Don’t jump to subtweeting I diet by proxy because my wife is a slave waiting on me hand and foot and I can’t cook my own meals; we are equal partners in the kitchen, as we are in business. But Mrs H controls that room during the dieting stints, because I refuse to be the cause of my own unhappiness, I can’t be trusted near the fridge or the pantry at trying times like this, and I don’t know the liturgy of each new diet ‘attempt’. Mrs H’s odd foray into dieting further has nothing to do with any comment I have ever made on weight or appearance, because I never have (never will); Mrs H is as much dieting for perceived health benefits as for self-image, and regarding the latter, to me she’s gorgeous - merely a personal body shape preference, (not a value judgement), I like zaftig figures and find catwalk stick skinny unattractive.
Wind clock forward thirty years.
Unfortunately along with the diet - awful timing - comes hard work. As usual, I've been too slack enjoying life the first half of this financial year, so posts will be slowing down as I catch up with the day job. But watch out for my next post, there's something amiss with our literature, its state funded body of work having lost its subversive gene ... Literary Ramble IV, coming soon.