Fat-shaming works. Why else would I heave myself up and down hills for hours every day?

We have been contemplating moving to the North, for a variety of unassailable reasons. One is the chance to gloat on a daily basis. I will immediately become the thinnest and richest man in the village, which will do my flagging middle-aged self-confidence no end of good. Indeed, on the weight issue I could cease worrying completely and really pile on the pounds, simply moving another 100 miles north every time I reach the average weight of the indigenous population. Begin at 14 stone in, say, Coventry. When I reach 16 stone, move to Sheffield — and immediately become the thinnest man around once again. By the time my gut is so large I need a crane to drag me to McDonald’s and back I’ll be living somewhere near Paisley, or perhaps Oban. It used to be said that for every 50 miles you travel from London, you go back in time five years.