SATURDAY NIGHT TELLY
Well – I am back again, my settee and me once more in glorious unison, sat in front of the telly, but with one important difference tonight - NO bottle of wine.
Shocking, I know, but with no Lynnie to look after me in the pub last night I stayed out far too late and consumed almost a week’s worth of my allotted units. I blame The Chicken’s parrot story (Did you know parrots can live up to a hundred years old?) His parrot has a better vocabulary than The Chicken and knows twice as many obscenities, and now his horrible leeching daughter won’t come round to be insulted anymore! Perfick!
“……Allotted units???”
Yes. I have given myself a firm ticking off. Usually Lynnie disappears from the pub around eleven and guilt kicks in half an hour later for letting her walk up the lane on her own in the dark so I leg it after a couple of quick ones to get back in reasonable shape. With no wife to depart there is no time allocation and it is possible to slip seamlessly into abstract conversations with the farmer, the bus driver and the bass player’s mother. Every topic is covered in detail, from the Banker’s bike ride to the Commander’s exploits on the Hogs Back in a Sherman Tank via a circuitous route which included Hydrology and Rats.
Back to the allotted units. I am eating no more than usual (apart from the occasional foray to a flash restaurant – I forgot that), I am walking the same as normal, yet the belly is getting bigger. Phil reckons it isn’t the belly that’s getting bigger; it’s the liver that’s pushing the belly forward.
So the time has come to sort it. I remember once filling in a life insurance form in. They recommended 21 units a week. So that is that then. Twenty one units. 21 units. That’s not many. Not a lot at all. So if I stick to them the liver will shrink back to its normal size and the belly will revert to that nice six pack it always was in the skull cinema.
I’ll try. At least up until Christmas. Promise.
Well – I am back again, my settee and me once more in glorious unison, sat in front of the telly, but with one important difference tonight - NO bottle of wine.
Shocking, I know, but with no Lynnie to look after me in the pub last night I stayed out far too late and consumed almost a week’s worth of my allotted units. I blame The Chicken’s parrot story (Did you know parrots can live up to a hundred years old?) His parrot has a better vocabulary than The Chicken and knows twice as many obscenities, and now his horrible leeching daughter won’t come round to be insulted anymore! Perfick!
“……Allotted units???”
Yes. I have given myself a firm ticking off. Usually Lynnie disappears from the pub around eleven and guilt kicks in half an hour later for letting her walk up the lane on her own in the dark so I leg it after a couple of quick ones to get back in reasonable shape. With no wife to depart there is no time allocation and it is possible to slip seamlessly into abstract conversations with the farmer, the bus driver and the bass player’s mother. Every topic is covered in detail, from the Banker’s bike ride to the Commander’s exploits on the Hogs Back in a Sherman Tank via a circuitous route which included Hydrology and Rats.
Back to the allotted units. I am eating no more than usual (apart from the occasional foray to a flash restaurant – I forgot that), I am walking the same as normal, yet the belly is getting bigger. Phil reckons it isn’t the belly that’s getting bigger; it’s the liver that’s pushing the belly forward.
So the time has come to sort it. I remember once filling in a life insurance form in. They recommended 21 units a week. So that is that then. Twenty one units. 21 units. That’s not many. Not a lot at all. So if I stick to them the liver will shrink back to its normal size and the belly will revert to that nice six pack it always was in the skull cinema.
I’ll try. At least up until Christmas. Promise.
As my gym instructor told me a few weeks ago. The six pack is still there. It's just very well protected at the moment.
ReplyDeleteAhem
You'll be glad to know Alan that a few years back the recommeded maximum daily units for a man was put up to 28 - though us girlies are supposed to stick to 21.
ReplyDeleteRemember also that people who drink a unit a day live longer (and probably happier if it's a fine single malt!) lives than those who are teetotal. Sadly if you take more than 1-2 units per day your life expectancy takes a tumble again. However as one of my patient recently told me after cutting his alcohol intake he didn't think he was likely to live any longer, time just seemed to pass more slowly!
Ali
ReplyDeleteYou a wonderul girl - Twenty eight is is then! I shall just have to cut down on something else. Water?
Unfortunately, according to the experts and perhaps others with vested interests, the only alcohol benificial to the health is Bordeaux red wine. This revelation is based on longevity claims from the local paysans. Anything from elsewhere, especially the New World, or Islay, is presumably taboo.
ReplyDelete