Reportage

It comes a a bit of a shock to a Telegraph and BBC news website reader like me when you find a link that leads you to a story like this. 

It's not so much the story, I suppose, it's the style of writing.  As I read it (and believe me, I read it right to the end) I couldn't help but admire the skill with which the journalist had picked their words. Short words, granted, but all of them doing exactly what was intended.  To make the reader feel both repelled, outraged and sorry for the woman and her family. 

Well, maybe not sympathy for the woman in question; the article is pretty strongly taking the "she was scoffing pie and chips and screaming for cake while the nurses begged her not to kill herself with lard" line of approach.

However much I dislike this style of journalism, it really does get the job done.  Now I feel like I need to boil my eyes in bleach.

Anyway, on a less depressing note, I have picked this up from Fweng at I Hate The Earth.  When he's not whingeing he's rather amusing, especially when writing about people shoving things up his arse*. 

A wishlist.  Seven Things I'd Change About Myself:

1)  Dexterity and grace.  Maybe then I'd fall over a bit less often, slice a few less lumps off myself and not have so many "walking into lamp-post" moments.

2)  Non-bloodshot eyes.  I've always had eyes that look like they've got maps of the Central Line tattooed on my eyeballs, which, according to my optician, indicates healthy bloodflow, but I'd rather have pure sparkly whites.  Maybe I can get them bleached, like teeth. 

3)  A longer attention span.  I blame the Internet...hey...a Polo!

4)  More intelligence.  I know I'm not stupid, but I am woefully ignorant in oh so many areas, and the stuff I do know only makes me aware of my lack of knowledge. 

5)  Perfectionism.  I am not a perfectionist.  Well, not in any way that matters.  I get arsey if napkins aren't folded up nicely, or, to pick a random example from the ether, if someone leaves his tie rolled up on the coffee table when he gets in from work, but in general I am too relaxed about stuff.  Some stuff.  I could do with a bit of completer-finisher perfectionism.

6)  A better sense of the appropriate.  I am too often the only person laughing when something untoward happens.  That's not good. 

7)  The ability to turn a three-line great idea into a 600 page bestseller.  And then two more. And then a second trilogy, cashing in on all the die-hard fans.  It'd be great.






*I think it's a perfectly natural human reaction to find that funny.  And if it's not, well, I don't want to know about it.

Incentives

I have bought myself a new bag.  It's very lovely. 

I ordered it yesterday lunchtime, it was delivered by the postman this morning.  That's what I call service.

It came from here.  Take a look, I can recommend them wholeheartedly. 

The new bag is a reward for me.  I have decided to take affirmative action about being a fat porky bastard, and have joined a slimming group.  Mr WithaY and I refer to it as "Fat Club."  And the first rule of Fat Club is that we don't talk about Fat Club.

Even so, I will just tell you about it now and then shut up about it for a while.

I intend to lose about 4 stone, which will take me back out of the "Morbidly Obese, Likely To Need A Fire Crew And Specialist Haulage Equipment To Get You Out Of The Bath Soon" category.  The bag is my reward for having been brave enough to sign up and go along.  It's a big deal for me, and I am feeling really positive about it. 

I want people I know to come up to me and say "Have you decreased in mass?" after a few more weeks.

I have made a list of other things* I plan to use as incentives.  Pedicures, manicures, getting my hair done, going to a nice spa, buying a pretty, proper girlie coat rather than the huge, comfy, warm, practical shooting coat I currently wear everywhere.  I will give myself a reward every time I lose half a stone (7lbs, American readers.)

By the time we go to America in June I intend to be noticably slimmer.  Mind you, the food over there was so superb when we went before that I will probably come waddling back even fatter than I am now.  I shall crash through that bridge when I come to it.

*None of them involve chocolate.

Fat and Fatter

Heh...there's more.

The saddest part of this is that The Telegraph are nicking their stories from Closer magazine.

Too much to swallow

I know articles like this are put in the press precisely to engender reaction, but really.

How can anyone claim that they don't know how to lose weight? Eat less, move around more.

It's hardly rocket science.

Actually achieving weight loss is hard, as I well know, but to bleat that you "don't know how to do it" is a sack of arse.

Of course, it is much easier to sit back and bemoan your lack of knowledge than to actually do something about it, like read a book, or talk to a dietician, or use the internet to look up "weight loss" or "healthy eating on a budget".

Presumably, as 24-stone papa is diabetic he will have access to a specialist dietician who could provide things like healthy eating guidelines, lists of foods to avoid, maybe even recipes for suitable meals?

"We have cereal for breakfast, bacon butties for lunch and microwave pies with mashed potato or chips for dinner," says 24-stone mama.

Hmm...I'm no dietician but I can see that stuffing your fat faces with bacon, chips and pies every day is not going to do you any favours. Apparently healthy food is too expensive. Depends how much you eat, I suppose.

I gave their situation a few moments thought, and have some suggestions for them:

Try making jacket potatoes instead of chips. Same quantity, less fat, more fibre. A small improvement which won't cost a fortune.

Try making tuna sandwiches instead of bacon, or even (if you're brave enough to experiment) beans on toast. Again, low fat, high fibre, low cost.

Try buying some apples, chopping them up, and adding them to your breakfast cereal to reduce the volume of processed food and increasing your vitamin intake.

None of them seem to have much to do all day, so they have time to get an allotment and grow some fruit and veg if they want to. Exercise, fresh air, low cost food and spending quality time together.

I should write a book.

I might try using the "too fat to work" excuse next time I can't be bothered doing something tiresome.

"Sorry, I am too fat to load/unload the dishwasher."

"I'd love to peg out the washing, but alas, I am too fat."

"Nope, can't go to the supermarket, I am too fat to push a trolley."

"I'd love to come along to your five-hour legal presentation but, sadly, I am far too fat."

"I am simply too fat to go and weed the garden. Sorry. You can see how it is."

I'm sure everyone will be most understanding.