Life on Tapp: It’s farewell pie and chips... now pass me the couscous

While I’ve, so far, resisted every temptation to step on the scales before the official weigh in, which is the only time I’ll ever feel like a heavyweight champion, I already feel much better than I did this time last week. Photo: AdobeStock

As somebody who has spent a lifetime worshipping at the high altar of gluttony, it’s no surprise that I have an uncanny knack of putting on weight.

Blaise Tapp writes: Ever since I discovered supersized kebabs and reassuringly expensive European lager in my teens, I’ve gradually developed the body shape of a moderately successful darts player. By my mid 20s, I was carrying more bulk than a heavyweight boxer, although my muscle profile was minimal, which is when I first decided to go on a diet.

Back then, the weight fell off – more than three stone in total – just in time for me to skip down the aisle with Mrs Tapp on our wedding day.

While I didn’t stay at my fighting weight for too long – honeymoon grub and endless post-nuptials takeaways put paid to that – I was always able to lose extra pounds if I really wanted to.

That was then, but since hitting 40, the battle against the bulge has become far more difficult, given the fact that I now have the metabolism of a hibernating tortoise and that our cupboards are filled with tasty treats that a sedentary middle aged man has no business eating.

My last visit to the bathroom scales convinced me that I could no longer carry on filling my face like it was Boxing Day every day and, with some gentle encouragement, I decided to go on my first diet since the days when I needed comb.

It’s the earliest of days so far but I’ve signed up to the slimming group for an initial six weeks, which at the very least, means a month-and-a-half of weighing out extra small portions of porridge, reacquainting myself with fruit and making a note of every single thing that passes my lips.

I’ve set myself a relatively modest target of losing two stone but the reality is that I probably need to lose double that if I want to keep my knees for another 40 years.

While it’s highly unlikely that you’ll ever see a photograph of a waif-like me in a newspaper, stretching the waistband of my old, giant trousers to emphasise my miraculous weight loss, I do feel quietly confident.

Who knows if I will achieve my target but, for now, it’s goodbye to fry ups and hello to low fat spray and plenty of couscous.