Christmas Eating: An Old (And Formerly) Fat Man Speaks

I hate this beard, it’s so damned itchy, and the red suit is half hanging off me this year: you’d have thought someone would have bothered to take it in, but no, ‘can’t you wear a fat suit?’ one of them said. Apparently the public expect it. The one night of the year when it’s not disgusting to be fat, and I’m sick and tired of it. What do they think I’ve been doing on this diet since July?

Anyway, I thought I’d just take a minute off from checking this list (I tell them once is enough, but, no, they make me go through it all over again. And have you any idea how long this thing is, especially since we’ve gone global, and especially with some of them breeding like rabbits?). I just wanted to have a quiet word with you before all the shenanigans started, as one happy loser to another. Weight-wise, I mean.

At least this year having lost a bunch of weight I can avoid the embarrassment of getting stuck halfway down the chimney at every other dump I visit. I don’t care what you say, they don’t build the things the way they used to, and it’s no fun for the fat feller, so of course I when I eventually wriggled free, I always leapt straight on the mince pie and the glass of sherry, didn’t I. Just made matters worse, but what the hey, it’s only once a year, right?

Sod it, it’s Slimming Santa this year, and if the punters don’t like it, I won’t bloody go. Try finding someone else who’d work Christmas Eve for what they pay me. They can put it down to the recession, blame the coalition, Julian Assange, makes no odds to me. I’m not going to be harassed just because I’ve lost a bit of weight. I’d take them straight down the Tribunal. Human rights.

Anyway, enough of my bitching.

I’ve got to say the reindeer are as cute as ever (cook up a treat, actually. Very lean, nicely flavoured meat, but don’t let them hear this. Makes them very twitchy. Understandable, I suppose), and I have to admit the lads have done a decent job on the sleigh this year, top of the range satnav, computerised drop lists and everything, very high tech. We’ll see if it works in practice.

Fact is, it’s you I’m worrying about; all the food and drink. Wondering how you’re going to cope. Me? I’m staying semi-abstinent. Certainly no booze, but that’s easy for me because I’ve just stopped it. Won’t be getting any more points on my sleigh licence. As regards grub, I’ll go with the main meat and the above-ground veg, and I’ll admit I’m going to allow myself two small roasties as a treat. But that’s it. I don’t care what anyone else is eating; best of luck to them, but that’s what I’m having. Doesn’t spoil it for anyone else. And another thing, I’m not going in for any belt-busting marathon this year. A moderate, sensible plate-full. Perfect.

To be honest, I’m more concerned about Boxing Day. Always enjoyed that more, cold turkey, mashed potatoes, pickles, bit of beef, ham, good piece of stilton, bottle of port on the side. Lovely. Oh, yes, and the turkey sandwiches Christmas night. Those I’ll miss, too. But I’ll have plenty of Brussels, a nice bit of cauliflower, still have a decent bit of ham and that, but I’ll be staying on the plan.

Fred, who usually writes here but has been dragged off shopping by his missus, he always says you’ll be OK if you plan what you’re doing and stick to it.

Mind you, he reckons there’s two ways of going about a festive plan, and that one of them is really very dodgy.

The dodgy way is to say ‘alright, it’s Christmas. All rules are off until New Year.’ You then eat and drink like a pig until you crawl bleary eyed onto the scales some time toward noon on the first of January and want to throw up. At that point you have to go into emergency mode and pretty much starve yourself until you’re back where you started, and then get back onto your regular regime. You could do this, but it’s a bit dumb.

It also says that nothing’s really changed and you’re still the same degenerate food junky you ever were, and not fit to be trusted with a plate of cold cuts. In any case, where’s the percentage in starting off the New Year filled with disgust and self loathing?

No, better by far to do what I do: decide in advance what YOU are going to eat and drink. And jot that down. If you’re doing the food, then it’s easy to stick to the plan. If you’re not in charge of dishing up, then have a word with whoever is. It’s your dinner fer chrissakes (pardon the blasphemy), you make sure that what’s on your plate fits in with that sensible plan of yours. No-one’s going to make a thing about it, and even if they did, it’s your dinner, your diet, right? And nobody, NOBODY, has any right to come between you and your eating plan. Fourth Amendment or something.

You do this, and come the first of January, you’ll still have had a great time but instead you’ll be on those scales a happy bunny, no worse than when you started, maybe even a little lighter. Doesn’t that make a bunch more sense? Or do you enjoy making things difficult for yourselves. Up where I come from we’d say ‘bugger that for a game of soldiers’, know what I mean. Well, then. Stands to reason. Draw up your eating plan, and stick to it.

Anyway that’s what I’m doing. You please yourselves but don’t blame me if the scales turn nasty on you.

Well, tea-break over and I’ve got to get back to this list. As if I care naughty from nice. All the same to me, kids. Can’t stand the bastards, but it’s a living.

Till the next time Fred gets dragged screaming round the supermarket, and comin’ atcha live from the North Pole,

Your old pal,

Santa