Oh God, the bloody cat's at it now. He's written the blog below:
SHE'S at it again, trying to lose weight. All the exercise tapes and DVDs have been hauled out of the cupboard and a year's accumulation of dust has been wiped from their covers. Then it's on with the sweat pants and vest.
By this time, what with all the dusting and dressing, she's ready for a nice cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit, kidding herself that because she eats it standing up, it doesn't have any calories.
Then it's back to the exercise.
The first one that goes on is a Jane Fonda one from the 1980s. Twenty-plus years on and she just doesn't get it, IT AIN'T WORKING, SWEETHEART. After five minutes - nowhere near 'going for the burn' - she has to sit down and have another chocolate biscuit.
"Well, I've earned it after all that exercise," she says to me as I stare at her with one eye open from the comfort of the sofa. Don't get at me, woman. I'm not the one who's been stuffing themselves with Cadbury's Roses and Chinese takeaways and taking the car everytime I want a tin of peas from the shop that's a five-minute walk away. Apparently, that's the exercise over for another year. All the tapes and DVDs are scooped up and plonked back in the cupboard.
Then, oh joy, it's out with the books. She's got them all, The Atkins Diet, Rosemary Conley's Jeans Diet, The South Beach Diet, Dr Phil's Ultimate Weight Solution (the solution to his lining his pockets with gullible people's money)....etc, etc, etc. The GI Diet seems to be favourite at the moment (it stands for Gormless Idiot's diet I think).
I try to tell her that the way to keep svelte and gorgeous like me (see picture) is to be completely carnivorous and get your roughage from woodlice and mouse fur and to exercise by stalking very stupid little creatures.
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