I am absolutely the wrong person to review this book. Having never read a diet book in my life, the genre is unknown to me. I have never (this sounds like an obscene boast) gone on a diet. I have never watched my calories or visited a dietician. I don’t even do yoga. My only qualification is that, with middle age, my waist is thickening inexorably into a matronly circumference. Given my tabula rasa state, I approached Kalli Purie’s account of her lifelong battle (‘battle’ really is the right word for what this girl has been through) with no idea what to expect.
Written in a diary form in the light, zany style of Bridget Jones’s Diary, it recounts her diets, workouts, trainers, dieticians, binges, spas, Reich-style health farms and, eventually, the catastrophe of the scales tipping over the apocalyptic 100-kilo mark—the day she realised she had to get a grip on things or the fat would take over her life.
Confessions turned out to be a delightful memoir, written with irony,...
