So now might be the time to save some cash while shedding some ugly fat. “You’ll lose seven pounds of that by chopping your head off,grand dad,” my grand daughter helpfully quipped. It was at that point I realised if you’re going on a diet do not broadcast it. Keep it mum; train in private; above all don’t let on to anyone else. The minute somebody knows you’re ‘on a diet’ they’ll have some advice for you or as they think – some good advice for you!
It’s really hard to come to terms with the fact I have morphed from bronzed Adonis to tubby-not so bald-bloke. It is an inevitable and perfidious trick of time and one with which we have no control over. In my mind’s eye I’m still this young prime fella and the fact I’m not so was savagely bought home recently by the above-mentioned shopping trip.
You see in the nannying surveillance land we now live in, everywhere you go CCTV cameras and TV monitors register your every move. Tesco have taken to this with gusto and all of their store concourses have a bank of overhead monitors that allow the shopper (or consumer as we now are) to view their grand entrance into the store. Part, I suppose, of ‘our shopping experience’. Anyway, I enter Tesco this one particular day and glance up casually to sneak a peek of myself in the monitor as I was breezing in, but I wasn’t there. I just couldn’t understand it but in the precise place where I should have been now stood tubby-bald-bloke.
When I moved my arms, he moved his. When I scratched my head, he did likewise. What was going on? Realisation slowly seeped through. “Hang on a mo though,” I blurted out loud, “it is me; Yikes!” Where’d that luxurious mane of black hair go? Where’d that iron flat six-pack tummy go? Where had the pregnant look come from? Where had those man-boobs come from? Why was I tubby-bald-bloke? As you can see dear reader, my simple shopping trip had become a nightmare. And as a consequence my need to diet became both necessary and immediate.
Well, off I set on the quest for a quick fix. Tubby-bald-bloke was going to be banished and a return to my earlier muscle bound form was now my goal (although clearly only a transplant would cure the middle part of the tubby-bald-bloke sobriquet). Still, I could quite reasonably get myself beach ready. On the market there appeared to be a dazzling array of low-cal healthy option foodstuffs and a bewildering number of madcap diets and exercise schemes that should, could and would transform tubby-bald-bloke into something altogether more appealing.
To anyone with half a brain it is quite clear that to achieve the above you have to eat a lot less and move around a lot more to obtain the desired effect. But as many of you know, you only have to utter the word ‘diet’ to suddenly become extremely hungry. Say ‘diet’ and inexplicably you desire a mountain of Minstrels and a shipload of Smarties just to sate your sweetie appetite… So what could I do? What diet would work and how could I achieve even nominal weight loss? Should I even bother? Would it be easier to lose that seven pounds of ugly fat by just ‘cutting me head orf’?
Toodle pip and off into the New Year
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