John’s Guide To Losing Weight

When I was growing up, there was only one product marketed as a ‘diet food’ as far as I can remember. That was Nimble bread. If you were sitting here with me now, and I was feeling particularly belligerent towards you, I could sing you the TV ad all the way through. Fast-forward about 30 years and there are hundreds (if not thousands) of diet related foods, potions, drinks and tablets on offer.

And guess what?

We’re all fatter than ever!

Just the other night, I watched a programme in which Jamie Oliver got a group of fatties together and…well, told them they were fat and it wasn’t good for them. Now you might think this was a pointless exercise – that he wasn’t telling them what they didn’t already know – but you’d be surprised. Or at least I was.

As the truth was revealed to them…”You’re a bloater and you’ll probably die early,” (they dressed it up a bit, but that was the gist)…you could see the shock on their faces – sometimes followed by tears. Of course, Jamie and his team of experts were on hand to put a reassuring arm around their shoulders and tell them that it wasn’t too late to change. But I suspect their real reaction was more akin to mine as I yelled at the TV set (a sure sign of madness):

“What the…don’t you have any bloody mirrors where you come from? You must have known you were a space hopper smuggler before you came on the programme!”

When I was at school, the fat kids could be counted on the fingers of one hand. They had a torrid time, and I’d imagine have carried the scars of PE lesson humiliation well into later life. At least, these days, the fatties aren’t so isolated ~ because they’ve got plenty of company.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that something doesn’t quite add up here. And a great deal of time money and effort has been spent trying to find out what.

Because nobody is ever to blame for anything any more, a lot has been made of the role of a so-called ‘fat gene’. The fat gene is great news for your average bloater because he can carry on eating, secure in the knowledge that his resemblance to Michelin Man’s portlier brother is beyond his control.

Sadly for Mr Blimp though, this is something of a red herring. If there is such a thing as a fat gene, it existed when Nimble was flavour of the month and we were all relatively slim. That’s the thing about genes…they’re passed from generation to generation. I’m no scientist, but I know that much.

If there’s a fat gene now, there had to be a fat gene then. And we weren’t fat!

The obvious conclusion is that we’re getting fatter because, of something we’re doing, not because of a gene. In other words…steel yourself, you might not be able to comprehend what I’m saying at first…

If there’s a fat gene now, there had to be a fat gene then. And we weren’t fat!

The obvious conclusion is that we’re getting fatter because, of something we’re doing, not because of a gene. In other words…steel yourself, you might not be able to comprehend what I’m saying at first…

We have to take responsibility for our own blubbery bodies.

Well, we do up to a point. You see the combination of confusing (and conflicting) advice from experts, together with the burgeoning output from a multi-billion pound processed food industry has rendered most of us unsure about what we should be eating, and uncertain of the nutritional value of what we’re being sold.

With that in mind, here are three very simple rules I came across this week that I reckon would do an enormous amount to solve the problem if we all lived by them:

1.  Eat food, but stop before you’re full.

2.  Don’t eat anything your great grandmother wouldn’t recognise as food.

3.  Avoid products made from ingredients you can’t pronounce.

I can’t resist adding one more piece of advice, from Billy Connolly
of all people…

4. Never eat anything that comes in a bucket!

I reckon if we all made a stab at following those basic rules, the obesity epidemic would be all but over. And the diet gurus would be forced to drag their scrawny asses (as you see I’m completely non-discriminatory in my insults) down to the job centre.

 Kind Regards 

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John Harrison  

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