Whalesong

It seems that a lot of life is spent keeping things at bay.  Like a pioneer sitting close to a fire which keeps predators in the shadows.   Or a breakdancer pushing everyone back to give herself some decent space.

Success for someone like this can be measured by how much is kept at bay – work filed neatly before deadlines, bills paid before they go big and red, various debilitating sicknesses staved off by  pills, bananas and apples, and household filth before it mutates and eats me.  The area (one area; there are others, too self-indulgently maudlin to go into) which I fail most in is fat.

 I am the exact weight that Kate Winslet (or Mrs Rocknroll to use her married name) was when, in her words, she was a whale.  Clearly she shed some whale fat before exposing her titties in various films because she looked very slim in those.  And when she breathed the immortal words in Titanic “Put your hands on me Jack”, Leonardo diCaprio did not say “Where’s your Jack?  I can’t find it under all this blubber”.

Like most plumpers, I have had periods of being thinner, but given that I have my grandmother’s body (not literally; that would be sick, and would take up storage space) I suspect fighting my genes might be an uphill struggle.  In the last year since I became office-bound, the fat which had been banished to various distant shadows has run back with immoderate glee and ambushed me.

Also at least one of my medications is a known fat-magnet.  I suppose we can’t keep everything at bay, all the time.  That will have to be ok, unless of course I get offered a major film role, or start breakdancing.