"You don’t look for the REAL reason they’re struggling to lose weight. You already know it’s because they mainlined sugar, butter and Reese's Pieces for the past 5 years. But that point is largely irrelevant for now."

"No-one cares what you say or do. And the ones who are are probably Cheeto-gobbling sloths locked in their parents’ basement, with a physique that's starting to look more and more like a melted ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Ignore them. They’re only moody because they’ve seen less sun than Dracula in the past 4 years."

"You’ll be able to sell a condom to a nun. You’ll be able to sell Captain Hook a second glove. For fuck’s sake, if you get really good (and learn to quack), you’ll probably even be able to sling an umbrella to a duck."

"You’re teasing them with the carrot on the end of the stick, sure. But here’s the thing: people only want to eat a carrot when you remind them how fucking hungry they are."

"Within a few days you’re not just ready to go to dinner with them, you’re ready to whisk them off on a last minute trip to Paris, do a Zumba class with her mum and complete their damn tax returns."

"I knew as soon as I closed my eyes I’d be greeted by my alarm telling me to put on a suit, spend half an hour on a packed London tube getting smushed like that sandwich you’ve left in the bottom of your bag and listening to the most miserable git in the entire world drone on and on while I sat there, fantasizing about toe punting him off the side of a bridge like that dog in Anchorman (“Baxterrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!”)"