There is more to weight (loss) than riding a yellow bike
or so I’m told.
turning pedals alone just won’t cut it.
But, unless I spend the rest of my days monitoring every morsel I eat
I will be as my genes dictate.
And so I am going to blame it on my mother.
Next month I face the great man himself (My Oncologist)
Nope, not god, but almost so.
And my mother will not be there to take the blame.
Not that she wouldn’t or couldn’t.
My eighty six year old still alive Mother of eight (All alive) herself overweight, who continued to cycle her bicycle whilst her six slim best friends (ironically now all dead) were driving around in BMW’s.
My avid gatherer of clutter and objects d’art mother. (When raising her family my father gave her the money to go and buy a washing machine. She gaily headed off on the bus into the city and came home with an original painting by Gerard Dillon instead)
My reader of Darwin, Dawkins and Dostoevsky mother, with a brain as sharp as a pin, would be well able to put her spoke in (pardon the pun) and stand up for me.
But no I will sit motherless with head bent.
And he will sigh and look at me and say
‘I didn’t save you from cancer only to lose you to heart disease’
and I will mumble something about my genes and how I can’t understand it because I am ALWAYS riding my yellow bicycle
and he will say (as he says every year) that that is not enough.
SO with this upcoming dreaded yearly appointment I start a frantic weight loss program.
(How much weight can one lose in a month?)
And to settle my nerves l take off through the autumny trees on the strength of the above pictured breakfast
and arrive home STARVING only to discover there is nothing there to eat but the leg of the table.