These past few months this blog's eponymous fatty has been realising that being a tubby mo-fo is the least of his problems.
For starters I have come to one of those
call a spade, a spade moments and realised that what is going on with me is basically arthritis of the rheumatoid variety. That's why my back hurts, my hip, knees and neck hurt and why, this week, my fingers started hurting. It is why I will never run again.
It hurts and there is no upside unless you count not being able to hold a bowling ball, play football very badly or stand in queues for hours at conventions to meet famous geeks.
I have come to see that earning a hundred quid a day is a pipe dream. That hurts a bit because it was a nice round numbered goal and easy to work out percentages against (fifty quid is fifty percent).
I also had to admit that I need help doing stuff. Simple stuff like taking out the rubbish, changing the cat litter and all those apparently tiny household chores that arthritis makes difficult. Paying for that help has been a whole other story.
» Keep reading Fatty vs Despair: A Canterbury Tale