Boxing Day Blues

It's true. I've just got to shed some weight. When I get castigated by my not-so-slim-himself son about taking sugar in my cafe latte, when my new XXL shirt bursts with the pressure of turkey and christmas pud, when the wife starts telling me to wear my shirt outside my trousers (like a skirt) , then I know it is time for some serious cutbacks.

There are problems ahead however - one more (paid for) massive breakfast in the Dubai hotel; a quiet lunch and supper today munching mince pies and cold turkey, fried up roast potato remains, delicious french baguette and all that. Then tomorrow we fly back to the chilly UK where a second Christmas feast awaits, then the New Year thing and then multiple family birthdays in January. Oh dear! Father Christmas brought me a drum of cheeselets, two tins of salted cashew nuts and a pack of my favourite Roka Cheese Crispies. Even while writing this I have paused for a few minutes to go out to a local supermarket where a very large packet of potato crisps found its way into the trolley. I must google the word 'coronary'.

On the plus side I have managed to have my first-ever Christmas Day swim, as well as my first-ever Boxing Day swim. I must find where I put the pack of Special K when I get home and, in the meantime, have to decide whether or not to buy significant quantities of duty-free gin on the way home. Good sense and prudent housekeeping says "yes", but my waistline says "no".
Decisions, decisions...