In July, the tribe and I went on holiday to Florida where we had a blast. We also scoffed huge quantities of food. Eating in America is an experience that’s for sure.
Portions were enormous and the food itself was smashing. Now I wasn’t exactly slim went we went. I was bloody enormous when we left.
A small elephant springs to mind! What’s that? A very large elephant? That’s not very nice is it? What do you mean ‘It’s true’? (I hate it when PIL is looking over my shoulder reading what I’m trying to write and making comments – usually rude and derogatory.) What? Look, when I write in italics it represents my thoughts and you’re not supposed to read my thoughts! Yes I know you’re a woman. Ok so as a woman you can always read a mans thoughts? It helps when they’re on the screen does it? (Will you bugger off and let me does this?) Oh dear. PIL has the hump now. I won’t be seeing her naked any time soon!!!
Anyway, on our return PIL decided to put me on a diet and it’s not fun. Breakfast is guinea pig food. PIL calls it “Mews Lee” but I think that’s just a posh word that the residents of Chelsea, Shoreditch and Shad Thames use as, due to the plum in their mouths, they can’t say “Guinea Pig Food”. We have two varieties I have to eat. One of them has lots of seeds in it so that version looks like parrot food. They’re both awful. All my other meals are chicken and pasta and every now and again I can have pasta and chicken for a change. Sometimes, when I’ve been really good I can have spaghetti and chicken and, on occasion, taglaitelle with chicken. It makes a change from pasta but as to whether it’s a pleasant change is open to question! Some days, PIL will add rabbit food to my meal. She calls it “salad”. Must be those people living in Shad Thames again who call it that. However, the upshot of this so called “healthy diet” is that I’ve lost a ton of weight and my trousers don’t fit anymore. That’s all well and good if you’re 18 like my son Greg, wear a baseball cap back to front and are happy with the waistband of your trousers sagging under your arse.
However, for a middle aged man like me…. Look, I’m middle aged. I am NOT old. I haven’t even got a bus pass yet. (Will you please let me get on with this in peace and quiet?) Where was I? (No, it’s NOT dementia setting in woman. You just made me lose my train of thought). Bloody hell, this is hard work! Anyway, for a middle aged man like me, back to front baseball caps and trousers hanging on the wrong side of my arse is NOT a good look. Hopefully, I’ll get some new clothes for Christmas or, if not, it’s off to the sales for me. I hate shopping.
On that note, from a skinny Dick, have a great day.
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