As you know, dear reader, I possess dashingly good looks and boyish charm and have done for many a year. It will come as little surprise to you, then, when I tell you I am currently at the centre of a tug of war between two women intent on preserving
Mrs P, Boomerang Child, the culinary battle and my weight loss - Kevin Page

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Finding the right balance can be a challenge Photo /123rf

It has to be said we’ve got quite good at it.
The benefits of this relaxed approach to life are particularly evident in the size of the spare tyre I carry (or used to carry) around my middle.
Of course, it may also have something to do with the fact I spend 24 hours a day under the watchful eye of the Chief Warden aka My Beloved and there’s no chance for me to sneak a sausage roll, or two, when I pass a bakery like I used to.
Anyway. Without really trying, my previously large frame has shrunk. I’ve dropped something like 15kg this past year.
Having already lost a chunk thanks to weight-loss surgery a while back, I now weigh roughly the same as I did when I started working some 45 years ago.
Naturally, I’m feeling pretty good not carting the excess baggage around and Mrs P is happy to have me along on her morning stroll each day. It’s obviously a bonus I’m able to engage in conversation as we walk and not shower her in my sweat either.
There’s only been one little hiccup in the whole scenario and that’s been the reaction of the Boomerang Child, who has been used to my being the proverbial gentle giant.
According to her I am now “way too skinny” so she has taken it upon herself to fatten me up every time she and her brood catch up with us while travelling the country on their own caravan adventure.
In a nutshell, what happens is they pull in to where we are staying for a nice catchup. Might be a couple of days or even a week. She looks me up and down disapprovingly and then heads to the kitchen.
She’s a good cook, so for the next few days I’m fed all manner of sumptuous delights. I’m talking creamy, cheesy, rich yummy stuff with plenty of platters and other delicious treats in between.
Naturally, the result of all this is a bit more blubber over the ribs than before. Apparently, my cheeks get chubby too. That would be okay if I were a 10-month-old baby but I’m a 61-year-old grandad so it’s a bit silly really.
Anyway. When they move on, Mrs P emerges from the shadows suggesting a return to sensible, wholesome, nutritious eating and I shrink. Again. Till next time.
So after all this toing and froing, there I was on Saturday morning waving the Boomerang Child’s culinary skills goodbye as they drove off and I was feeling, er, rather full.
Never mind, I thought, I’d take it easy the next day. Let this binder work its way through the system and get myself back on an even keel for next week.
I’ve got a big writing job on so I need to be in good shape, both mentally and physically.
Mrs P would be happy I was at least trying to get back to where I was.
That’s when the Scottish Plumber threw a pipe wrench in the works.
Come round and watch the FA Cup football final on telly on Sunday morning, he said.
Having partaken of the annual invitation many a time over the last 40-odd years I replied in the affirmative.
It wasn’t until he said we’d have a good old-fashioned English breakfast fry up with all the trimmings (bacon, egg, sausages, black pudding, mushrooms, hash browns) that I realised I’d have to disappoint My Beloved and delay my return to healthy eating for at least another day.
I figured she’d probably be a bit disappointed.
I’m just hoping my still chubby cheeks will take her mind off it for a while.