Crossing the line

One of the advantages of having a stomach ulcer - apart from the constant minor pain and the never-ending feeling that you've swallowed a golf ball - is the Shit-Yourself-Thin Diet that goes with it.

Over the last three months or so, I've shed two stone (or if you're a colonial: 28 pounds, 13 kilos) and it has got to the point where I've twice had to punch new holes in my belt.

To top that off, I've had to go out and buy 34-inch waist trousers, fitting into a smaller size for the first time in over a decade of porkiness. Yes, this is now costing me money.

But the most important thing to me is this: I've officially crossed the line. At one stage, I was on the Body Mass Index graph as "Obese". Now, thanks to years of abusing painkillers for my dodgy foot, I am now merely "Overweight".

I'M OVERWEIGHT! GO ME!

Still no point being too smug about it. I'm a borderline type II diabetic, and my cholesterol level is so high, I crap butter. I've even had to more-or-less give up the crack cocaine.

But let's look on the bright side. Lose another two stone, and I'm back to the weight I was when I was 19-years-old and running marathons.

But I could murder a bacon and egg muffin.