I want to be fat, don't I?

Yea, well.... week two (or is it three) along the new anorexia trail
and I'm all hanging out behind like a dog's arse. At first I strode out,
determined not to let Shortarse get to the predetermined lamp post
at the far end of the bay first. That lasted two days before my back gave out.

Yea right...

But true. Honest injun. I do have a lower back "issue" probably resulting
from years of motorcycle racing and having consenting sex in the back
of a 1937 Morris Eight. Whatever.... The fact is that a one km flat out walk
leaves me in considerable pain. What a bugger, eh?

So now I stroll along the beach looking for driftwood and NZ kauri gum (amber)
while Herself JOGS along the road. We meet up at the half way back point, and
I hand over any treasures I've been lucky enough to find. Part of the deal.

I've slipped back into old habits as quickly as a fox on the trot. I still go along,
but "the back" is my out for anything strenuous. I'm a weakling, I know, but
it can't hurt to let Herself have the limelight, can it? She deserves it really...
Of course, now I have to drink all the grog because that's on the prohibited
list for her now.

Maybe fat is OK after all...