Book Corner
This week I've been quiet it seems. I've mainly been reading, first "Bad Food Britain" by Joanna Blythman and then "The Hungry Years" by William Leigh (still midway through that one at the moment).
Both of them speak to me, but in different ways. The old me, and the new me.
The new me feels a kind of smug superiority when reading Bad Food Britain. OK, I wouldn't claim that my eating and shopping habits are perfect (with my over-reliance on Tesco rather than locally produced organic vegetables), but at least I take those veggies which have been flown across the world and I cook with them. I don't eat ready meals, I don't eat take away, I don't eat walking round town and I am rebelling against the fabulously named "obesogenic environment" she describes.
But the old me reads the Hungry Years and remembers what it's like to eat slices of bread while waiting for toast to cook. The feelings and emotions that come with being fat, obese, constantly under the influence of bad food.
Reading both of the books I find myself wanting to grab a highlighter, or a pen, to mark something that is a thought that's gone through my head almost exactly. Either over the past year, or in the life before that. I recognise both sides of me, and I still wonder whether I'm still a fat person smuggly pretending to be thin for a while, or a thin person who had a brief excursion into the land of fat. They both speak to different parts of me, still different parts of the same whole. I sometimes wonder how I look to people who don't remember, obsessively reading diet book and websites and magazine articles, and reading books about fat, food, shame. Do both parts of me still show, and will they always show? Will I ever be just thin?
Both of them speak to me, but in different ways. The old me, and the new me.
The new me feels a kind of smug superiority when reading Bad Food Britain. OK, I wouldn't claim that my eating and shopping habits are perfect (with my over-reliance on Tesco rather than locally produced organic vegetables), but at least I take those veggies which have been flown across the world and I cook with them. I don't eat ready meals, I don't eat take away, I don't eat walking round town and I am rebelling against the fabulously named "obesogenic environment" she describes.
But the old me reads the Hungry Years and remembers what it's like to eat slices of bread while waiting for toast to cook. The feelings and emotions that come with being fat, obese, constantly under the influence of bad food.
Reading both of the books I find myself wanting to grab a highlighter, or a pen, to mark something that is a thought that's gone through my head almost exactly. Either over the past year, or in the life before that. I recognise both sides of me, and I still wonder whether I'm still a fat person smuggly pretending to be thin for a while, or a thin person who had a brief excursion into the land of fat. They both speak to different parts of me, still different parts of the same whole. I sometimes wonder how I look to people who don't remember, obsessively reading diet book and websites and magazine articles, and reading books about fat, food, shame. Do both parts of me still show, and will they always show? Will I ever be just thin?
posted by YP at 8:18 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home