Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Weight watcher

When I first came to this prison from closed conditions, on December 29th of last year (2011), I weighed in at about 16 stones. I'm not exactly certain what that is in metric, but I think it is somewhere around 100 kilos.

Why have we got to use the metric system anyway? What was wrong with pounds and ounces? Come to that, what was wrong with pounds, shillings and pence? From what I can see, the only benefit from the changes has been a devalued currency that we don't even belong to! However, this is not about Europe or the financial institutions robbing everyone blind - this is about healthy stuff.

So, in December of 2011 I was about sixteen stones. It was a rough ould winter in many ways, especially here at the Home for Gay Sailors. At one point we had over a foot of snow and temperatures of about minus sixteen! That's definitely a bit on the King Billy side - even penguins were eating hot dogs. (Incidentally, why do polar bears never eat penguins? They can't get the wrappers off! Ha ha - oldies but goodies, just like me.)

Did I let the cold and inclement weather stop me? Certainly not. I came from closed conditions where I got out of my kennel for  an hour a day if I was lucky - no wonder I put so much weight on. On top of the lack of exercise, they fed us on stodge - bread and puddings and other wall-building materials. Here at the H for G S's, we get next to no bread and I can get outside from the crack of dawn each day whatever the weather - and I did.

The result is that last Thursday I went to the healthcare and parked myself on the scales to discover that I am now fractionally under twelve stones! Brilliant! I should get a medal at the Olympics - it might he more entertaining than the opening ceremony.

I'm dreading the opening ceremony - it will be very poor and show us up to the rest of the world as completely void of ideas and imagination. We won't be a patch on the magnificent spectacle the Chinese put on in 2008.

So, twelve stones eh? My clothing fits and the pressure has gone from my knees because they are not lugging around all of that excess weight. I can walk and stay on my feet all day with little effect - just the odd ache at the end of a long day catching all manner of birds.

I only want the pigeons - I let the rest go. There are two ring-necked doves which insist on getting themselves captured in my trap. I tell them, "Bugger off, again!" But they keep coming back and being captured. There are several woodies too - and I've lost count of the number of dim but enormously entertaining starlings I've captured and released. Sometimes I think they just let me catch them for a laugh.

The other day, as I sat waiting to spring the trap, a hare hopped up to me - no more than twelve feet from me in fact - and just sat there staring at me! I thought it was looking for a fight. In the end, after maybe as long as two minutes, it just casually hopped on its way. And the next evening, a little leveret came into my pigeon loft, had a drink at the pigeons' water trough, hopped UNDER my feet, and went about its business. I've lost count of the various finches and other birds that think I am running a soup kitchen for all waifs and strays.

Another bonus of the weight loss is that no matter how far I walk, I don't get out of breath - and I'm getting a nice tan too, though not with the recent monsoon weather.

So, what is the moral to the story?

A good question, and I'm glad you asked. There is no moral apart from - keep away from closed prisons. In fact, keep away from all prisons and avoid dim-witted ring-necked doves - they just sit there sniggering, even after you have opened the trap to let them free.

Why should we bugger off? The food is free!
There are a few prisoners in here like that - why should they put themselves out and actually do anything constructive? There are some who don't even like washing themselves...
The Voice In The Wilderness

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