Eating And Drinking

It has come to my attention that I am eating and drinking far too much.

Two weeks now in Brazil, no work done, but almost every day two large meals. There is no choice here but to eat out, and when you do eat out the portions are baby-sized, i.e. the size of an actual baby. Then in the evenings, to kill the ennui of my existence, beer must be consumed for hours. It's tricky to judge exactly how much I'm drinking as the Brazilians go for dinky-sized glasses, i.e. a lady's serving. Thus a couple of gulps sees the glass emptied, and another beer ordered.

This fortnight of gluttony does not stand alone in 2008. Rather it is the trend. The month prior I had the good fortune to be allowed some rest at home, in Aberdeen. Alas, I didn't have the good sense to regulate my food and drink intake. While the month was spent productively, bringing order and charm to my beloved Market Street flat, it also included Bacchanalian levels of guzzling. I drank almost every night. When Green was at hand to cook, at least my evening meals had some level of quality, but while he was gallavanting elsewhere I was forced to resort to kebabs and pizza - an all too easy allure as premise selling these sordid items are within twenty steps of my flat.

The upshot of this is that a new belt era looms. Back in the day, before starting this job 16 months ago, I was sitting happy on Belt Setting 2. Sometimes, after a particularly large meal - usually a curry - I might notch up to Setting 3, but this would be a temporary adjustment. But within six months of starting work, or should that be "work", I'd shot up to Setting 4. 4! But it was a 4 that could sometimes manage a 3, and I could still suck my stomach in one beaches to look svelte and macho.

No longer. Belt Setting 5 looms ominously close. Already my belt protests, but I hold out, hoping for a reversal of fortune. But in this Space Year Of ZOOB, there can be no turning back, and expansion seems the only likely future. My belt, I note with worry, has only 7 settings. Should I ever expand beyond 7, I have vowed to kill myself.

But perhaps there is another way. Later today, I go offshore, and may have up to six hours of work to do. Rig food being self-service and usually terrible in Brazil, I can moderate my eating. There'll be a gym, and in my large amount of free time, I can exercise. Beer is unavailable. Some disciple and hard work, and maybe there's a way back. There is hope.

Disciple? Hard work? Oh dear. Nev360, the inflated version, is on his way.