I was reminded the other day that we have roughly five months until Christmas.
Which means the excuse for a few . . . okay, seven, extra kilos of non-muscle weight sitting around what I call the "festively plump" region is now no longer so much festive plumpness as more of a "nearly 60 per cent of the year being lazy rotundness".
It may shock some, including my wife who has to see the nightly parade from the bathroom to the bedroom, but I was once in great shape. And not as in the wonderful egg shape I am transforming into, but the shape of a man who was reasonably into fitness.
Fitness in the traditional sense, not the internet meme sense of "Yeah, I'm into fitness - fitness whole pizza in my gob".
Read more: The Hits: Day goes to the dogs in fast and furious fashion