Two pints of lager...

The January after Dan was born I joined his mum on a mission to lose some weight. I seem to remember that my participation was somehow presented as me being supportive but, guys, I think my belly spoke for itself. 

We embarked on WeightWatchers: each food had a certain number of points and you were allowed a certain number of points per day depending on your gender and size. (Me: Male, XXL) Now, this budgeting works quite well for me - as it has with the calorie counting, this year - and once I'd worked out a rhythm for the day, starting with a skinny latté and skinny blueberry muffin from Starbucks at the Globe - I was all sorted.

Once or twice a week around that time, I'd meet my brother for a drink at the Punch Tavern on Fleet Street and I would budget four points such that I could enjoy two pints of lager with him. (I was allowed thirty per day, plus another three when I did a bit of walking <-- STEPS!)

At the start of the process, I barely noticed the two pints of lager but, after a few months and the shedding of a couple of stone, I'd find I was a little more... squiffy on my walk to Waterloo. (I was weekly commuting to London at the time and my parents kindly/unwisely agreed to put me up.)

I mention this because this afternoon/evening, I ventured into Manchester to meet up with Simon for a few drinks and a bite to eat. By my reckoning, I had a two pints of ale and a couple of glasses of wine at the Eagle, and half a bottle of wine at Ply. That might or might not sound like a lot to you depending on your body mass and tolerance but it certainly caught me unawares as I went up the travelator at Piccadilly. Time to recalibrate!

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-13.5 kgs
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