VB reader Don Smith is rightly proud that he has lost two stone in two months. That’s some willpower.
Fortunately for me it’s not a problem I will ever have to deal with. For I have, despite my many years, the body of a Greek god.
This is something that I find hard to convince my friends about however, due to the strong belt of muscle that I carry around just above my waistline.
What should I say?
In vain do I tell them that this is a dormant pack of power, held ready against the time a burning maiden needs extinguishing, or a distressed building rescued. And that if one of those marble statues from the museum was to be dressed in modern day clothes, it would exactly resemble my own physique.
Or that any of those six-pack men presently in fashion would squeal like a girl and run from the room if someone so much as puffed smoke in their eyes.
They just tell me to stop eating so many chips.
I was somewhat gratified therefore when talking to a friend I hadn’t seen for a while, to notice that, despite him being half my age and basically trim and active, his tummy bulged fully as much as mine.
Though, of course, his was the result of gluttony.
So, thus encouraged, I shall carry on, ignoring the jeers and ever alert to defend my fellow man against the manifold dangers of this world.
After I’ve had my tea of course. It’s jam roly-poly tonight.
Moving musical chairs
I often go to Shanklin by bus. Usually the bus is pretty full and takes some time to empty. So I remain seated until the last handful of passengers are nearing the exit.
Thus I am among the last two or three to get off. And more often than not my way is impeded by the ‘Seat-Changers’.
These are passengers who have apparently since they got on, coveted some seat already occupied by others. Immediately they get the chance they leap out of their present seat and dash for the desired one. Sometimes quite a mêlée occurs as several people get in each other’s way.
I have no idea why they do this – and I suspect they don’t either. I have occupied several seats at various times and for the life of me I can’t fathom the difference.
It doesn’t seem to be local folk who do this. Indeed I suspect it’s a custom emanating from those wild lands beyond the Watford Gap.
Something akin to the ancient tribal ritual of musical chairs perhaps.
