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Many people day-dream about losing weight quickly. I have been part of that hapless crowd. When I first moved to Thailand, seventeen years ago, I weighed a hefty 110 kilos.
After six months of good living and my girlfriend’s excellent cooking, i weighed in at 120 kilos. I was way overweight,
and I knew it, but I am big-built and just over six feet tall, so most non-medical people thought that I could get away with it.
I felt great, and since I have never been into serious exercise, I just let it slide.
Fifteen years passed and I remained at 120 kilos with no obvious ill effects. Then we moved to Spain. We had a kitchen
in our apartment there, and life and my weight continued as normal.
Then came the UK’s Brexit vote, and I judged that we ought to get my Thai wife inside Great Britain before they raised the drawbridge and lowered the portcullis.
We could not find anywhere to live for love nor money as we had no residential history, but a good friend let us have a room in his house.
We intended staying a month at most, but we were there for nearly two years.
Without a real place to cook of our own, the quality of our diet plummeted.
After 21 months, my doctor weighed me in at 134 kilos. My wife and I were shocked.
We returned to Thailand just before the aeroports were closed and nine months later I was back to 120 kg. Another six months
passed, but I just couldn’t get below 120 kg.
Anyway, I went for a check up yesterday, and when I hopped on the scales, I weighed 110 kg.
The scales in my house are twenty years old and giving false readings!