Finally, a big loss! A whole kilo (2.2lbs) this week. Very gratifying. It's something I've needed. I don't mind the little losses week after week, but you need the odd decent loss to feel like you're making some progress.

Of course, I'm just grateful to still be losing and to not hit a plateau.

All good news, but the weekend proved I'm a long way from managing my relationship with food.

I'd volunteered to cook lunch for the family to help celebrate my mum's 60th birthday. I'd selected a couple of recipes out of delicious. that seemed simple and, well, delicious. I'd made the decision ahead of time that I would not count points, I'd simply enjoy the meal and the company.

It started Saturday night. I decided to cook her birthday cake the night before as our oven can be somewhat tempermental. It was chocolate brownie cake served with chocolate and caramel sauce, ice cream and sugar shards (I told you I wasn't counting points!).

The oven was appalling (a 35 minute cooking time blew out to 1hr and 25 minutes), so the cake sank in the middle. I'd not bought enough chocolate to make the chocolate sauce. The recipe for the caramel sauce produced something khaki coloured and pretty ordinary tasting. When I picked up the sheet of toffee to make the sugar shards it shattered in my hands all over the floor. The springform cake pan had rusted shut and I sliced one thumb trying to get the cake out with a butter knife. Finally, I sliced the other thumb trying to cut the bottom off the cake when the paper lining the bottom of the pan refused to peel off cleanly.

Now, this sort of thing would be enough to piss anyone off. Me? I lost it completely, I was in tears. Not from frustration, but because food still equals love to me and if my cake wasn't perfect, then my family would not believe I loved them enough.

Nevermind the fact that it WAS delicious and they loved it and took home seconds, at that moment, I was not showing enough love because my cake wasn't perfect.

And all the while I was eating cake batter or chocolate chips or the caramel sauce to try to calm myself down.

How fucked up is that?

I feel like I'm such a long way away from separating food from the way I express my emotions. I know it's central to my successfully achieving my goals and maintaining them.

At least I can identify what I'm doing, after I've done it, but being able to take the step to stop myself before I do it feels so far away.

So, what is your relationship with food like and do you use it emotionally?