Throughout his 20s and much of his 30s he’d always exercised and eaten what he liked. Weight fell off him when he ran his regular 10 miler comfortably. Or at least it did until his late 30s. Then times got slower, the number of injuries and periods of lower activity increased, weight steadily crept on… And Bingo! ‘Fat Dad’ was born.

The superpowers of Fat Dad were many of course. He could eat all day if he wanted to. He could kid himself that he would lose weight through exercise. He could tell himself that when he ran and exercised, he could eat what he wanted. He could use his eyes to see many people larger than him and feel content that he wasn’t that big. He could even show friends how far and how many times he ran using his powerful technology strapped to his arm; and convince himself he was fat-fit too.

What Fat Dad hadn’t bargained for was the vicious cycle he’d entered into: Move more, eat more. He had some success counting calories and running more, but injuries came and went for a few years. And the fat came, …slowly.

His mother-in-law regularly used to say how fat he was getting. A wonderful woman in many ways, but with Trumpesque tact and diplomacy. In fact, if she used twitter the whole world would probably know I’d put on weight, and be on the brink of nuclear war. But she was right of course, although he didn’t need telling. In the end, Fat Dad decided to lose a stone.

In May 2016 he weighed-in at 14st 8lb at the local pharmacy, and was truly impressed and horrified at his BMI. He had weighed himself just this once since the age of about 17 and had guestimated himself at about 13st 8lb.

He decided to exercise more and cut out the snacks. He lost a whole kilo and a half in four months. But the weigh-in had shown him how just how big the mountain had become. A bad knee injury in July 2016 finally made him realise that he couldn’t just turn to exercise as a potential solution.

So what next? How could he do it? Weightwatchers? …No!… Slimmers World? …No!… Amputation of the right leg seemed the only realistic way, although he mused how much a lung or kidney weighed too, should a leg not be enough. But then he thought how stupid he’d become. Losing a leg in such an ungallant way was just daft, and an insult to those who’d lost one they’d much rather have kept. It also wouldn’t stop his mother-in-laws ‘Fat Dad’ comments. And with only one leg he probably wouldn’t be able to get away from her as fast.

These were strange times, and about to get stranger.

Find out more in the next gripping (or not) instalment.