With all the fad diets around and the aftermath of the seasonal festivities sitting firmly around the waistline of the nation, it is not surprising that the bathroom scales are eyeing me accusingly every time I am in their vicinity. They do that to most of us in winter, when the odd extra pound or so can sneak in unnoticed beneath the thick jumpers that cover a multitude of sins.
The scales were bought, not for me, but to weigh a parcel for my son. They now sit in the corner of my bathroom where my own scales would have sat, had I not deliberately dispensed with them some time ago. I came to the conclusion that bathroom scales are one of the most depressing contraptions ever invented and, with that in mind, consigned them to the scrap heap.
They are often wildly inaccurate and can vary by several pounds…
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