Home Defence UK 
A Symptom of a Greater Malaise
with Archibald Scamp
 Health. Some take it for granted, expecting to stay fit and well until the end of their days. Others seem to be 
 waiting for health to up and disappear, leaving them crapping into a carrier bag or having to jam needles into 
 their arse from now until coils of the mortal variety are shuffled in an undignified manner. 
 As The Home Defence Death Risk Assessment Calculator so kindly pointed out, there are a huge 
 magnificent shit-pile of health-related issues that can kill you stone fucking dead with very little warning. For
example, Oliver Reed dies in a Maltese bar called 'The Pub', his heart packing up after a drinking binge. I mean, if
you're going to go it's a better way than most to exit stage left, but you can't help having a private moment of sadness when reflecting on years of bad behaviour in chat-shows Olly missed out on. Marlon Brando dies. Granted, he was somewhere around eighty, but so was his waistline if you measured it in feet. Marlon may have managed to scrap out a few more years, appearing as bed-ridden criminal masterminds or beached mammals for a seven-figure fee. But no, we lose a great actor of our time. Although one positive to come from the tragedy is a sudden rise in employment rates among pallbearers. 
See, the way you live your life can kill you. We're all going to die (even the smug-ass born-again Christians - everlasting life my arse!), there's no choice. Yet ways exist which might - and I say might because I'm not medically qualified in any way - put off the inevitable. Here at Home Defence a willing volunteer (a.k.a. me, and I'm not really willing, just overweight and frightened) will test out ways to a healthier lifestyle for the benefit of our readers. Hope you're grateful.

When considering nutrition it's vital to be careful what food you choose to put into your body. My first 
attempt at a healthier diet has focused on reducing the amount of fat I shovel down my gullet while 
increasing the amount of fruit. What is fruit you may ask? Fruit is healthy stuff which doesn't look or taste 
anything like a beef-burger. This, frankly, was a bit of a let down. It doesn't taste much like chicken fajitas 
either - again, a let down. Fruit does, however, taste a bit like sweets, which almost makes it okay. 
What was the effect?  Well, after consulting the experts, I expected to be brimming with energy, 
bounding around like a puppy in a toilet roll factory. But no, there was no bounding. There was, though, 
the need for a toilet roll factory. Fruit, it appears, makes you shit. Shit like a bastard. And farting suddenly becomes an even more dangerous experience. Eating fruit constantly isn't like having diarrhoea, but it isn't far off.  I'm wondering if my body suddenly went into a kind of reverse toxic shock, getting rid of all the bad stuff accumulated over the past few decades.
Well, 'detox shock' or not, it was messy. Although the extra reading time did come in handy for catching up on Jeffrey Archer's Prison Diaries.  Plus it's good to know your local sewage treatment plant are supportive, having the same gutsy approach to their work I'd expect from a member of the special forces or cheeky boy-band, Busted.

The decision to exercise should not be made lightly. Odds are, following repeated years of inactivity that makes dead folks look sprightly, any kind of physical exertion is going to hurt, and hurt bad.  Start simple, try getting out of your chair.  Maybe walk around. Go out and get groceries from Sainsbury's instead of making some poor sap bring the damn things to you. I know you're setting dangerous precedents here, but it'll be worthwhile if they actually do some good. This mild 'moving about' might do fuck all of course, but you've got to be in it to win it, to quote those lottery scum. But whatever you do, don't go for a really long run on the spur of the moment.  Trust me on this one, don't do it. Running hurts, and no one will give a lift to a fat, sweaty man who looks like he's going to drop dead at any moment. No matter how long you stand at the kerb screaming "I've got a stitch!" at passing motorists. Those who do decide to go down this, frankly suicidal route, need to take a mobile phone and call for the ambulance when they start vomiting blood by the roadside. Of course, if you're going to take this health kick beyond just a health kick, you're going to have to put pedal to the metal at some point, but do it right from the word go and you could end up like Douglas Adams. No one seeing your perspiring carcass wobble down the road is going to be impressed, not in the slightest. Keep it out of the public view please.

    And Finally...
    Tempted to make this step toward health and maybe follow up on some of the above advice? No? Hardly surprising. 
    But I will keep you, oh sensible reader, up to date on these crazed health experiments, as I attempt to turn myself 
    from couch spud into the healthiest man in the world. Or maybe I'll just give up and return to fatness. Who can 

    Next time: Archibald Scamp visits a health farm, but can't get past the security guards. Then accidentally 
    ends up at a gay night for the overweights when he misinterprets an advertisement for 'Fat Camp'.

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