The Health Police would no doubt have me arrested at gunpoint, but dinner the last few nights has consisted of microwave popcorn and several glasses of vin rouge.
Hardly nutritional kryptonite, but I’m too busy unpacking my cartons and doing battle with the iron in a hopeless attempt to return my wardrobe to its former glory.
We’re going to London this weekend, which will almost certainly be a fiesta of trans-fats, but I plan to get my five-plus, flax-seed oil and oily fish groove back on next week. In my defence, I have been running most days, so surely that goes some way to mitigating the dreaded Heathrow Injection?
For those of you who don’t know what the latter is, the Urban Dictionary has helpfully provided this definition:
Heathrow Injection: metaphor for the weight gained by Kiwis/Aussies when they migrate to London for an extended stay. It is attributable to the fast-paced lifestyle that leads one to eating mostly take-away and drinking too much. As in:
Person 1: "I reckon I'm getting a little tubby. I think I'm developing love handles."
Person 2: "Yeah well you've been here in London for three months now. That's the Heathrow Injection right there. I've been here for two years now. Look at this flab on me. I slap it and it makes waves."
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