That picture bears no relevance to this post. As I’ve said before, any and all pictures I have of myself are often not concomitant to the point I am trying to make, unless it involves food or beer.

When I was younger, I was a little bit on the plump side. Just a tad. Let’s just say I was slightly more cuddly than I am now. Actually, I was an exceptionally thin child up until around the age of 6. My nickname was Tin Ribs. After that age, I seemed to balloon to an unhealthy proportion.

There are many factors behind my portly posterior, and anterior for that matter. One is the terrible state of school dinners. This was a pre-Jamie Oliver time. Things were darker then; not to mention greasier.

I remember, the closest thing we had to a healthy school dinner was a salad which consisted of pickled beetroot, egg, heavily buttered bread and crisps. Which would be followed by a dessert of something drenched in custard or a massive bowl of Angel Delight. Quite frankly, I didn’t stand a chance.

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