I cannot remember exactly when I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. I think it was around six or seven years ago. It was not a surprise. I had eaten and drink too much and the great West Ham supporting Tory blogger Iain Dale had described his symptoms and diagnosis a few months earlier. I knew what was coming.
There have been times since when I have managed it with medication and sometimes just by clean living and taking stacks of exercise. There have been times when I just let myself go. Four years ago I was a 19 stone 6 pounds blob and really all over the shop. But relationship breakdowns, work crises, near bankruptcy and a nervous breakdown did wonders for my (physical) health sending me off to walk around the mountains of Greece and Albania. I may have been a bit of a fruitcake but I sure knocked my body into shape.
Of course marriage and owning a restaurant are not good for the figure but I think I sort of have things in some sort pf check but perhaps I was a tad complacent. I know that Iain has also gone through such phases. However, the Mrs forced me to register with a doctor and last week an eye test showed the first – albeit minimal at this stage – signs of an issue in my right eye. I knew what was coming next.
This afternoon I strolled down to the doctors, a healthy twenty minute walk, for the start of the other tests. Today it was blood pressure and knock me down with a feather I scored my best result in years. Well done said the quack. Well done I said to myself, clearly I should stay on sabbatical forever. This is good news.
Naturally there was the inevitable lecture on smoking. Yes Doc I am aware that it is bad for me and also that the Pope is a Catholic. Do you really get £100,000 a year with long hols and a £65,000 Index linked pension for stating the bleeding obvious?
Next up are the blood tests for blood sugar. I fear these might prove a bit less impressive but have managed to sneak an appointment this week after five days of relative sobriety here in Bristol. I rather sense that if the bloods were taken in two weeks’ time after I spend a week in London where I tend to drink, er… a bit more, the results would be dire.
Either way I rather suspect that I shall be back on medication before long with suggestions that I take a bit more exercise and another few shock revelations about how smoking is bad for me. The obvious answer is of course to get more olive trees and move to Greece to spend more time working the land. What’s wrong with that plan?