Things I can't change about my life Part 1: I'm fat

I'm fat.

OK – you might think that I could change this. But I think I might have a fat brain. No, you scoff, one day this is going to be a recognised medical condition. Fat Brain. I mean the way I think about the world is like a fat person thin people don't think like this. Let me give you an example. I used to work at Cambridge University – always try to get that in. And I used to work next door to the physics department. What was great about the physics department from my point of view is that it had a wonderful old workers style canteen – big shovels off chips. Pies. Lasagne. Sponge pudding, god the sponge pudding, you know with that special institutional custard that you just can't mimic at home. Anyway. Those physics bods, when they weren't having lunch, turns out they were doing some of these particle collider experiments, you know like the large Hadron collider in Switzerland where, it's probably going to be OK, but one of the theoretically possibly outcomes, just might be that half of the universe is destroyed as a result of the collision.

And of course, this was in the local paper – I mean it would be wouldn't it? As local stories go, it's a pretty big one. But here's the thing. When I read this, working right next door to the physics department, what was my first reaction? Was I concerned for the universe? No. Was I concerned for my personal safety? No, my immediate first thought was “THE CANTEEN!!!” And then my second thought was, I'd love to see the look on the face of those physicists when half the universe just disappears into their fucking cloud chamber. It would be even better than the look must have been on my face when I came home to my new flat and found out you had to put the washing machine exit pipe in the sink.

Yup, so I think like a fat man. I'm so fat now. I snore really badly. I snore like someone attacking a trombone with a chainsaw. So I go to the doctor and he takes my body mass index. I don't know exactly what this is – some fucking number that skinny people have come up to make sure that fat people pay gym membership. Anyway, my BMI is 37. And what should it be? For health, happiness and no snoring? 20. 20. So what are they saying to me? What is the entire western medical establishment saying to me? Half of you has to go. And do you know what the fat part of my brain was thinking? “Maybe if you give them a leg? Yeah, chop off a leg, that'll do it” Seriously. That is really what came into my mind. Not “Fuck, from now on, you'd better count those calories. Stick to whole grain cereals, give up the bacon butties.” No. My fat subconscious is saying “throw them a leg!” and the rational part of my brain is saying “how is that going to even solve the problem? I mean, aside from the basic problems of not being able to fucking walk – how will it stop the snoring?” and the fat part of my brain says “Dunno, maybe when you've only got one leg you'll roll over on your side, won't be a problem – have another fucking muffin.”

Posted via email from The Ginger Mumbly