I have a belly. In common with a fair few other chaps, my belly is a bit bulgy, and does obscure my view of my genitalia with its' swollen girth - something I am rather grateful of, franky - but I am starting to worry that it needs to go down if I am to avoid an early death caused by slight fatness. Don't get me wrong, I don't have body image dysmorphia or any such nonsense. I'm not morbidly obese, or even 'fat' - I'm only somewhere between a 34 and a 36 inch waist (technically, if someone started making 35 inch trousers I'd be able to do away with Jeremy Clarkson Bulge every time I don a pair of 34's) - but I am getting a bit porky. On the rare time that I catch my reflection in a shop window as I walk past, I see it bulging out ahead of me as though I were pregnant with a Nissan Micra. Annoyingly, my arms and legs and face are quite normal, and lack the fatness of my distended gut, giving me the mismatched appearance of someone wearing only the abdominal part of a fat suit. I need to get rid of it, but there are several obstacles to this end:
1) I have no willpower when it comes to eating nice food. If you put a packet of bourbon creams on the desk next to me (he says, looking across at the now decimated packet of bourbon creams on the desk next to him) expect it to be gone in the time it takes you to even register its' presence. If there is no crappy food in the house, I will go and get some. Hmm, Super Noodles, or a bar of chocolate...chocolate. Nom nom nom. So the diet of shit is unlikely to end anytime soon.
2) Exercise is, to me, something that should only ever happen to other people. Don't get me wrong, I once ran for a bus, so I know what it's like, I just don't ever want to have to do it again. It makes you sweat and consequently smell like an Olympic runners' jockstrap, and if the almost apopleptic, wheezing mounds of blubber I see jogging around the Avenues I see on an evening are an indication of 'health' then you can keep it. Chase me with an axe or a gun or something, and I will move like the wind. Give me a vague notion about death through lack of fitness, and I will prevaricate like a politician being asked a direct question. I'm rubbish at willpower, basically.
3) I ought to walk, but I quite like sitting down and exploring the world via the interweb, which on its' own is the greatest procrastinatory tool known to humanity. Also, I like writing and have been doing more and more of it of late, working hard on my five part end of the world extravaganza. All of the above involves sitting down and none of it involves going for long walks and running the risk of setting out in shorts and a t-shirt only to be soaked pissless when the weather decides to change its mind for the fifteenth fucking time in an hour. I'm off on a walking holiday to Wales in a couple of weeks time, so I know I should be getting fit and practising, but there's a really good article on Wikipedia that I just have to read about the life cycle of the cabbage white butterfly...
Still, my girlfriend is staying over at my house this week so hopefully some of her healthy eating habits will rub off on me and I will be dissuaded from eating a whole massive bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk for lunch, and cook something decent for dinner rather than devour a whole pack of custard creams. In fact, right now I am cooking us up some Quorn sausages and beans for tea, so there you go. Apart from the whole pack of bourbons, that gets the week off to a good start! Fingers crossed that I can get to the end of the week and be a little lighter...
1) I have no willpower when it comes to eating nice food. If you put a packet of bourbon creams on the desk next to me (he says, looking across at the now decimated packet of bourbon creams on the desk next to him) expect it to be gone in the time it takes you to even register its' presence. If there is no crappy food in the house, I will go and get some. Hmm, Super Noodles, or a bar of chocolate...chocolate. Nom nom nom. So the diet of shit is unlikely to end anytime soon.
2) Exercise is, to me, something that should only ever happen to other people. Don't get me wrong, I once ran for a bus, so I know what it's like, I just don't ever want to have to do it again. It makes you sweat and consequently smell like an Olympic runners' jockstrap, and if the almost apopleptic, wheezing mounds of blubber I see jogging around the Avenues I see on an evening are an indication of 'health' then you can keep it. Chase me with an axe or a gun or something, and I will move like the wind. Give me a vague notion about death through lack of fitness, and I will prevaricate like a politician being asked a direct question. I'm rubbish at willpower, basically.
3) I ought to walk, but I quite like sitting down and exploring the world via the interweb, which on its' own is the greatest procrastinatory tool known to humanity. Also, I like writing and have been doing more and more of it of late, working hard on my five part end of the world extravaganza. All of the above involves sitting down and none of it involves going for long walks and running the risk of setting out in shorts and a t-shirt only to be soaked pissless when the weather decides to change its mind for the fifteenth fucking time in an hour. I'm off on a walking holiday to Wales in a couple of weeks time, so I know I should be getting fit and practising, but there's a really good article on Wikipedia that I just have to read about the life cycle of the cabbage white butterfly...
Still, my girlfriend is staying over at my house this week so hopefully some of her healthy eating habits will rub off on me and I will be dissuaded from eating a whole massive bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk for lunch, and cook something decent for dinner rather than devour a whole pack of custard creams. In fact, right now I am cooking us up some Quorn sausages and beans for tea, so there you go. Apart from the whole pack of bourbons, that gets the week off to a good start! Fingers crossed that I can get to the end of the week and be a little lighter...
Your belly is hot. So there.
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