Yes, I’m sure.

It is, almost certainly, the drinking bit that’s the problem. I am British and it is the ‘British disease’ and I have definitely caught this and I need to find the cure.

It’s not that I’m an alcoholic. Far from it. No, I can go for days or maybe even minutes without alcohol.

I jest, of course. About the ‘maybe even minutes’. Did I need to say that? Probably not but I thought I would just in case. You never know who is ‘watching’. I do have ‘lurkers’ on this blog. People who come but never post a comment.

But when they put a bottle of some digestivo on the table and the other people insist on staying and talking, it seems only right to top up my glass. Several times. This is in addition to the two beers. And I didn’t really need the two beers. I just had the second because everyone else was having one. And I’m British, so one has to keep up, doesn’t one? And I should have just stuck with the one glass of the digestivo and then I wouldn’t have had to concentrate on keeping in a straight line for the five minutes it took to walk home. Sometimes, I’m even almost angry with myself.

And when I looked in the mirror this morning, I could see I had that old-age paunch. Part of me doesn’t care and part of me does. And I know it must be the beer. Too much. I should be sticking to my wine diet. I really should. That never made me fat.

Of course, it could be that I’ve reached that time in life and I have become fat because my body says something like ‘OK, well you’ve had it pretty good up to now but did you really think you could continue to eat and drink what you wanted forever? Well, …….. did you?’

And, yes, I kind of did.

Damn!

And damn the bottle of digestivo too. I bet that didn’t help.

Damn, damn, damn!