giant size by default it made no difference to me whether I was a size 18 or 20 because I knew I was shopping in the "fat lady" stores anyway.

To be honest, my weight used to regulate itself with my busy lifestyle, but a car accident, two ruptured lumbar disks, some depression, a move in with my parents, unemployment, the isolation of a rural property, and mums home-cooking, have thrown my metabolism out of whack and I finally realised I was giving new meaning to the nickname "Giant".

I started the Tony Ferguson diet three weeks ago. Its a meal replacement, shakes and low-carb type dealio, and Ive lost 4.1kg so far.

Im going to use this blog to discuss the program, and dieting in general, and give updates on my progress.

Theres a difference between being able to change a light-bulb without a ladder, or reaching the top shelf at the supermarket because of your long arms and height, and being wedged in a supermarket aisle or snapping the rungs off a ladder due to your weight.

I couldnt see that for awhile, but I think I just want to stick to being Giant in one direction.