I never bothered about my weight.

I am one of those fortunates who can eat what I like and rarely gain or lose a few pounds. I know when I got married I was around the ten stone mark, and a combination of good eating, loads of pints and life in general meant that my weight crept up a bit.

For the last forty five or so years the weight has gently fluctuated around the eleven to twelve stone mark. With a height of over six feet that is bang on the recommended range. The only change over that period was in the waist which spread a little and presumably I lost somewhere else. It meant I had to shelve a few pairs of trousers but what the hell…

I had heard often enough that cancer can cause a loss in weight, Certainly my appetite has changed over the last months and not for the better. The hospital obviously had the same ideas as I am weighed regularly. I didn’t pay much attention.

Last night, just out of curiosity I weighed myself on the scales here at the Manor…….

Nine and a half stone!

Fuck! The last time I was that weight I was probably in short trousers.

I did have my suspicions. My watch which used to sit happily on my wrist has lately taken to migrating up my arm. My wedding ring slips easily off the finger [but not too easily]. I can revert to some of my older clothes and I notice the notches on my belt are tightening a bit.

So now I’m on a diet. I have to avoid “healthy” food. Anything that brags that it’s “sugar free” is to be shunned like the plague. “Diet” on the label? Fuck off! As soon as the appetite returns in full it will be a succession of Mars Bars, curries, chocolates, cakes and anything else that takes my fancy. The coffee shop does a nice line in Chocolate Brownies [almost pure sugar] that I shall delve into. I never avoided any of these before but now I’m going to hit them with a vengeance.

At last – something positive out of the cancer.

[Recommended reading. Heh!]