It appears that in the last 12 months I've managed to develope Type 11 Diabetes.
I can't imagine how that happened.
Now it's more medication for diabetes and cholesterol.
And more instruction for food management, medication management, podiatry in case of footrot.
There is an answer for all this, I could have lapband surgery which apparently is genius in controlling not only weight but diabetes. Guess who's not going near a surgeon, hospital or lapbanding operation? I don't care how they do it, it's not happening.
Apart from the fact that I get this news right before the Christmas goodie season, a trial in itself.
I thought that, at last, I might get to live a life of my own but now I get to live a life dictated by various dictators of what to eat, when to eat it and do as you're tolders.
No doubt I'll deal with all this in a week or two and I've managed to read the reams of crap I've already been given, considering I don't smoke, hardly drink except for a Bombay on a summer's night, get exercise by falling over and getting back up and a pensioner's loot doesn't stretch to Fois Gras or French Butter, I'm four down the list already.
I knew Christmas was going to be crap.