Category Archives: Dieting

Christmas Leftovers

I’ve already published a version of this recipe and have adapted it for the traditional Yule turkey and ham which usually ends up in sandwiches, curries or pies.

Many years ago, I was driving through East Germany (don’t ask!)  and heard this on my car radio. It was read out on an English-speaking radio station and the presenter was obviously reading it for the first time, because after he’d read it out, he appeared to have a  severe coughing fit.

I won’t bother with a list of ingredients because there aren’t many but I guarantee that you WILL want to try this:

Preheat your oven to LOW but DO NOT attempt this dish in a gas oven. Use Electric or better-still, an Aga !

Take equal quantities of turkey and ham…but if you have no ham, then cooked sausage-meat will do.

500g of each is ideal but the weight may be varied.

Place the meat in the middle of a large sheet of foil (with a bit of luck, you should have some turkey foil left over).

Fashion the meat into a log shape, season with salt and pepper and fold the foil around it. Then roll it in the foil as tightly as possible and twist the ends so that you have an object resembling a large boiled sweet.

Place this on the rack of a high-sided roasting tin – the sort that in which you might have roasted your Christmas turkey. However, make sure that the roasting tin is very clean. Arrange sliced lemon segments around the perimeter of the roasting tin.

For the gravy: Into the roasting tin, pour one bottle of Gordon’s Gin and one bottle of Smirnoff Vodka and (if there’s room), half a bottle of Grouse Whisky.

Place the whole lot on the middle shelf of the preheated oven and cook for 30 seconds.

Remove from the oven.

Discard the foil-wrapped meat.

Drink the gravy!

Happy New Year!

Billy the Skid


Many years ago, I used to live in Antibes which is in the Midi region of France – between Cannes and Nice. One day, I was on a yacht in the harbour and happened to look across at the boat next door. A man appeared to be drilling a hole in his leg. I shouted to him, asking whether he was all right. He was an Irish shipwright and had been  cutting wooden plugs to glue into the deck of the boat that he was working-on. He’d just run out of wood and as he needed only one more wooden plug, he had decided to use his electric plug-cutter to extract a plug from his own wooden leg. We talked and went to the local bar for a drink. During a very long drunken evening, he told me the following story which he swore was true. Surprisingly, it was not about his wooden leg but about a friend of his. I wrote-up the story about 20 years ago and have only just found it again on an old disc. This is very, very sad story of BILLY THE SKID.

Billy was a very ordinary man – he was in his mid-thirties, slightly overweight, single and still lived with his aged mother.

His life used to be very simple and extremely ordered. Every morning, Billy would have a cooked breakfast, pick up his ham sandwiches and leave for work. He was a junior clerk in a small insurance office.

He would sit at his desk all day – he would even eat his sandwiches at the desk . On the dot of five o’clock, he would stand, put on his jacket, ensure that his bicycle clips were on properly, say good-bye to his employers and leave for home.

When he arrived home ten minutes later, his tea would be waiting for him on the table. He would kiss his mother and eat his liver and onions or his shepherds pie whilst reading the evening paper.

Then he would sit and watch the television until the pub opened.

He was normally the first in. He would order a pint and wait for his friends who would filter in during the next hour or so.

That was Billy’s life. Sad but uncomplicated.

This particular evening was to be the evening which changed Billy’s life and cause him to reappraise his whole lifestyle.

Billy and his friends spent the whole evening drinking lots of pints of beer whilst exchanging the same platitudes that they had been recycling since their schooldays. Then, about ten minutes before closing time, Billy had an urge to visit the lavatory.

He put down his pint and hurried through the crowd to the pub’s toilet. His timing was immaculate. In one movement, he turned, closed the latch on the toilet door, flicked his trousers open, slid the zip down and flipped down the wooden toilet seat.

The heavy seat crashed down onto the toilet bowl just as Billy’s ample rump reversed onto it. It had been close on this occasion. Seconds later, he’d enjoyed one of the biggest bowel movements that he could remember. He groaned, leaned forward and held his head in both hands. He imagined that this just had to be better then sex!

It was only when he was reaching for the toilet tissue that he noticed something. Although he had removed his trousers, in his tipsy haste, he had omitted to remove his Y-fronts which, needless to say were now full and weighing about half a stone.

” Shit!” he hissed rather appropriately and then “Shit!” again as he heard the familiar ring of the pub’s bell signifying that it was closing time.

(The following part of the story is a reconstruction as Billy was to spend the next two hours drifting in and out of consciousness.)

Panic caused Billy to attempt to stand with his trousers still around his ankles. He stumbled backwards and sat on the edge of the toilet seat.

However, the contents of his Y-fronts caused him to slip off the edge of the seat and onto the floor. As he tried to regain his balance, he managed to hit the back of his head on the low-level cistern, and sustained a deep cut. Billy also vaguely remembers grazing his fist on the toilet wall and he also recalls vomiting as he fell and lapsed into unconsciousness.

He ended up in a seated position, just in front of the toilet bowl . There was vomit down his shirt-front and the backof his head was seeping blood onto the toilet bowl.

Meanwhile, back in the bar, his friends, assuming that Billy must have gone home, said their good-byes and left. One of Billy’s friends thoughtfully finished the pint that Billy had left on the bar. The owner of the pub cleared up all the glasses and about half an hour later came into the toilets to hose down any mess. He was surprised to see a pair of legs sticking out from below the door of one of the toilet cubicles. He recognised the legs immediately.

” Billy!” he shouted, ” are you OK?”

There was no sound.

” He’s had a bloody heart attack!” the barman shook one of Billy’s legs and soon realised that there was no way that he would be able to drag Billy out of the cubicle. The solution was simple – he would have to break the door down.

The barman went into the adjacent cubicle and standing on the toilet, looked in on Billy. Billy was slumped against the toilet bowl and looked to be in a bit of a mess. The barman walked to the other side of the toilet and propelled himself at the door of Billy’s cubicle. The latch and lock were ripped from the doorpost as the door smashed inwards.

Unfortunately, at the precise moment that the barman’s shoulder connected with the door, Billy was regaining consciousness and began to sit up . Regrettably, at the instant that Billy sat up, the toilet door flew inwards and connected with his face and broke his nose. The whiplash threw Billy’s head backwards onto the toilet bowl where he sustained another cut to the back of his head.

Once again Billy was unconscious.

The barman soon realised that Billy had not had a heart attack and had probably been in some sort of fight. He dragged Billy from the toilet and with a little bit of a struggle, managed to pull up his trousers.

He plucked some toilet tissue from the holder and wiped-down Billy’s face, head and shirt-front. By now, Billy was once again recovering consciousness and as he attempted a more vertical position, he moaned occasionally.

However, he was not yet confident enough to attempt to stand.

“Wait here Billy,” whispered the barman unnecessarily, “Ill call you a cab. Your mum will sort you out!”

Billy mumbled through the blood and vomit.

” You’ll be OK,” added the barman rather optimistically.

Billy lay on the wet floor for another ten minutes while his clothes slowly soaked-up the stale urine and disinfectant from the concrete floor. He attempted to stand only once. Unfortunately, he slipped , landed on his left knee and cracked his kneecap.

The main toilet door swung open and the barman entered with another individual who took one look at Billy and said, ” I ain’t putting that in me cab. Sod off!”

As the cabby turned, the barman took out a twenty pound note from his hip pocket and held it out. ” He lives about a quarter of a mile down the road . We’ll clean him up. He’ll be OK”

Without a sound, the cabby took the note.

Between them they cleaned Billy up and pulled-up his trousers . The barman handed Billy a towel soaked in cold water and said ” Hold this on your nose Billy. You’ll be OK.” Billy nodded as he was helped to his feet and dragged through the bar to the cab. The night air hit Billy like a sledgehammer and in spite of the mild shock that his body was experiencing, he began to feel the onset of the ” whirling pits”. Past experience told him that if he kept his eyes open, he would not be sick.

Depositing Billy in the back of the cab was quite a struggle because Billy had difficulty in bending his left leg. He had also become very aware of the contents of his Y-fronts. Luckily, neither the cabby nor the barman were conscious of Billy’s predicament.

After the cabby had spread a travel rug over the back seat ” just in case”, they decided that the only solution was to somehow push Billy onto the back seat. They took a two-step run-up, each holding an arm. As they propelled him through the cab’s door, Billy hit his head on the door post and once again lapsed into semi-consciousness. However, the cabby managed to shut the door behind the twitching Billy.

The cabby fired up the engine and spent a couple of minutes listening to the barman giving directions to Billy’s house. As he selected first gear, the cabby said to the barman. “If he pukes, I’m coming back for another twenty quid. So don’t go anywhere for the next ten minutes. I might be back!”

” He’ll be OK,” offered the barman rather lamely, ” He’ll be OK”

By the time the cab was in third gear, the cabby felt a movement on the back seat and automatically looked in the rear-view mirror. The grinning apparition that appeared in the mirror caused him to swerve – until he realised that the hideous mask in the miror was Billy, his passenger.

The motion of the cab had awoken Billy and he had struggled into a semi-seated position because he was again beginning to experience the “whirling pits” and was about to part with the remaining contents of his stomach. He’d had liver and onions for tea, followed by three cups of tea, a steamed treacle pudding , seven pints of bitter and two packets of pork scratchings.

The cabby squinted into the rear-view mirror ” Are you OK mate? You look as if you’re going to throw u………….!!!”

Too late! The back of the cabby’s head took the first wave and by the time that the emergency stop had been completed and Billy’s face had come into contact with the driver’s headrest.

Billy’s stomach was now totally empty and Billy had yet another injury. The cabby had not strapped Billy into his seat. Mind you, had Billy’s forehead not contacted with the headrest on the back of the cabbies seat, his injuries could have been far more serious and he would not again have been merely semi-conscious.

The cabby leapt out of the car and in his haste, almost pulled the rear door from its hinges.

” Bastard!” he screamed as he dragged Billy out of the back seat by his legs. ” Bastard!”

The cabby then noticed the large wet discolouration on the back of Billy’s trousers. He looked at the spot on the back seat where Billy had been sitting. ” Bastard!” he screamed once again as he kicked Billy in the crotch several times. Luckily, Billy was feeling no pain.

There was a trail of smoking rubber as the cab took off, executed a perfect hand brake turn and headed back in the direction of the pub.

Billy lay by the side of the road and slept.

He awoke about twenty minutes later and although in a bit of a mess, he managed to stand and realised that he was only about one-hundred yards from his home. He began the long limp home and luckily for him, although long and  uncomfortable, the journey was otherwise uneventful.

He managed to find his mother’s house and it was not until he had managed to negotiate the front gate and was walking up the garden path that he had another dizzy spell. He fell into one of his mum’s rosebushes. Luckily he did have the presence of mind to hold out his arms to break his fall and only sustained slight scratches to his hands and face. It took him several minutes to disengage himself from the rosebush and in the process, he ripped his shirt, trousers and jacket.

Billy screamed and was dimly aware that the light in his mother’s bedroom had come on. Even in this confused state he knew that he should not disturb his mother. He fumbled in his pockets and eventually managed to find the front-door key.

Fitting a key into a Yale lock in the dark is never easy. Tonight the task proved even more difficult than usual but soon Billy was standing triumphantly in the front room.

He needed a cup of tea . Yes that was it! A cup of tea. Then he would sort himself out!

He dragged himself into the kitchen, filled the kettle from the kitchen-sink tap and put it onto the old-fashioned gas stove. At last he was back in control!

He turned on the gas and went to the cupboard where he knew the matches were kept. By the time he lit the gas there was only enough gas to cause a very minor explosion. The singed hands and eyebrows seemed a minor irrelevance as he waited for the kettle to boil.

Billy had only poured enough water into the kettle for about two cups of tea. He waited for a couple of minutes until the kettle’s whistle began its high-pitched murmur.

Billy smiled as he turned off the gas and lifted the kettle from the stove. His teacup was ready with one teabag and three sugars in it and he had even put the milk bottle next to the cup. He was sure that nothing more could go wrong.

They say that bad luck is merely a question of bad timing. Billy had a slight memory lapse. Unluckily for him, it took place in that one or two seconds when he was swinging the kettle from the gas ring to the teacup. Billy had forgotten that the metal handle on his mother’s ancient kettle had a tendency to become extremely hot. He dropped the kettle and began to scream as boiling water spilled from the kettle and soaked into the front of his trousers.

At that precise moment, his mother appeared at the kitchen door in dressing gown and curlers. She was holding a heavy broom. For some time now she had been fed-up with Billy going to the pub and coming back later and later and waking her up. Tonight’s racket was the final straw.

” Don’t…you…ever…dare…to…come…back….so ….late…. and wake….me…up….!” Each word was punctuated with a blow from the broom to the back of the cowering Billy’s head.

Billy could do little to defend himself and once again took refuge in unconsciousness. His mother left him where he fell.

The following morning Billy was admitted to the local hospital and still believes that he sustained the highest number and variety of injuries ever sustained in one evening.

More importantly, however, Billy is now completely teetotal but refuses to leave his room.

Want to live forever? Why?

old-woman.jpg BEFORE





“If you had to pick one thing to make people healthier as they age, it would be aerobic exercise”

That was said by  Professor James Fries  who is the founder and Medical Director of Healthtrac as well as a Professor of Medicine at Stanford University.

More academic nonsense?

A study  appears to have  shown that running on a regular basis can slow the effects of ageing. The study also showed that elderly joggers were half as likely to die prematurely from conditions like cancer than non-runners and that they also enjoyed a healthier life with fewer disabilities. 

The research tracked 500 runners  in their 50s for more than 20 years, comparing them to a similar group of non-runners.  Nineteen years into the study, 34% of the non-runners had died compared to only 15% of the runners.

Both groups became more disabled with age  but for the runners the onset of disability started an average of 16 years later. The health gap between the runners and non-runners continued to widen.  Running not only appeared to slow the rate of heart-related deaths  but there were fewer early deaths from cancer, neurological disease, infections and other causes.

Professor James Fries  said: “The study has a very pro-exercise message. If you had to pick one thing to make people healthier as they age, it would be aerobic exercise. The health benefits of exercise are greater than we thought.”

It is easy to criticise results such as the ones shown above but  such evaluations,  based upon quasi-experimental designs are typically plagued by problems of nonequivalence between the experimental and comparison group prior to the experiment. 

For instance, did the “joggers” already have a predisposition towards jogging and general well-being? Did they receive more attention which motivated them – e.g as in the Westinghouse experiment where factory-worker productivity was initially associated with varying light-levels – until it was shown that it was not an increase in the light level which resulted in increased productivity  but that the workers’ motivation had been affected by the experiment itself.

The mere fact of someone (the researchers) showing an interest in their output, increased the output.

It is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to isolate the effects of the “jogging” programme from the confounding effects associated with the relevant preexisting differences between the groups.

Other figures show more than 90% of people in the UK over 75 fail to meet international guidelines of half-an-hour moderate intensity exercise at least five times a week. That statistic probably applies to the entire population.

And what do we do with our old people here in the United Kingdom? We stick them is homes and they end their days sitting still, staring out of a window or watching television. NHS guidelines say “taking a brisk walk, spending some time doing the gardening or doing a few laps of the local swimming pool on the way home from work” can all improve health.

Good advice – although not very realistic. Is there any evidence of the NHS actually encouraging exercise – apart from issuing reports and edicts? Judging by all those fat-bottomed nurses and alcohol-dependent  doctors – No!

On the other hand, researchers from Exeter and Brunel Universities said these activities were unlikely to provide many benefits. “It’s extremely worrying that British adults now believe that a brief stroll and a bit of gardening is enough to make them fit and healthy,”said Dr Gary O’Donovan. “Brisk walking offers some health benefits, but jogging, running and other vigorous activities offer maximal protection from disease.”

Other specialists said the survey results were not surprising, and that few people met the guidelines for moderate exercise.

The Professor of Exercise and Obesity at Leeds Metropolitan, said it was very difficult to formulate a “one size fits all” policy to exercise, as moderate exercise for one would be intense for another. Another one from the Ministry of the Bleedin’ Obvious.

He also stressed that public misunderstandings about exercise could not be blamed solely on the government, as academics themselves were continually formulating new theories.

Firstly, I had no idea that there was such a thing as a  Professor of Exercise and Obesity or even something called “Leeds Metropolitan”.  Secondly, at least he admitted that they too were at a loss.

Meanwhile, how many people over 65 do we see jogging? As near as damn it – NONE.

Not surprisingly,  two more separate and apparently contradictory reports emerged. One report found that walking less than the current guidelines stipulated had significant health benefits; another suggested a minimum of 20 minutes of vigorous exercise three times a week was needed for good health.

In addition, no-one is clear what part exercise really plays in preventing disease.  

A Department of Health spokesperson said its guidelines were “based on a comprehensive review of the evidence, carried out by a team of academics and expert advisers. We take a keen interest in new developments in this area, but there are no plans at present to change the existing recommendations for adults.” Great.

There appears to be  a new industry which concerns itself with the acquisition of meaningless statistics. For instance,  researchers have  examined mortality rate data for religious professionals in America and Europe and compared them with the rate for those of the same age, sex and race in the general population. “In almost all the data studied,” the study reported, “the SMR (standardized mortality rate) was below 90 percent, which means that 10 percent fewer clergy died than did ordinary people.”

Ministers, priests, vicars and nuns in general were far less prone than most to ailments such as heart disease and cancer.

What do we do, become a priest or a nun? Is it the altar wine or lack of sex? Classical musicians  live a long time – and they spend a lot of their time sitting about.  What do we do – learn to play the fiddle?  Stick a cello between our legs?? Athletes do not live to any great age and neither do doctors.

From the supine to the mediculous.

No-one really knows what helps people to live to a good active old age. Diet? Exercise? Lifestyle? Genes? Location?

There are hundreds of “gurus” who will tell you how to live forever. Most of them  are trying to sell you some sort of potion, food supplement or book. Ignore their botoxed adverts.

I think that before we look at what is going to help you to live longer is to list what is the most likely to kill you. Firstly here  is a list which was derived statistically.

For those of you who are so stressed that you will add up the percentages and then worry that they do not add up to 100% – don’t worry! 

The list is potentially a long one. These are the main killers and all the other weird and wonderful ways of killing yourself that remain are under the heading “OTHERS” :

Heart Disease 27%

Cancer 23%

Stroke 6%

Respiratory Disease 5%

Accidents 4.5% (2% = vehicle-related)

Diabetes 3%

Pneumonia/Flu 2%

Kidney Disease 2%

Septicemia 1%

Others : 27.5%

The next list consists of only four items because I have tried to simplify what can easily grow into a report or a book. These are the Root Causes which will prevent you from living too long:

Negative emotions or Life distress


Lack of Movement


In 1970, the National Geographic published a report which located the so-called world’s “BLUE ZONES” (Areas or places in the world where people live for an exceptionally long time). 

There is also a current study and a book entitles “The BLUE ZONES” by Dan Buettner. These are the areas with the highest average age and incidentally – none of  the people  jog or engage in any form of violent exercise :

OKINAWA – Philipines. They have a cultural practice of Hari Hachi whereby they restrict their calories. “Eat unil you are 80% full”

HUNZA VALLEY – Pakistan. They primarily eat grains and vegetables and lots of apricots.

VILCAMBAMBA – Southern Ecuador.  They primarily eat seeds and nuts and wholegrains and drink their own mineral water.

ABKHAZIA – Southern Russia. They tend to eat less than 2000 calories per day. They never retire and look forward to the respect that they gain when they become old. Their diet is rich in grain and nuts.

There are other groups which enjoy longevity – notably LOMA LINDA in California, a small area of SARDINIA  as well as MONGOLIA.

All these people have the following in common:


No smoking

A Plant-based diet

Moderate physical activity

Social Engagement

Legumes (beans, peas, peanuts, lentils etc)

A stress-free old-age

Different groups will claim that it is the Fava beans, high polyphenol wines, nuts, turmeric , chocolate or even a belief in God that keeps them going into their 90s and above.

Some of them eat meat but not in any great quantity – so it is not what we call “vegetarianism”.

They also appear to have a higher-than-average intake of Vitamin E. Vitamin E is found in “yellow” foods as well as : Almonds , Asparagus , Avocado , Nuts , Peanuts , Olives  , Seeds , Spinach (and other green leafy vegetables) , Vegetable oils  (corn, sunflower, soybean, cottonseed ), Wheat germ.

So for the moment, we research while they live for ever.

Remember just one thing : There are  fat people, there are old people but there are few fat old people .

Prezza the Yakmeister


“I could sup a whole tin of Carnation condensed milk, just for the taste, stupid things like that. Marks & Spencer trifles, I still love them, one of my favourites. I can eat them for ever. Whenever I go to Mr Chu’s in Hull, my favourite Chinese restaurant in the whole world . . . I could eat my way through the entire menu.”

Difficult to know whether to take Prezza’s bulimia “confession” seriously. After all, he is marketing his autobiography.

If you Google “bulimia” you will see that there are only two bulimia jokes – the one about the cake jumping out of the girl and the one about the two-fingered pudding .

I fully empathise with John. Whenever I have a big Chinese meal washed down with a gallon of lager – I yak up. I must be bulimic.

Once, I ate a couple of those steak and kidney pies in a tin, followed by a tub of ice cream and a bottle of red wine. I threw up. The bulimia had struck again.

My most memorable attack of bulimia was many years ago when my mate took about six of us for a meal. We had steak, chips, black forest gateau, Irish coffee and about four pints of Guinness. We then went back to his newly-decorated flat and I found a bottle of Johny Walker. I managed to get through about half of the bottle before the bulimia got me – all over the brand-new carpet and up the wall.

However, looking at Prezza’s waist measurement I would suggest that as well as bulimia, he could also be suffering from amnesia because he obviously forgets to be sick.

A related disease is Anorexia. That is when someone looks in a mirror and their mis-perception tells them that instead of a thin person, the reflection in the mirror looks like that of a fat person. Prezza is obviously anorexic as well.

Do you recall the days when Tony was away on his Tuscany hols  and Prezza was left in charge?  Does that mean that instead of sitting at the desk making paperclip chains, he had his head down the big porcelain trombone, two fingers down his throat , gagging and shouting for God?  Or “Tony” as he preferred to be called.

Ricky Gervais: Comedian, Con-Artist or Tosser?

Am I the only one who thinks that there is a touch of the Emperor’s New Clothes about Ricky Gervais.

He is not a comedian. He is not funny. His early pop “career” shows nothing more than the fact that his primary motivation has simply been the acquisition of fame.

Stephen Merchant is the main man. Without him, Gervais is a nobody.

Did you see Gervais die on his arse during his first real test – the Diana concert? When challenged about this, he said:

“After the Diana concert there was one guy – who works for a tabloid – and he wrote that the crowd booed. They didn’t boo, they loved it. People love it when something goes wrong and I was standing there and they demanded I do the ‘robot dance’ and it was funny. But this guy wrote, ‘He’s rubbish, everything he’s ever done is rubbish and it’s all over for him’.

The next bit of what Gervais said was the most telling:

“That week I got nominated for four Emmy Awards, sold 100,000 DVDs of Extras and signed up for two Hollywood movies. So bring on the backlash… I want him writing about me every day.”

Where was talk of the Art, the Process, the Comedy, the Triumphs, the Tears, the years spent perfecting the “Act” ?

This man is so two-dimensional, he could probably score a part on the Simpsons.

Ricky – You are not only delusional but without Stephen – you are nobody.

Yes, yes,  we know that you have achieved a record number of Letterman appearances for a “comedian”  but remember that in the land of hand Merchants, the one-handed man is King.

( Do you realise that if Stephen had written that and you had said it (with a ……pause and a bit of….irony) –  then the sycophants, bum-chum Jonathan and the Americans would have thought that it  was a vintage Gervais rib-tickler!!) (OOH!!!)

Ricky – you are as lucky as any Lottery winner.

You can now go on Richard and Judy and say something like: ” Yeh……….I’m not a comedian………I’m just a genius who got lucky. Yeh……” They will laugh at the self-deprecating “irony” . But then again, they have already bought into the scam.

And remember: Sales volume is not necessarily talent.

Please give up the “stand-up”.  The false confidence that you are displaying on stage is a function of your current bank balance. It is not real.

Bucks = Confidence Arrogance.

What did you say?   You sold all the seats?  Future bookings?  Money?  DVD sales?

But you are NOT funny.

Questions for Fatsos.

“Is it in yet?”

Not so long ago, I walked into our local school playground. The sight that battered my eyeballs made me think that I had blundered into an arse-growing competition where there were no losers. There also appeared to be a gut growing competition in the corner. Many easily qualified for both competitions. Sadly, these were adults  in their 20s and 30s waiting to pick up their young children.  If you are a fat bastard of either sex (or American), stop dieting, read the next few lines, wake up and smell the flatulence. 

Let’s face it – you’re fat. Why are you fat?   Because you eat and drink too much. Yes, yes – It’s to do with big bones or shall we use the water-retention excuse today. No – I’ll tell you what – it’s a medical condition! That one never fails to get sympathy. You’re ill, that’s what you are. Hormonal is good as well.


You’re not the sort of person who:

Drinks alcohol. Eats biscuits by the packet. Eats crisps. Cooks shit food.  Eats the so-called orange food: Chips, nuggets, fish fingers, beans, chicken kiev, battered stuff , biscuits, tea, beer etc. Just loves fish and chips. Will get round to exercising next month and when you sign the membership form to the exercise class:  “Let’s have a slap-up meal and a drink just to celebrate joining the gym. After all – it will probably be the last proper meal that I will ever have”.  BOLLOCKS!             

What about:   Lousy in bed and consequently not getting any proper sex?  Never had a orgasm?  Husband left you for a younger (thinner) woman?  Wife left you?  Isn’t she looking glam these days? Not got your figure back since you had that child? Hardly eat a thing? Never ever ate the leftovers? Look for any excuse to “celebrate”? Drink a bottle of wine while cooking? Buy sweets?

“ Well dear – they are just for the kids” “I’ll stop when I’ve finished this tin of sweets.” “ I wish that people would stop giving us biscuits for Christmas.”  “I used to think it clever to get out of PE and games at school. ” “I am a virgin.”  

No jeans? Know the calorific value of everything? Love a glass of white wine? (non-fattening you know) Drink Vodka? ( least fattening of all the hard alcohols).  Have never worn a bikini? Eat like a pig at Christmas? “ Well it is just once a year, isn’t it?”  Do you eat very delicately when you are being watched.  Do you make a big deal of not being hungry when someone else cooks for you? Is your life an unhappy sham?  Do you hate your husband? Do you hate your wife/girlfriend? (or both?). Do you read trashy romantic novels? Are you lonely?  

Is your waist the same size or bigger than your chest? Do you wear baggy jumpers? Do you say “ Well, just one then.” and then proceed to eat as many as you can? Is your mother fat? Have you ever said that ”It’s the person you are that really matters”?  Do you ever wear tracksuit bottoms because it makes your gutbucket stomach happier? Is your husband an ugly bastard? Is your wife a woofer? Are your brothers and sisters fat ? Were you a bloater at school? Were you bullied at school because you were a bloater? Do you have a 99 in your ice-cream? – “Well it is the summer isn’t it?” Chinese takeaways? Indian Takeaways? Pizza? (all washed down with a bucket of diet(?) coke).

Have you ever had a walk in the countryside? Have you started to read the Lonely Hearts columns with a bit more intensity? Have you ever had a walk? ( N.B. There is no typographical error in the preceding sentence). On holiday, do you waddle to the beach and sit eating sweets and sandwiches and drinking pop and beer all day? “Well, it is just once a year”

Tried every diet? You are probably on a diet right now. Michael Winner and Anne Widdecombe (and spygun likes them both) have both said the most sensible thing ever  as far as losing weight is concerned : EAT LESS YOU FAT BASTARD.

 ‘Nuff said.