Mistletoe and Pies: Losing Weight At Christmas…

I wonder how many fat people all over the Western world are presently convincing themselves that this Christmas will be their one last blow-out before getting down to the seriously hard work of getting in shape. Lots I imagine. I know it’s not just me.

But this is definitely my one last blow-out. I swear. I’ll be spending Christmas with my mate, Keith, his girlfriend and her two kids in Guildford. ‘You’ll be like John Candy in Planes, Trains and Automobiles,’ Keith told me.

Hmmm.

‘So I’ll be like the annoying fat guy who Steve Martin takes pity on because he hasn’t got any friends or family of his own,’ I replied. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Is that not the case?’

Hmmm. Good old Keith.

Anyway, I spent the rest of today buying stuff to take, including lots of fine food and wines. I’m feeling fatter just looking at it all. And that makes me feel guilty. Speaking of which, earlier this week I watched a programme very much in the tradition of Can Fat Teens Hunt?, Help! I Sweat Lard! and F*** Off, It’s Me Glands!. That programme was Lose 30 Stone Or Die. It followed 36-year-old 48-stone Colin Corfield as he spent years losing enough weight to make a brand new set of Sugababes. The people who made the show described it as ‘poignant and moving’. Frankly I found it ‘repulsive and sick-making’. But also, I must admit, ‘heartening and inspiring’. It was part of the reason I was shuffling round the park with weights on my back this weekend.

I’m really not looking forward to it though, the actual hard work of not eating. I know it should be easy. It really should. And you hear it all the time from cocky thin people with no feelings. ‘Just stop eating,’ they say. ‘It really is that simple. Just stop stuffing the pies into your fat face.’ Boy oh boy, those people aggravate me. But they probably have a point. Unfortunately, as with many stout folk, food is for me a psychological crutch. Which I have to train myself not to lean on. And that’s what I’m not looking forward to.

I’ve actually been cutting down fairly substantially for the last couple of months. Trying to at least. I had this vague notion of losing a bit of weight in preparation for my new leaf. So I’ve been eating less. Mostly. And then pigging out and feeling guilty.

I’ve also been attempting to starve myself a bit, just to see how long I could last without eating. Bobby Sands lasted 66 days. And he was quite a skinny bloke to start with from what I can glean. I wonder how long I would last before I started to suffer ill effects. I’ve wondered this a lot recently, so a month ago I went in search of answers. Now if you want answers these days, there’s really only one place to the go: the internet. And although Wikipedia is good, you sometimes can’t be sure that the information you’re reading is 100% accurate. This is why I like to go to Yahoo Answers, where the net’s foremost philosophers hang out.

Hence this. They're so sweet! I actually lied a little about the 27 hours thing. It was more like 17, but I was damnably hungry. I’m hungry now actually. Oh bugger it. Let the festive feeding commence. Tomorrow I buy scales. In 11 days’ time, everything changes. Honest.

Happy Christmas, mysterious reader who left sweet comment.

Oh, and Belle de Jour has not accepted my friendship request on Facebook. This makes me a little sad. So sad in fact that I’ve decided to offer my friendship to some other people I don’t know. Starting with David Walliams. David Walliams has 4,435 friends. He must be accepting just about anyone, especially ugly men. We’ll see.

Happy Christmas, David. Happy Christmas everyone.