Intolerance my arse.

I always think I am allergic to something. Fact is I’m allergic to bugger all. It’s all in the mind. I know it. I just can’t face up to the fact that stuffing my face with chocolate, wine and bread is going to make me puff up. And that’s not an allergy that’s life. So as I spot the latest self help book in the bookshop – How to Have a Bum Like a Pair of Walnuts in 25 minutes by R.Yoo Mintal I put down my jammy donut, wipe my fingers and reach out for it like the 100’s of other misguided woman around me. STOP.

Just the ticket. Keep face flat whilst smoking. Pre-botox.

Diet and exercise – its not rocket science but the sad fact is it’s not fun so therefore I’m not interested.

A sea change of attitude is what’s required here I know that. But at this stage is it going to happen to me? I think not.

And anyway who wants to see a 47 year old dancing around half naked on a beach?  Is it not about now it is acceptable to be seen lounging louchely in a dark coloured kafthan sporting a large brimmed hat, a huge gin and tonic and oh God a fag! Does that mean I have to start smoking again?  How I suffer for my art. The art of growing old disgracefully.


Writer & broadcaster.

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