As you know I measure my fluctuating weight by the waist size of the trousers that best fit. 32 inches and I am back where i was at 18 when Abbe Aronson broke my heart, something that still traumatises me to this day. I was also at 32 when the Guardian newspaper, in a very rare moment of vision, described me as "the housewife's favourite" as I presented SMTM on Channel 4. 44 ( or was it 46) was my bloated peak. I started this holiday in 36 inch jeans.
Yesterday I revealed that the 36 inchers were falling off and so I had switched to 34 inch comfortable fit. I sense these comfortable fit trousers are a con and expand to however fat you are and I think that they have done just that as they, too, started to fall down. But I have a third pair. 34 inch traditional black jeans and guess what? They are perfect. So with this highly scientific test it is official. I am a 34.
Meanwhile the Mrs had Fedexed out some strips for my British blood testing machine. I am monitoring my readings on the Greek machine as I take this type 2 diabetes very seriously. Today they have fluctuated from 215 to just 119, the latter after I managed to run 2.77km in 24 minutes. I have discovered on the interweb that this is 12.4 and 6.6 in English money and the latter is "within range" for we diabetics.
Of course that reading is spooked by vigorous exercise and my medication is strong so this does not mean that i am in any way cured. But all the symptoms, which a Gentleman does not discuss in public, are disappearing. So I feel more sure every day that this battle will be won, if not for a few months yet.