Five Centres

I worry about my weight. I'm not obsessed with it, but I do catch glimpses of myself in shop windows and wonder what Bernard Manning is doing in there. Until I was about 19 I was reed-thin. So thin in fact, that I used lie in bed praying to put on weight. Be careful what you wish for is all I can say. I got glandular fever, became a student and piled on the pounds.
I remember going back to visit my old school about four years after I left. I saw some teachers who rudely commented that they thought I'd put on weight. When we parted I heard them laughing their heads off. It was a quite a disturbing moment.

Having never been sporty probably didn't help my metabolism. So about seven years ago me and three friends hired a personal trainer, an Olympic athelete who really put us through our paces twice a week on Clapham Common at 7am - nearly killed me in fact. But it was worth it. Over the course of a year I lost three stone. Sadly he moved to Australia in a sulk after not being picked for the Brtitish Olympic team for Sydney. So that was the end of that. Then it was yoga for two years, but the instructor got pregnant, so for the last three years - nothing.

Except the Atkins diet, which worked. But it's hard to keep the pounds off. Now I'm perilously close to 14st. But you know what, I'm not sure if I can be bothered to do anything about it. I smoke, I drink, I love pork pies. It's my choice.

I've just got to get it together to do something about it. Perhaps after lunch.