Regular exercise is not an option at the moment, which leads to the dilemma of how does one lose some of that excess chunk?
The ugly spectre of Dieting rears it's skeletal head and winks a sunken eyelid at me.
Which is a shame because I like food even more than I like exercise.
So, if I must, how to go about it? Do I want to join Weight Watchers? No, because it sounds like a specialist porn site for chubby chasers. Do I want to count calories? No, because that sounds more boring than the history of plywood. Do I want to be organised about it? No, because that would involve being organised about it.
In general, I just need to cut down on some stuff. Be a bit more aware of unhealthy things I'm choffing and not choff them quite so much. With this in mind I poured myself a lager, sat down and had a think about what to give up.
Chocolate? I eat a couple of bars a week. Dips like Jabba up there? More of an occasional treat than a bad habit. Puddings? Not that many. Takeaways? Had my first curry in three and a half weeks a few days ago, so not much help there. I took a swig of Kronenburg to help me concentrate.
Ah . . .
Lager is quite calorific. My favourite beer is currently Poacher's Choice, which sends both my taste buds and my liver into little shivery tremors of joy. I presume the liver tremors are joy anyway. This beer is fairly hefty both in terms of booze content and calories.
I suppose I could . . . cut . . . down . . .
Oof! No no no. Let's not go down such avenues of desperation, I thought. Draining my glass, I decided it was time to get some help, and referred the subject on to the wife, who is wise in the way of food. She was in her cushion room, making fans and doilies, possibly.
She nodded, always approving of brevity in explanations. She got the gist, realising that I might conceivably benefit from losing weight, but without doing exercise, so what could I possibly give up to facilitate such a transformation.
Don't say beer, I thought at her.
"Well," she said, looking at a small cheese and tomato sandwich I was predating for my lunch. "You do actually eat fairly healthily."
"I do." I agreed, thinking don't say beer, don't say beer.
"So we need to look at something you maybe do have a bit too much of, don't we?"
"S'pose." I concurred magnanimously. Don't say beer. Do NOT say beer. Beer in this context is not what I want to hear.
"You could perhaps cut down on . . ."
Doritos? Mars bars? Lettuce. Oh sweet baby Moses let it be lettuce.
"B . . ."
Burgers? Boursin? Bite sized Shredded Wheat?
." . .Be . . ."
Beans? Benecol? Beastiality? Wait, none of them are fattening.
" . . . Bee . . ."
Beetroot? Bee vomit? That's honey? I could give up honey I suppose. As long as it's not . . .
" . . . Beer?"
I gave her my most vitriolic of glares, and she asked if I needed some Preparation H, so I flounced off as she retreated back into the cushion room, shaking her head.
The trouble is, she's right.
So, the iron rod of reason smacks down onto the simpleton's forehead of resistance, ensuring the contra-coup injury of realisation results in the persistent vegetative state of acquiescence.
I have to cut down on beer.
There is no sad faced emoticon sad faced enough to depict how sad faced the emoticon I want to put here is but, take my word for it, it's pretty sad faced.
I reluctantly agree and come to the conclusion that, if beer's not there, I probably won't drink it, so I'm not buying any for the house.
The beer cupboard can go back to being called the fridge.
Despite my sacrifices and my general spurning of all things hedonisitc, I am not, as many people have wondered, an ascetic monk. Beer has been with me for a long time. It stands to reason that I'm going to need something to reduce the separation anxiety. With this firmly in mind, I went to the supermarket and examined alternatives.
Happily, they had exactly the thing to take my mind off beer:
As long as I have a decent bottle of single malt in the house, I shall not want for more calorific beverages, so this is practically a new diet plan all on it's own.
I might market it and call it the Proprietary Innovative Sure Slim Ethanolic Diversionary technique for weight loss.
It has a catchy acronym so I should make a killing.