A bit of a wobble
So the boffins have worked it out at last. Technology is making us fat, and there is nothing we can do to stop it. The State must step in and do something to help stop us all turning into wobbling blobs who will keel over at 40 from hearts so congested you could shove wicks in them and use them as candles.
At least that’s broadly the conclusion of a recent British study, according to a report by the BBC.
Yes, we are killing ourselves simply by living thanks to technology that saves labour, convenience foods that skimp on nutrition, four wheels that skimp on legs... it all adds up to a big fat problem.
The broadcaster quotes Dr Susan Jebb of the British Medical Research Council as being amazed that anyone can stay thin under the circumstances.
I don’t know what the fuss is all about. Didn’t anyone suspect there could be a serious health implication from devices that consume bits and bytes?
But I must say I like this idea that myself and my good buddies Bacchus and Les Rosbif are not to blame for my ballooning person.
I think the Brits are right when they say we – there’s no reason to think South Africa is any different – cannot be held solely responsible for our burgeoning crisis of obesity.
I am currently going through one of my sporadic health spasms which occur after a long holiday on the fun side of life. And every time I am convulsed with good health I am reminded by how difficult it is to be this way.
First of all you have to find all those extra hours to hunt and gather your food. Of course it must be the freshest, most wholesome possible with enough fibre in it to sandpaper your large intestine. In other words it must also taste horrible and be the opposite to everything you actually like to eat.
Now, anyone who has shopped in an East London supermarket recently will know the challenge of this and what the chances are of finding an apple without a bruise or a nectarine that isn’t mush. Count yourself blessed if you locate a lettuce that isn’t slippery with slime.
I can only imagine that our fresh produce ends up in this state because we aren’t interested in eating it. Like the eggheads say, we’d rather reach for some oddity like chicken pops than a crunchy carrot.
But even try locating a can of something that isn’t drenched in sugar or saturated in fat. You will also notice that if the gods of wellness smile on you and you do locate some quality items that you need a second bond to pay your grocery bill.
I can’t imagine what you’d do if you are poor. Eat grass?
So, you have your ingredients. Well done. Now you must find more hours to prepare these things into about twenty little meals so you can nibble like a shrew all day and give your metabolism a good kick up the bum to start it burning some baggage. Oh, and did I mention that you will also have to hire a porter to carry your array of cooler bags and lunch boxes to the office every day so you can feed your slimming form.
Then we come to our old friend “Exercise”. Yet more hours have to squeezed from the stone of your day to lug your lard over to the gym, or into the pool, or onto a bicycle, or around the block, or all of the above.
In South Africa of course there’s the added complication of criminals who hover around stumbling fatties like crocodiles at a watering hole.
So this confines your sweating to the sunlight hours unless you fancy that special work-out routine I like to call muggers’ dash.
Phew! Pass the chips, please.
This is my column for Friday's paper. Also acknowledgments to Anja Merret's blog Talking To My Generation for first spotting the BBC article and inspiring this column
