What I Think of Slimming

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXXVII, Issue 19523, 24 June 1933, Page 10

What I Think of Slimming

WHY STRUGGLE TO BE THIN

BY LORD CARNOCK.

In the year 1933 it is considered rather disgraceful to tte obese. Men, women, and children struggle to be thin. This has not always been the case. There was a time when a comfortably covered individual was regarded as the embodiment of kindness, honesty, generosity, and good cheer. Even now there are certain parts of the world where a stout man or woman is considered the ideal. No Moor or Arab, for instance, would dream of marrying a girl who did not weigh, let us say, 14st. In China, which boasts the oldest civilisation, obesity was once considered not only a mark of beauty, but the essence of dignity. Friends’ Disapproval. To me the expressions: “He does himself well;” “A well-covered corporation;’’ "Rather thick-set;” "Putting on flesh,” and so on, do not give entire satisfaction. I realise that my friends look upon obesity as my own fault, as though I deliberately got fat, as though I tried to put on flesh, and gloried in it. “ Look at me,” says an individual so thin that you can almost count his bones. Ido not get fat and flabby as you do.” This individual eats and drinks almost to excess, yet I, who am infinitely more abstemious than he, appear as a gourmand. On the whole, I do not mind being fat. There are certain obvious disadvantages. First of all, the question of exercise. This is serious; for the fatter you get the less exercise you can take. I used to measure my increase in weight from a small hill in Scotland. One year I could walk tip it easily, the next year I panted a bit more, and as c/ie years went on it became as inaccessible as the summit of Mount Everest. Now I find it difficult to climb up the stairs of an omnibus. As a matter of fact, I have lived in the two worlds—the fat and the thin. For many years I was very thin indeed, too thin I was told. When in India my friends informed me, “You are far too thin. You will never ge*.

through the hot weather. You must build yourself up. Good Burgundy and port will do it.” I took advice and survived seven hot weather seasons on the plains. But alas! as time went on my waistline increased, and suit after suit of thing had to be done, so I decided to starve. I went to a wellknown place in the country, where for one month I lived on orange juice and grape fruit. Starvation’s Effects. While under this regime I felt a fit man. I was neither hungry nor thirsty, desiring no rump steaks nor glasses of port or tobacco. I did have one very great disappointment. I was told that if I starved, my brain would function as it had never done before. In fact, my brain ceased to act. During the last week of my fast it was only with the greatest difficulty I could read "Alice in Wonderland.” I lost 3st. I put it on again in 20 days. But for a gourmet this starvation cure is valuable. It does, indeed, give a wonderful freshness to the palate. My first meal after the cure was: Caviare.—As I tasted this, I seemed to catch the lilt of the Volga Boat Song. Dover Sole.—The whole tang of the salt sea was mine, and I felt tremendous sympathy with all deep-sea fishermen. Grouse. —All the heather-clad mountains of Scotland were mine for a time. Diet Treadmill. In a bottle of best Burgundy, I smelt and sensed the vineyards that face the sun. “You must not have such a dinner.” ; my friends warned me when I dicclos- j ed my intentions. They were abso- '■ lutely right, as I realised a few heurs I after I had ignored their advice. Once again I put my tired feet upon j the dreary treadmill of a diet. Why j I feel, must I groan under dreary pro- j hibitlons in a vain effort to possess the

slinky Argentine figure so much admired nowadays? I cannot eat anything I like. Goulash Hongroise is not for me. nor con I indulge in homard thermidor. Vly favourite curry will no longer tick.? my palate. Potatoes, bread, jam. sugar, butter—but I cannot bear to continue the list of things forbidden to me. Can I drink the tankard of foaming ales? No. I cannot. Can I sip the glass of vintage port? No. The sustaining bottle of Burgundy is not for me. nor the satisfying whisky and soda But why should I elaborate my miseries? I am not as other men are: 1 am on a diet. I wonder if I will stick to it?