I have had an on off battle with my weight for forty years. 2016 has not been my best year. The scores on the doors as we head through September are Fat 8 TW 1. Giving up smoking on February 15th was a great thing to do but I put on a few pounds in the Spring. In May and June I worked hard in the fields at the Greek hovel and managed to shed much of the post smoking gain. Since then, comfort eating, and the odd cider, with a bereaved father and with a pregnant wife has been bad news indeed. But enough is enough. The fight back is underway.
The presence of my in-laws is not helpful since I am constantly offered very pleasant South Indian food and also chocolate. But they depart tomorrow and at that point i am the master of the kitchen and shall cook nice food for the Mrs but restrict myself to a spartan diet.
I know this is not terribly PC in that I should take no responsibility at all for my own weight and instead rely on an army of state funded counsellors to help me all the way while insisting that it is my human right to have the NHS fit a gastric band. But I am no slave to political correctness so I am taking responsibility for my own body and have also joined a gym.
In my early thirties I worked out three days a week and either trained or played rugby on three other days. On the seventh day I would rest with a game of tennis or a swim. But that was a long time ago. By the time, yesterday afternoon, that I had walked 600 yards to the gym owned by Perry, the flagbearer for our local Tories, I was already feeling that I had done enough. But Perry greeted me with a smile and I did my own workout for an hour surrounded by half a dozen incredibly muscular men. This is a "man's" gym that I appear to have joined.
Perry is in good form as we discussed how both Labour Councillors for our part of Bristol have now been suspended by the People's Party for being nasty about those who opposed comrade Corbyn. But the main task at hand is dealing with my weight. There is no time for gloating at the chaos and mutual hatred amomg the Comrades.
Today, Perry took charge and I did a session of his own creation. Climbing back up the hill afterwards I wondered if I would make it home at all. But I did and now have 24 hours to recover before tomorrow's session which Perry has already planned. It is now 81 days to the olive harvest in Greece and I have two stone to shift and my upper body muscles to sort out. Wish me luck.