73. Wrestling with the old me.

Up here again, in the sky, winging my way to a five star locked down location for a detox. I haven’t fallen off the wagon all year, and it’s August. But the truth is, I have my foot on the neck of a fat drunk girl who is dying to get back out and convince me how much more FUN she is than I am.  Frankly, after eight months, my leg is getting tired from holding her down.  I’d like some help.

I’ve been to Gwinganna before. It is in Queensland, near the New South Wales border. They run a slick operation with a team of people who couldn’t be better advertisements for the lifestyle. There’s a Gwinganna glow about their skin, and a particular pertness around their derriere that inspires me. Haven’t seen a fat one yet. Although there’s a few that turn up as guests of course.

The programmes are a mix of exercise, healthy food, indulgence, education and high thread count sheets. I’m good with this.

I am looking forward to releasing the hold on the old me for a few days. She couldn’t get out there, even if she tried.

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