I write this week’s diatribe, it is exactly four weeks since I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes which, as I was about to find out, is a jaunty name for what is ostensibly a kick in the teeth for anyone that likes food. Even as the doctor was explaining the potential outcome of my diagnosis – blindness, limb amputations, other fun stuff – I was replaying in my mind my lifestyle until that point. With the benefit of hindsight, I was asking for it.
I gave up booze pretty much entirely some 10 years ago - a decision that marks me as a social leper in many demolition circles – although I had drunk enough to that point to ensure that I remain in debt to the Gods and livers to this day.
I enjoy fine dining as much as the next guy; but a youth spent fishing with my father and career spent in and around demolition has imbued me with a deep and abiding love of cafes (pronounced caff, not caffay) and their artery-clogging and fried fare.
I have worked at home for something approaching 20 years and so the majority of my exercise involved the short walk from my desk to the cookie jar.
Then there’s chocolate. Aah chocolate; the sweet nectar of satisfaction; seductive sugary temptress; and a marvellous meal substitute when you’re on the road and too busy to stop to eat “proper” food.
I am fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on your standpoint). While some wives would have welcomed such a diagnosis with a rub of the hands and a quick scan of the life insurance documentation, Mrs DemolitionNews seized the diagnosis like a dog seizes a bone. Even before I could console myself with a final bar of chocolate, she had me on the 8-Week Blood Sugar Diet where I have remained for the past 29 days (seven hours, sixteen minutes and 11 seconds….not that I am counting).
And without wishing to sound like a spokesperson for a diet company, the results are almost unbelievable. The book (details of which you can find at the foot of the page) claims that followers of the diet can lose 14 kg in eight weeks. I have already lost 12 kg (that’s one stone and 10 pounds in old money) and I still have four weeks to go. My clothes fit better than they did previously; and some of the suits, jeans, trousers and shirts that had been pushed to the back of the wardrobe because they had become too tight have now been pressed back into action.