The Zombie Diet


Two pieces of news caught my attention recently. One set of researchers have found that nearly all diets are as effective as each other if you follow them correctly. And another group of boffins found that the ideal for everyone to aim for is for to have your waistline to be half of your height.

And that got me thinking. I really do need to lose weight, but I need a diet that I am going to be able to stick to. I am an expert at dieting – I have started hundreds.

I blame my ethnic and cultural heritage. You see I’m an ex-Northern bloke who was brought up on fish and chip suppers, a profusion of pies, Yorkshire puddings and cakes made from lard, all washed down with gallons of best bitter.

As we say oop North, I can’t be doing with all this calorie counting malarkey.

I have no idea why the good Lord invented celery. Maybe he was having an off day?

The world is not ready for the sight of my body in lycra to play at pirates or plates, or whatever it is that the yummy mummies do.

I’m a bloke, and blokes don’t diet. We don’t do salads, unless they are the token penance next to a double bacon and cheese burger. And we certainly don’t drink diet milkshakes.

I need a bloke’s eating plan. Not a girly diet. Even the word diet is loaded with unwelcome meaning. It smacks of things that don’t taste quite as zingy as they should. Beige food with a hint of pink food colouring.

So I would like to present … drum roll please … the zombie plan. All that you need to follow it is an active imagination. A pump action shotgun is optional.

First, let’s be clear about what we are trying to achieve. As this is a bloke’s diet, we need goals and objectives. But because we are blokes we aren’t going to bother with all that weighing and measuring nonsense. The whole point is to survive for longer and to have more sex.

We will know when it’s working when our clothes fit better. And we are getting more sex.

The zombie plan is a modification of the 5:2 diet. We spend five days in survivor mode, followed by two days in mall mode. Repeat. Repeat. Until she can’t keep her hands off you. Which is better than the zombies getting their hands on you. Probably.


Survivor mode

The zombie apocalypse has finally happened. When there is no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth. You are living a precarious existence, running from building to building. The undead are slower than you, but they are everywhere. You must not let them corner you.

So you live fast, stay sharp, lean and hungry. Food is whatever you can grab that won’t slow you down.

In survivor mode, we eat blokish stuff – meat, veg even the occasional wussy fruit. The sort of food that we would eat if the apocalypse had really happened. Except that you don’t need to eat cold dog food straight out of the can. Unless you really want to.

We don’t allow ourselves chocolate, snacks, sweets or puddings. We haven’t got time for that. Anyway, they are girly and childish things. Real men eat meat and spuds, especially real men surviving a zombie apocalypse.

Naturally, we need a sense of proportion here. When we allow ourselves to eat meat in survivor mode, we shouldn’t pig out with the bellybuster 20 ounce steak and all the trimmings. You can’t outrun a horde of biters if you’re a waddling blob of all-you-can-eat.

But neither should we opt for the skinny latte salad with a drizzle of low cal olive oil dressing. We eat proper food, just not too much of it.

There’s no booze in survivor mode, either. Sorry. You need to keep your wits about you when the legion of the undead are everywhere.

Then there’s the exercise. We’d better do some. Only we are not going to get dressed up to go to the gym. Instead let’s kick a football around.

Walk to the shops fast enough to get out of breath, as if you were trying to escape from a horde of shuffling wockers.

Have sex as if you were trying to repopulate a dying world.

Anything to get the heart pumping that doesn’t involve lycra. Unless one or other of you is dressing up as Wonder Woman.

You are going to feel hungry from time to time. That’s okay. Tough it out like a real man. Those hunger pangs are a sign that the diet is working, not a cue to load up on custard creams and pringles.

So to recap, survivor mode is:

  • Eat normally, but not too much
  • No snacks, chocs, puds or booze
  • A little bit of exercise to get sweaty and out of breath
  • Butch up to ignore the hunger
  • Wonder Woman outfit optional.


Mall mode

Mall mode recreates that wonderful moment in every zombie film when you reach a temporary place of safety. You can unwind for a few minutes, recharge your batteries, reload your shotgun, and treat yourself to a can of warm dog food.

Mall mode starts on Friday evening, after we get back from work. And that is when we will need a drink or three.

You might even experience the bizarre phenomenon known as the “Friday short measure”. For some reason unknown to modern science, Friday bottles of wine never have as much wine in them as bottles consumed on any other day of the week. You always seem to get to the bottom of the bottle that little bit faster.

In mall mode you can have any food or drink that you want, minus any IOUs from the last period of survivor mode.

IOUs? Of course, you are going to slip from time to time. That little midweek social “do” that you couldn’t get out of, your Mum’s cheesecake, that sort of thing. Just write yourself a mental IOU and subtract your transgression from the weekend’s mall mode.

Again, you shouldn’t go mad. Mall mode is not excuse to stuff yourself to bursting point, camel style, so that you have enough calories stored in your hump to make it through the entire week.

Mall mode ends on Sunday evening. The zombies burst into the mall, forcing you to run for your life. Until you conveniently find another deserted mall next Friday evening.

The executive summary for mall mode:

  • Eat and drink anything you want (within reason)
  • Minus any IOUs from the week before
  • Ends on Sunday night


Does it work?

Don’t ask me – I have only just made it up. But there is no reason why it shouldn’t.

Ask me again in six months’ time. And if I have a satisfied grin on my face, you will know that at least one of the objectives is being achieved…


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