Friday 21 January 2011

Mr Porky dunnit

15st 8lb, 6.5 units. I feel that it would be good therapy to try and write this blog each day, now that I have embarked on a post-heart attack regime of medication, diet and general lifestyle change.

After all, it has done me good in the past. The discipline of making a post every day in the first half of 2008 definitely helped to incentivize me to lose two stone in weight, as I could not face the shame of admitting to my reader that my vaunted diet was not working as a result of my utterly pathetic lack of willpower.

How could I have been so stupid as to put it all back on again, when I was so proud of losing it and felt so much better for doing so (though I looked a lot worse, as various frank Northern people cheerfully pointed out after the returning fat had once again smoothed over the wrinkles on my face and neck)?

Because that’s what fat people all do, stupid. Time and time again. Are you watching Peter Barlow battling with the fatal lure of the demon drink on Coronation Street? Well, that’s how I am with pork scratchings.

In fact, the more I think about it, the more inclined I feel to blame Mr Porky for the state of my heart. It’s him or God, for making pigs so delicious. Or me, for being utterly unable to resist temptation.

But then the key to operating a successful Strict Blame Culture is surely this: never blame yourself.

At least I somehow managed to lose a pound in the course of yesterday, despite continuing to drink too much (to keep my spirits up and because I like to delude myself that red wine is good for the heart).

I started taking the pills to lower my blood pressure and combat anginal pain this morning. So far all I have noticed as a possible result is a loud ringing in my ears, considerably worse than the usual tinnitus I have been suffering for the last decade. But at least this is on the comprehensive two-page list of possible side-effects thoughtfully enclosed by the drug manufacturers, so I suppose I don’t need to start worrying about it as well as enduring it.

I would have started taking my cholesterol-lowering statins, too, if only I had bothered to open my bag of medications before I rolled into bed last night. In the old days of being a prescription druggie, I always used to swallow everything first thing in the morning, which at least saved carting the bloody things around during the day. But now the chemist’s label on my packet of Simvastatin states clearly “One to be taken each day AT NIGHT.” I wonder why. The old warning about not eating grapefruit is still there, which made a sort of sense when one was taking the pill at the breakfast table, but surely there can’t be many people who consume grapefruit at bedtime. And will having half a delicious grapefruit in the morning really interfere with the working of a drug taken the previous evening?

It’s a bit of a sod because I am particularly fond of grapefruit, and have three fine, juicy examples sitting in the fridge calling out to me. Being able to resume eating them with a clear conscience was one of the chief joys of stopping taking statins when I decided to adopt a drug-free approach to life a few years back.

Oh well, I suppose that’s me on pills like a little old man for the rest of my natural, then. And another avenue of pleasure closed for good.

Anybody want to buy three grapefruit? No, make that free to a good home. So long as you are prepared to come round to collect them, and possibly listen to me moaning about my privations for a bit before you have the presence of mind to say “Good Lord, is that the time? I must dash down to the pub before they run out of those really delicious pork scratchings.”

1 comment:

CC said...

While I am most sympathetic to your deprivations, I suggest pasting pictures of your darling bright little heir all over the house including on and in the refrigerator so when you feel the inclination to moan about your loss of grapefruit and pork treats your mind turns to all you have to gain by being here for Charlie as long as you can and in the best health possible.

End of lecture. Having a weight problem myself, I can commiserate, but I won't this time. Its for your own good.