Friday, January 27

Right, I’ve cracked it

Dear Daily Mail,
I have discovered what the problem is with modern-day Britain.

There are three things.

First: not enough people wear hats.
The temperature today is about minus a squillion degrees, so why did I only see about three other people wearing hats this morning?

Second: people wear such boring clothes.
I did a little survey in my head while walking down the street, and out of about 40 people, only two of them were not wearing a black coat.

Third: everyone is obsessed with dieting.
OK, before I start this rant, can I just say that I am not slating people who are trying to loose weight. I myself have been a bit of a chubster (take my university years when I piled on about three stone thanks to a diet of lager and cakes) and had to take drastic measures to return to my usual… ahem… svelte self. But it’s these perpetual dieters that are the problem.

I’ve just done a little calculation and 63% of people in my office are currently members of a slimming club (actually I’m crap at maths, so that is what you might call a guestimilate). Every day someone has spent the previous night paying £5 for the pleasure of sitting in a draughty hall talking about what they’ve eaten and standing on a digital scales. Some of them have been going for two or three years on and off, but haven’t actually lost any weight. Well, that’s not strictly true. They have lost weight – some of them have lost up to a stone – but then they’ve put it all back on again. Plus a little bit more.

I am actually being a hypocrite here, as I did actually join the evil Weight Watchers a few years ago. In my defence, it was a desperate time – I was getting married. 100 people were going to be staring at me, many of whom I hadn’t seen for ages. I wanted to be thin and gorgeous (if you could see my wedding pics, you’ll see that my mission failed – I have sausage arms and my boobs look really weird, but that’s another story...).

It was dreadful – people with no concept of what food was good and what food was bad sitting in a room discussing recipes for really depressing diet food.

“I get some low fat yoghurt and mix a sachet of Options low-fat hot chocolate drink with it. It makes a lovely dessert.”
“Instead of chips, get a tin of Tesco Value new potatoes (yes, really), slice them up, then fry them in a little bit of Fry Light.”

Mmm, lovely.

Most of the women had been going for years – they hadn’t actually lost any weight, but it was good to go to keep them “on track” (ie they liked going for a night out and a gossip). The average age was 55 and most of them wore tabards.

Then there was the leader, a slightly over weight, very Kairdiff lady who liked to think she was ‘a bit of a character’.

She liked a bit of double entendre:
“Ooo, girls – I know how you all like a little bit of a nibble.” (phnar, phnar)
“Sandra love, did you and Maldwyn get any exercise on the weekend?” (guffaw, guffaw)

But her main ‘thing’ was that she was a bit different to other Weight Watcher leaders – she liked to give that little bit extra by doubling up as a Butlin’s redcoat-style entertainer.

During each session, in between the nudges and the winks, the ker-azy lady would perform a little poem or a song or a dance, based around the ‘theme’ of that week’s meeting. On the first week, she came out dressed as Elvis (in the Burger Years) and sang a song about cream cakes to the tune of ‘Hound Dog’. I also recall a little ditty based around that dieters favourite slogan: Fridge Pickers Wear Big Knickers (cue side-splitting laughter from all the regulars).

And I was paying money for this? I soon saw the error of my ways and scarpered, concluding that the only way to lose weight is through good old fashioned healthy eating and exercise.

I wish I could spread the word without sounding like a patronising cow. These people eating pink and whites all day and obsessing about points and what’s the lowest calorie thing they can have from the Chinese on Friday night – they are just making themselves unhappy.

They need a nice big slice of Miss Meep’s special cake (then a quick blast of the Spice Girls to burn off the calories, of course).

You see, Daily Mail Editor, it’s not asylum seekers that are the problem as I’m sure your readers will agree.


Disgruntled (but enlightened) of Tunbridge Wells.


  1. "Instead of chips, get a tin of Tesco Value new potatoes (yes, really), slice them up, then fry them in a little bit of Fry Light"

    I think the official blogging term for my reaction to this is LMFAO.

    I once dumped someone cos he told me he had eaten tinned potatoes once.

  2. shut up. i fucking love tinned potatoes.