Day 95 – No Knight in Shining Armour

I am still keeping to my diet 100%.

Even though I don’t feel like eating, I force myself to eat regularly and to drink 4 litres of water daily. Tomorrow is official weigh-in day. Fingers crossed that I will have some good news to share…

I’ve had a couple of readers email to say that they can no longer access my blog. Apparently, Sky switched off porn access from their broadband unless you opt out. Bloody nanny state. Oh they haven’t decided that my blog has pornographic content, they have decided to restrict access for “suicidal and self harm contents”. Say what??? O2 in their wisdom have decided to classify my blog as over 18, requesting credit card as proof of age.

Sadly, the solutions are to change your broadband setting, include the blog as an allowed site or on 02, show the proof of age.

annoying fucker

If you’ve managed to fight the nannies to read any of this, well done, power to the people, and thank you for your support. And thank you to every single one of you who visit this blog.

thank you

One day, this blog will go back to obsessing about food, weight loss, fashion, music, travel, food, restaurants and all the things I love.

One day, far far far far far away in the future, I may even make some of you blush when I describe crushing on some cute guy or having mind-blowing sex. Sky can then block me for pornographic content. Fuckers.

I’m sorry but today is not that day…

This morning, I woke up and I sat there in the dark and had a very long cry. My crying was interrupted by a phone call by my sister; I can’t explain how amazing my mum and sisters have been to me.

The lack of sleep isn’t helping; sleeping pills aren’t helping but hopefully, a change in medication today will do the trick. I also have a psychiatry appointment in early June and I’m hoping I can hang on until then. The clinic will see me if I need to see someone earlier which gives me hope help is nearby.

I suspect that I will be getting therapy for years to come to recover from the trauma of the last couple of months.

I wasn’t crying because I am some sort of victim, woe me, poor me, isn’t my life utterly shite. I guess the stark reality of my situation hits me daily.

There is only so much that I can share on this blog. I am a strong person but this has totally floored me. Every day, I find out new things that hurt me.

This morning, I felt extremely vulnerable because I have basically allowed a serpent who I should never have trusted with anything, let alone, with every aspect of my life to share my bed.

This man knows every intimate detail of my life. He knows all my secrets. As an accountant and a banker, he knows all my income and expenditure, even more than I do. This morning, I couldn’t even find my cheque books as I don’t know where he’s kept them.

He knows where the bodies are buried. I don’t know who he is. I can’t trust him to do the right thing.

This morning, it finally dawned on me that in all the time my husband was pretending to be working on our marriage, while secretly carrying on with the mistress he had sworn on his mother’s life he had broken up with, he was merely buying time to prepare himself for divorce. Time to acquire the Deeds to the house we own jointly. To acquire every detail of my finances. Time to plan his life, secretly find a flat and prepare himself for what he seems to do best, which is fucking with my life.

It has dawned on me that the events that occurred on 18th April, the last day I saw him, were engineered by him and his mistress to draw an end to our marriage and his pretences.

Who is this man? Who is this serpent? How can I still be discovering things this man has done to hurt me? What on earth have I done to him to deserve the bad treatment?

I have decided that I will not tell any friends about the end of my marriage until I get my shit sufficiently together. This week, one of my closest friends who knew something was wrong as I had bailed Facebook and wasn’t keeping in touch managed to unknowingly upset me when I finally told him after he threatened to contact my husband to find out what was wrong with me. He means well.

Even though I only told him the briefest details of recent events, his reaction was that of huge shock. He kept saying none of this makes any sense because he knows both of us and knows how very much in love and utterly devoted we were. This is classic midlife crisis. He’s seen it happen all the time. He insisted he uses us as an exemplary marriage when he counsels other couples. It doesn’t make sense. He went on and on putting me on the defensive when I know that I had tried my best to save my marriage. I was willing to try marriage counselling but my husband wouldn’t.

He’s the one that left. I tried my best to save my marriage following discovery of the affair but I can’t force someone to stay married to me when he doesn’t want to.

This morning, it has also dawned on me that there is no man or friend who will rescue me from my current woes and make things better.

There is no knight in shining armour galloping gallantly to try and save me from the craptastic time I’m having right now.

Every one has got their own shit to deal with and will not be leaving theirs to try and make this transition easier for me.

Depending on a man for the last 14 years hasn’t done me much good.

I will have to do this by myself. I will have to save myself

save yourself

Right now, if I want to wake up every day and sit there for hours and hours and cry my eyes out, then so be it. I shall cry until I have no tears.

If I need to have that long postponed mental breakdown, end up in a hospital for the summer, then so be it.

One thing is clear though, I will have to tap into all that is within me to dig myself out of this utter hell and move on with my life as best as I can.

But one day, some day, it will happen, that day isn’t today and that is OK too.

todays pain


Day 93: A Mother’s Love

My husband and I spent nine months re-building every aspect of the home where we lived for 11 years. This massive project was only finally signed off this January. Showing friends and family round this beautiful home was his pride and joy. He had perfected his tour guide. Even the week before I had discovered his affair, he was excitedly showing some friends round, lapping up all the compliments and when he did the tours alone, he would excitedly report the compliments received back to me.

In the weeks he tortured me with his affair, he would taunt me by saying several times: “It’s only a house.”

It’s not only a house, it is my home or at least it used to be my much loved, much happy home.


I had managed every single aspect of this build. I had designed every aspect of the build; bathrooms, bedrooms, wardrobes, bookshelves, etc.

I had meticulously and lovingly sourced and chosen every single new purchase in the house, from bathroom tiles to vintage chaise longue in the bathrooms, cushions, sofas, paintings, absolutely everything.

I had worked with the builders from hell who nearly broke me because the supposedly trusted company we very meticulously chose after interviewing over 12 builders, ended up being dodgy cowboys of unimaginable proportion, with a fancy name. Every thing that could possibly go wrong went wrong, plus more.

It was a physically and mentally draining project. I was completely exhausted. I did all that for absolutely nothing.

It was an intense labour of love because I was building a beautiful home for my husband and I to live happily for a long time. I often said to him and my family that we were creating space to allow us to fill this house with kids. I always believed that the plans we had for next year would finally end 11 years of childlessness.

While I was busy managing an impossible project and builders from hell, my husband was busy chatting with countless women online and having an affair with a married Vietnamese mother of two whose name rhymes with silly and wrong. How appropriate.

We had so many plans for this place. We have music in almost every space and talked about wonderful parties we would host; in my pre-separation days, I was legendary for hosting fantastic parties. In one of our post adultery chats, I suggested having a big party in August for his birthday/house warming. He replied, let’s have two parties, one when the weather got warmer and one for his birthday.

Being alone in this house, which is filled with 11 years of memories, was never the life plan.


This evening, I found myself saying out loud to myself, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck as the shock hits me like it does on a daily basis that my marriage is over.

As I am stunned by the shock and it all hurts anew, my phone started ringing. It was my mum wanting to say goodnight before going to sleep.

She couldn’t have timed that call better.

This week, my mother who is my heroine sent me two messages. I thought I had managed to fake the fact that I was upset when I spoke to her. She lives abroad and asked whether I wanted her to drop everything (including my 5 year old nephew in her care) to come and look after me for some time.

Her second message said:

“I have a compelling need to send you this message. You were crying when we were talking earlier this evening. Don’t bottle up your tears. Anytime you feel like crying, put on some music to drown the noise, then have a good, loud wail for at least 5 minutes. IT HELPS a lot.

Gradually, your heart will feel lighter. Gradually, the burden will lift. Supported by prayers, the darkness will clear sooner than you think. I am haunted 24/7 imagining what you are going through, alone in a beautiful house that should be giving you joy and marital contentment.

I feel your pain. I understand your pain. I have been there. [X} is worse than dead. He is a living dead. The man you loved is worse than dead! I still pray for him.

You are not a loser & will NEVER be. First class honours, Distinction, 50 Women to watch- all in extremely difficult circumstances!

Our Redeemer liveth! [X] is too insignificant to pull down what God has established. Call me anytime you feel low & tell me when I can call you.

Goodnight, my love & may God’s peace be with you.”

My heart goes out to everyone who has lost their mother because nothing compares to a mother’s love.

Although my mum doesn’t even know this blog exists, I just want to say I love you mummy, much more than I can ever express.

mother's love


Day 90 – Notice to Quit

I woke up this morning and I didn’t want to get out of bed.

I stayed in that darkness until I was forced to get up, wash and dress for the Ocado delivery. I guess it’s a good thing that I am still vain enough to want to wash and dress before opening the door to the grocery delivery driver.

The sun is shining and the birds are singing. I want to shut off the sound of the bloody chirpy birds. For someone who has several nature and birds songs recordings, this is bad. This is very bad.

I am down. I am very down.

I don’t know how long this is supposed to take before it gets better.

I don’t know how I am supposed to get on with the rest of my life, however long that life might be.

I don’t know how I am supposed to forget all plans, all thoughts, all memories, all hopes for a future that is not to be, when I am surrounded by countless reminders of the emptiness that I feel.

I don’t know how I am supposed to get over the fact that someone I trusted implicitly with my life and all that is/was in it, could just bail so very easily, when I had stayed steadfast to him in 14 years through all sorts of challenges countless others would have long bailed.

I don’t know how someone could commit three months notice to his job but couldn’t even give me two days when he had agreed marriage counselling for the umpteenth time and had promised to give it at least four weeks, time I said he should also use answering the countless questions that I had about household things he handled. After making that promise on a Saturday 11th April, we would have a lovely Sunday, great lunch near the sea and walking on the beach holding hands. On Monday, 13th April, he would choose to leave his marital home to “think”. He would come back Tuesday 14th declaring undying love. He would spend that Monday night, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights with his married mistress whilst pretending to be working on our marriage and giving us both some space.

No handover. No notice to quit. Instead, he bails. He just bails. To “start afresh” and “forge a new path.” No discussions. Door closed. Emotions shut off. Nothing. Nothingness. Nada.

His nine year job would get three months’ notice to quit, three months of careful handover, three months of detailed notes, three months of making sure that whoever takes over is thoroughly briefed for a smooth transition.

His 11 years marriage and 14 years relationship, doesn’t even get two days handover.

Nothing. Nothingness. Nada.

Rationally, I know that I can’t feel this shit and devastated forever. Emotionally, I don’t know that I am strong enough to cope until it starts to get better.


This morning, I had a brief thought that some roast lamb and sweet potatoes, my weekend treat in my pre-Cambridge days, might cheer my life up. I thought taking myself to Mayfair, to my favourite restaurant Hakkasan Mayfair, to enjoy some dim sum and gorgeous food, might be just what I need to perk me up.

But I won’t do either of those things.

I’m no longer that girl that relies on food to cheer herself up.

A little movement on the scales this morning, but nothing earth-shattering. I will give Step 2 until Monday before deciding whether to increase my calorific intake from 810 to 1000 on Step 3.


Day 89 – Unlucky 13th Weigh-in

Life has been extremely challenging. I have done things this week that I haven’t done in 14 years. I’m sure that an unused section of my brain has been activated.

I am very proud of myself. Who is this person that I have become?

I’m overwhelmed by the turn my life has taken. I still feel the shock of it hitting me daily but I’m taking it one day at a time. That’s all I can do.

This weekend will be very difficult because where there used to be two, there will only be me.

But life goes one; my mantra of the week.


First disappointing weigh-in since I started the diet 12 weeks and 4 days ago. I have lost weight every week except this week. I gained 0.2 kg. Shock horror! I have been on the diet 100% including on my birthday. See last blog: Day 86 – I Have Love.

The three stone mark remains elusive. Damn.

I am going to give it a few days to settle and if it doesn’t, I will step up to step 3 of the Cambridge diet which means going from current 810 calories to 1000 calories. It sounds strange increasing calories to lose weight but it has the effect of jolting the body into losing weight.

Week Thirteen’s verdict: today’s weight 105.9kg, week’s weight gain 0.2kg (0.4 pounds); total weight loss; 18.5 kg ( 40.7 pounds)


Day 86 – I Have Love

Yesterday was my 42nd birthday.

I was dreading the day because it would be the first birthday in 15 years that my husband hadn’t been in my life. I had prepared myself for a miserable day. I had mentally prepared myself for the fact that even though he knows what an excitable child I am about my birthday, a day usually filled with lots of pampering, fun and presents from him, my husband would not contact me. I had mentally prepared myself that his mum and sister, might not contact me.

I was very wrong about the latter. My in-laws have been amazingly supportive in all of this.

Sadly, I was right about my husband. This man who’s known me since I was 27 years old. This man who has broken my heart into immeasurable pieces and hurt me beyond all belief, hurt so gigantic, I still get moments when the shock of it hits me every single day, willing myself to wake up from the nightmare.

Of course he hadn’t been in contact.

This man hadn’t thought that mere decency and 14 years was worthy of a text, an email, anything, acknowledging that I might be hurting and might not be having the best birthday in the world, but nevertheless acknowledging my birthday with some best wishes or some kindness or absolutely anything.

Even when I was forced to email him to say that he had given me the wrong password for one of the complicated mess he’s left me to figure out, he couldn’t be bothered to reply with the correct password, let alone acknowledge that it was my previously very special and excitable day.

I heard absolutely nothing.

Has this man always been this cruel and I hadn’t noticed because I was so in love? Has he always been this utterly thoughtless? Has he always been this despicable and hateful?

Well…no thanks to the man I had wasted 14 childbearing years and my youth on, I had a great birthday.

It was naturally very sad at times and I tried my best to drown those sadness with music and things that would lift my spirit. It started with midnight messages from my sisters and a good friend that stays awake every year to wish me happy birthday on the stroke of midnight. I got lots of phone calls and messages filled with love and hope for the future from family and friends.

My soon to be ex mother-in-law and sister-in-law who have been extremely kind and supportive in this nightmare, called to sing happy birthday. The two nephews that I had been heartbroken at the thoughts that my divorce could mean that I never see them grow up, sang happy birthday to me, one after the other. My friend and god daughter recorded happy birthday messages and more singing for me on Whatsapp.

My Cambridge consultant Mandy who has become a dear friend and an immense rock, popped in with a very thoughtful and kind present and a “cake” complete with candle…well not actually a cake, a Cambridge diet Jelly.

2015-05-11 19.15.18

A good friend also chose the spend the whole evening with me, trying to help me sort out some of the things my husband had bailed and left me to figure out.

He succeeded in convincing me that whilst my husband might no longer love or fancy me, other men would find me “gorgeous”.

So…last year’s birthday started with breakfast in bed, tons of expensive presents from my husband and ended with a tasting menu at the fancy 2 Michelin Star Notting Hill Restaurant Ledbury, which we both declared were the best meals we’d ever eaten. This year, I had omelette and cucumber for dinner and Mandy’s Cambridge diet jelly.

But you know what, I would rather eat eggs.

I would rather stay 100% on my diet and have an omelette than fancy dinner with someone who has no respect for me or who might have sat there, instead of acknowledging and appreciating the wonderful life he had, was hungering after greener grass.

This year, I had genuine love from friends and family.

Most importantly, I have self-love.

I have self-love because I am trying my best to be the best that I can be. I know it will be impossibly difficult and that it will take time to recover from the psychological damages of the last 11 weeks, but I will get there some day.

Yesterday, I sent myself some gorgeous flowers with a card message.


My typed message was handwritten and I’m guessing transcribed by the florist who delivered it who looked at me with sympathetic eyes. She must have called me sweetheart four times and asked me if I was OK and to take care.

The kindness of strangers.

The message on my card to myself said:

I am beautiful, intelligent, creative, kind and generous.
I have a lot going for me.
This period sucks but the sun will shine again.
Simply take it one day at a time.
Happy birthday.
Go me! xxx

2015-05-11 11.23.28


Day 84 – I’ve Never Known Pain Like This…:-(

This is a weight loss blog but real life happens and through all the hell, I am staying 100% on my diet.

I have chosen to be completely honest in this blog. Every time I post, I will post whatever is on my mind. One day, in some years, however my life has panned out, I will look back at this diary as a true account of my darkest and bleakest days.

I won’t fake it by writing anything I’m not feeling.

I won’t pretend to be OK.

I am not OK.

I am devastated, traumatised, still in deep shock, crushed, sad, depressed, confused.

I have never felt pain like this which is not only emotional but also manifests physically.

I have been abandoned by the man I loved and trusted implicitly with my life.

sometimes you fall down

Last night, I had a lovely chat with my sister who lives in the US and who has been an amazing source of support. What she doesn’t know is that at 1 am, I was still sitting on the sofa I had sourced after careful measurements by my husband and I, to map out a perfect room, and I sat there and cried out loud like a baby.

I thought I was done crying but there I was, alone, crying inconsolably.

My marriage has ended in the most unimaginably painful and cruel way. I haven’t seen my husband since 18th April and for 10 of those days, he was abroad on business. Six days ago, he sent me an email to inform me that he wasn’t coming back home from his business trip and that our marriage was over.

Yes, dumped by email.

On March 17th my husband ignored my protests and insisted that he would meet his married mistress face to face to allegedly end their affair. They had dinner in a posh bar. He would return home around 1 or 2 am from meeting his mistress, expecting me to be there. I chose to spend the night at the Shangri-La hotel at the Shard, paid with his card. Even in that heartbreak, I blogged about staying 100 % on my diet.

I would later find out that 10 days later on 27th March, he would send his mistress a £70 bouquet of flowers in a week I call “I’m sorry, my love week” because he had spent that week apologising endlessly for his affair, the pain and hurt he had caused me, making plans for our future, talking about how our marriage would be better, how much he loved me, holding my hand and constantly stroking my face.

On 1st April, he would send his mistress expensive Easter chocolates, a couple of days after booking a holiday to Milan to allegedly work on our marriage.

After four months, his mistress got a face to face end even though they quickly resumed their affair, the 6th time they had broken and resumed their affair after only a week or two.

After 14 years of loving this man unconditionally, making life-changing sacrifices that even 1% of women would not make, he chose to send me the coldest email to inform me that our marriage was over.

love is a blind whore

Following his email, he would register with Royal Mail to immediately redirect his mails without the courtesy of informing me or allowing me to change countless utilities and other home accounts currently in his name. I would find out this week that my husband could not even face me to collect the piles of letters he has here from a letter from Royal Mail addressed to the “Occupier

I have done absolutely nothing wrong to this man to deserve the cruel treatment.

I have asked him several times if there is anything that I have done to deserve the despicable way he has treated me. I would feel better if I had done something to deserve even 1 % of the cruelty.

This was the nicest, gentlest, kindest man I ever knew. I often told people if there is a heaven, this man would go straight in as he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. I would often describe him as someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly he would pick flies and set them down in the garden when I would be like kill the bastards.

And now, I (the person who has done absolutely nothing but supported and loved him for 14 years), I am the one that he has chosen to dump 45 years of wickedness and cruelty on.

How on earth could someone who for 14 years treated me like a princess, who would look at me with so much love in his eyes, who would constantly tell me I was his world and he couldn’t imagine his life without me, we would constantly tell each other that our certainty was that we would be with each other forever. His countless cards including his 2015 Valentines’ day with handwritten notes about loving me now and always.

2015-03-27 13.35.29


Last night, I looked at about 70 photos and videos I had forwarded him in April to remind him of our lives which were full of fun and laughter. Looking at those pictures it occurred to me that the times he was fiddling on his phone and smiling at me, including a holiday in Oman in December, he could have been emailing his mistress or other women.

How could this man be smiling at me while actively (not passively) trawling dating websites for wife number two and engaging in an intense affair with a married woman he believes he will live happily ever after with even though he had only known her for two minutes and had never even met her two children?

If these two scumbags end up setting up home, I’m assuming the same way she wined, dined and fucked him in her marital home, she will be fucking the next guy in their home if he’s away on business?

How could this man who pledged to love and protect me lie, deceive, betray and hurt me the way he has done? Why has he behaved like a monstrous scumbag since I found out about his affair?

How could he show zero appreciation, zero loyalty, zero consideration, zero thoughts, zero regards, zero decency, to me after I had spent every day since I was 27 years old loving him?

Every single day, including this morning, the shock hits me all over again.

I am crying as I write this.

I am still not sleeping well. Yesterday, I took some sleeping pills but it wasn’t a brilliant night. Last week, I had taken the sleeping pills with my sister sitting in my bed, nursing me like I was a baby until the drugs knocked me out. Perhaps her love and concern were the reasons those pills worked better a week ago.

I would be the first to tell myself to get over the end of my marriage. Get on with it and I am doing my best to do so but it is impossible to explain to anyone who didn’t know this man and I just how much of a shock all of this had been.

In 14 years, he never told me, not even once, that there was anything about our lives or marriage he wasn’t happy about.

I know grief. I have lost people close to me including losing my father when he was in his early 40s. My childhood had ended after his death when I was 9, watching my beautiful mum who was only 35 deal with her crippling grief.

This feeling is worse. I do not mean to demean my mother’s or anyone’s grief but I am only stating my opinion and perhaps another time I will expand on those thoughts.

I have abandonment issues which stem from my dad dying and years of therapy have not cured these issues.

Men leave. They leave or they die.

My marriage was my security blanket. It was the only constant and certainty I was sure of in my life but here we are.

I am right to have abandonment issue. Men leave. I have been abandoned by the man I loved and trusted implicitly with my life.


Day 73 – Wait a Minute…

I’m a little busy right now…

Can I please postpone my mental breakdown?

too busy for nervous breakdown

This has been an extremely tough week mentally and physically. I feel like I am fighting for my life and I guess in some ways, I am.

Let’s start with the physical…

I have physical limitations. They include extremely serious spinal problems. I suffer from excruciatingly painful chronic back problems. I refuse to be pumped full of chemicals and so, I grin and bear it. Mind over matter and all that.

My daily routine when my husband was home involved a loving and short rub of my back in the morning and sometimes at night. After 14 years, he was the only one who knew exactly how to rub my back to give me immeasurable relief.

We would go to sleep with him spooning my back. Those back rubs were my lifeline. I often told him the way he held me at night was one of the best things in my life. It is (was) akin to coming home.

There is no one to rub my back and in a small way, ease my pains.

There is no one to spoon, hold and comfort me at night.

This week, I have been logging around heavy stuff that I have no business lifting. I’ve been loading and pushing heavy bins through long steep passages. I have not done any such “manly” thing for over 20 years (6 years relationship, plus a little gap where I had a boyfriend, plus 14 years with my husband).

At the end of all that, every bone in my body was shattered. My back was on fire. I am proud of myself for carrying on with things. By goodness have I carried on with things. I was feeling like shit and there I was, accessories to match my clothes, full make-up, bright red lipstick, bring red nail polish, big Prada sunglasses, rock star me.

Now that an event two Saturdays ago has announced to my gossiping neighbours that my husband is no longer at our home, my goodness, they must know that I keep ticking. I keep going. I hold my head high. I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. The explosion that has rocked my life wasn’t lit by me.

The only place I will lose it will be behind closed doors.

i have to scream now

Mentally, this week has stretched me beyond all endurance. If I had tried to write this post yesterday, it would have been complete and utter jibberish. If this post is littered with mistakes and nonsensical, forgive me.

It’s been one of those weeks. I haven’t slept for more than one or two hours each night since Saturday. I am both worried and impressed by myself that I am still functioning.

I had planned to check myself into a clinic this morning to get dosed up and sleep for hours and hours and hours and hours. Sleep always cures all my ills.

And then the gardener who was supposed to revamp my garden which has been neglected for months for reasons I now understand, cancelled yesterday. (He didn’t turn up today either but hopefully tomorrow will be third time lucky.) There was no way on earth I was going to leave the house knowing that by the time I got back home or find someone else to sort the garden, it would be a jungle out there.

I might as well announce to the whole world that my life is in complete chaos. Hell no. There must be some order in all this confusion.

This mental breakdown will have to wait another day, preferably, never.


I am not being flippant about mental health issues nor am I dicing with my vulnerable state of mind. This morning, I had a very long phone call with a very kind practitioner at the clinic who has armed me with another appointment, more information and reassurances that help is at hand 24/7. He was very nice to me and I found myself crying like a baby. He reassured me that the trauma and grief I was experiencing, with the endless sleepless nights, depressed mood, crying etc. were normal in the circumstances.

I felt reassured that he thought that I hadn’t completely lost it even though he didn’t even know a fraction of the events of the last 9 weeks and one day.

For all that is good in the universe, I hope that I finally get some sleep tonight.

I am down but I am not out.

down but not out