Has anyone else experienced the intense psychological quagmire which emerges with New Year's Resolutions? My decision to think more carefully about what I ate started easily enough with a decent compromise. Rather than giving up buying Coco Pops altogether, I switched to purchasing them only for the cartoon figure on its box and simply threw all the contents into my recycling cubicle. There's nothing very unusual about this. It is being done up and down this country. To compensate, you would have thought the manufacturer could have at least re-introduced the concept of a hidden bag containing a plastic spaceman but oh no. They tell us that the monkey on the front should be more than enough.
Whatever, on 6th January, I employed a nutritional scientist to visit my home specifically so as to congratulate me for my reinvigorated larder. I had been to the supermarket to stock up on food with low calories, low fat and even vegan compatibility, not that I am one. With great fanfare, this stuff now takes up so much of the room there that they have had to abandon their fruit alcove and vegetable booth. To my surprise, she told me to ditch the lot immediately as none of them were, quote, "low carb". "So in other words", I said, "what they are doing is talking in an evil language which suggests that green is blue and cold is hot. I'm suing". But on the 9th - the day that I had booked an appointment with my solicitor - I found that I was quite unable to get out of my bed. There was nothing especially wrong with me physically. It was just that everything I had always done instinctively like eat had been buggered up and this had extended to walking.
The more I thought about it, the less able I was to do it. All I could do was lie there for six hours vaguely contemplating whether it was something about the cereal monkey that I had pinned to my pyjamas. Perhaps I should instead have bought Frosties, bagged them up and handed them in to a food bank kiosk, then put Tony the Tiger in a neat designer frame. It was only the telephone which ultimately triggered in me a natural impulse to rise. The incessant ringing in my ears was such that my neurology knew it had to be answered. But to be fair had I known it was going to be the Civil Liberties brigade, even that wouldn't have been arsed. It's the same every day with them now. A sinister voice at the other end saying "take the shop to the courts if you insist but you are not actually on the phone and this is not a phone call".
Luckily on the 11th I did manage to get out of my house for an appointment at my new doctor's surgery. It is in a tiny tented recess just off the local bypass. I didn't want to miss it as back in October during a white bread and blancmange frenzy I had broken a fingernail and being urgent they had given me ten minutes in mid January. The wait there was only an hour and a quarter but I still had time to be bludgeoned by all the posters on its canvassed walls declaring if I had experienced this or that it could be serious and I must speak to a doctor. Once with the GP, I mentioned that I thought I had 47 of the frightening conditions. "I can't wave a magic wand" she barked. "and can only deal with one thing". Maybe her sugar levels had suddenly become elevated or had free radically dropped. I really don't know. Alternatively it might just be that society itself has become a wild collection of slightly sadistic and downright contrary, raving mad people.
Upset, I returned via the supermarket and scribbled on all the porridge boxes "I'm not buying this as the Quaker isn't a proper cartoon". Getting home, wobbly on my legs without instinctive coordination. my bungalow was much the same except that it had decreased tenfold in size so I had to crawl and squeeze my way through its vastly reduced front door. Every room was now the size of a telephone box or the kind of broom cupboard hutch in which one would keep a painting of a grinning motionless animated gerbil. In contrast, the radio natter sounded twenty times as loud and my TV with its messages of totally irrational helpfulness came across as the size of several Shards. But then that is the modern version of aforementioned society for you. What is the answer? Everyone has his or her own solution. I put on my pyjamas with the pinned monkey and walked on my hands into the capsule. The one in my cot which contains a bubble wrapped micro silo,