As I walked to work yesterday morning I had a very happy relisation. The weight loss I have achieved has turned previously normal-looking trousers in MC Hammer-stylee Parachute Pants.
I was so taken by this I felt the urge to do the "Chinese Typewriter" all the way to work (Left leg over right leg then reverse; left leg forward, right leg back and reverse - distant memory of doing it in a bad club badly when I was 18. Very drunk). I was already almost late, though, so I ended up walking. Dance's loss is software's gain, I suppose.
Although I will always maintain that I never intended to lose weight, it was, however, necessary and inevitable and I am loving it. I feel better, more ready-for-anything and I no longer hear the teens laughing at me. But that might be because my headphones are louder.
My joy turned to fear when I watched Greg Wallace on Pro Masterchef last night. I have a huge amount of respect for Wallace. Boy done good. He has lost weight and has fronted Weight Watchers. He has also perfected the paedosmile. Check out the adverts and Buttery Biscuit Base on Youtube.
But Greg is, hmmm, of an age where weight loss has its downsides. Loose skin, gauntness etc. I know there is a certain point in your life where you can no longer 'bounce' back from being a big fat fatty and Greg is on the cusp. I worry where I (and my body) am. My belly is a private shame. Although one that will never been seen outside of a small resort in Nantes. STOP.
Hammertime.
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