Warning: CJ is rude about weight loss, weight, television, pantomine dames and fatness. If you are offended by such things, do not read further. In fact try another blog. CJ is rude about everything, but mainly psychics, ghosthunters and Richard Dawkins. Not in that order.
I am Fat
Well I am fat. Obscenely, horrendously, miserably, intolerably fat. I was always aware I was fat, but a recent photo of me at St Briavels Castle made it clear — I am hideous! (OK, this may be the most unflattering photo ever, but you get the point…)
Yes I know I am wearing a pink beret, a pink scarf and a shawl. They belong to Natalie and Lorna, and no I would not willingly dress like this, the girls mugged me and made me don such silly apparel. For which fact you should all give praise to God — imagine meeting that coming through Tesco aisles towards you on a Friday night? Every little helps, but not with a heart attack it doesn’t. Or if you are made of sterner stuff, you might just die laughing. Or weep in sympathy, if of charitable disposition. Anyway you don’t want to see people willingly dressed like that.
So I figure I need to find out how overweight I am, and finding myself passing Boots the Chemist, which has a “I speak your weight” machine which actually does no such thing, discretely printing it instead on a slip of paper, I succumbed. (The “I shout your weight” machine should be invented for the benefit of bored shop assistants. One customer in ten it just sets off a siren and starts shouting insults along with the customers weight. Except people would be upset and sue – it is after all the machines fault they are morbidly obese porkers, like er, well, me.)
And you know what? I’m really overweight. Well two and half stone over the top of my right weight for height, which given my height is not enough to make me in the red “have you considered a Co-op funeral plan?” category to mean I will not see Christmas, but is so far in to the yellow “I look like I have liver failure” bit that I may not live to see 2012 and the Mayans hoover us all up or whatever is supposed to happen. Bummer.
Now there are lots of really good reasons why people get fat, many medical, many quite sad. My uncle weighed 54 stone, lived to a ripe old age and was a wonderful mortician. He died after he had slimmed, and slipped on the ice and struck his head. I could not help wondering if it would have happened if he had not lost the weight – but anyway, he was a great example of someone who is obese for medical reasons, which do not seem to much impact his general health, given his longevity and quality of life. A few of you met uncle Ted, and can attest to his joyful happy existence. I have no time for the cult of anorexia, and the super-skinny fad. Size zero? Get lost.
Supersize versus Superskinny
It was a shame to see the journalist Anna Richardson, a lovely attractive woman who I have met a few times and is not in the least overweight on this Supersize vs. Superskinny show talking about her weight loss plans. OK Anna, if by some bizarre chance you read this give up on the weight loss, it’s no better than the psychic artists! As I recall you are gloriously sexy in real life, so cut out the “I’m lardy” nonsense and the huffing around with a bunch of jolly welsh WI types, nice lasses all from what I saw, and get back to counting the profits from this production… 🙂 You do not need the LA treatment, you need a sympathetic commissioning editor and a better pitch – this show is strangely compelling though!:) Wonder what, other than this, Anna doing these days? Last I saw she was hanging around with Ben Devlin in a TV studio in the basement of a North London club, making stuff for Living TV? Well anyway Supersize versus Superskinny is probably one of her productions, and it was bizarrely interesting for someone like me who has absolutely no interest in diets – till now. BAh, I’m being nice about a TV show – this will never do!
Um, actually is seeing that show why I think I’m fat? Am I really actually svelte and graceful? Have I been traumatized by a TV show? I’ll get my solicitors on to it in the morning. Oh no, I remember – it was the Widow Twanky photo and the fact I’m a fat b*stard.
So I have to get a plan. I’m two and a half stone in to the Sheriff Fatman dimension. Baby Isabelle born to my friends Steve and Carol earlier today is about a quarter of what I need to lose: unfortunately despite appearances, I am not pregnant.
On my Bike
So I have made a decision. My old bike has rusted solid, so I need a new bike. I am now going to attempt a cost/benefit exercise on if I get a new bike or not.
I get to exercise
It beats walking
I get to kill old ladies at the sight of my bare arse hanging over the saddle
I get to places quicker.
The fatness may kill me
I dislike exercise of any type. Well almost!
Cycling round here requires a death wish. I will get run over!
Old ladies may jab me in the rear with their brolly’s as my undignified flab slowly rumbles past, asthmatically wheezing
I have no where to go, on foot or bike.
Cars WILL kill me. I know nothing of roads, I grew up on a farm.
That last thought made me consider buying a horse instead. I’m not sure when I can pasture said beastie, but I will see if the town has a medieval charter or if I can find any local Commons rights in medieval legal manuscripts that I can invoke. Maybe I can pasture my horse in the town hall? Failing that I can apply for a residents parking permit for the local multistorey, buy a load of hay, and stable it there.
Bah, humbug. I don’t like horses. Big smelly things that bite your legs off if I remember Becky correctly.
So bike or fat?
In 2007 136 cyclists were killed in the UK, with 2,428 seriously injured.
Obesity kills around 30,000 a year according to the NHS.
So the answer is clear, and CJ is buying a bicycle. Well he bought the Echo, and is going to look for a very cheap machine. Wish me luck! It sounds like in answer to the question bike or fat, fat kills you faster. 🙂
So we will see. Watch this space.