That said, this is a lesson to take to heart. My digestive tract is clearly not as super-capable as it once was. Henceforth, I will give it extra TLC. That includes avoiding very acidic foods, and going particularly easy on alcohol. So one large glass of wine will be my normal daily limit, and I won't be accepting drinks that I haven't a well-established tolerance for. Pernod? Non, merci!
I don't want a repeat of the last five days. I had plans for doing so much! But, feeling off-colour and bloated, I did little - and time was wasted. One week from today, I must begin preparations for my next caravan jaunt. I will now have to compress two weeks' work into one.
But there is always a silver lining. Having ate less overall this week, it's no surprise that my weight-loss regime got a boost. I made the effort to attend the local Slimming World group meeting yesterday evening, having a hunch that I might well have lost enough weight to gain another certificate. And I was right. I got my 'Two and a half stones lost' certificate! Here is is:
I couldn't help jumping with delight. My ultimate target weight is now only half a stone away. And I so much covet that 'Three stones lost' certificate! When I hit my target weight, I will at last have a BMI slightly less than 25, and the pleasure of having a 'Normal' and not 'Obese' weight. Yes, I know it wouldn't matter much, in a strict clinical sense, if my BMI were 25.2 or whatever; but psychologically it will be a big achievement.
And having lost three stones - 42 pounds, or 19.1kg - my actual weight will be 11 stones 12 pounds - or 166 pounds, or 75.3kg. I'll still be no lightweight. But I will be satisfyingly more slender than a year ago. You know, slender like a graceful gazelle. Or at least a thin elephant.
The next aim after getting that weight off will be improved fitness. I run out of puff too quickly.
Quite what to do about this is a problem. For instance, buying a bike to pedal furiously is absolutely out of the question. I learned to ride a bike only when thirty, never having ridden when a child. In my brief period of early-1980s bike-ownership, I discovered that I had serious balancing problems. Indeed, I wobbled far too much for safety, and I fell off regularly. Not good in London traffic. This led to wounds and pain, and a conviction that, for me, cycling on a traffic-frequented road was playing Russian Roulette with my life.
The roads may be a bit quieter in rural Sussex, but not by much nowadays, and there is the issue of where to ride to. Cycling must have a point, or it becomes a bore. Having lived in my locality since 1996, I know all the nearby roads and places to go. There is no possibility of discovering new things on two wheels.
I also have a horror of being a nuisance. Cyclists hold up the traffic, and I would be one of the worst offenders. I would be cursed and reviled and muttered at. Enraged drivers would entertain dark thoughts about me, involving my sudden death. I would be scared by drivers skimming past on narrow sections of road, and quite possibly so disconcerted that I'd wobble into a ditch. Or wobble into the middle of the road, and that would be the end of me. Even if I managed to survive indefinitely, it's difficult to see how a ride could ever be something to enjoy.
So my bid for fitness will have to involve some other kind of activity. Not sport. I have never in my entire life found sport even remotely interesting. I am co-operative, not competitive. Nor do I fancy belonging to a club. Slimming World and the pilates class are my extreme limits for group membership.
I think my best bet is to set myself some photographic goals that involve some significant walking exercise. A plan to visit (and photograph) various hilltop monuments and memorials, or OS trig points, or old abandoned canal locks, or ancient standing stones and barrows and burial chambers: something like that. I'll give it my best thought, and make a start next spring.