Okay, here we go. Another month, another diet.

Yep, apparently it’s time to start getting tough on ourselves and watching every little thing we eat in the name of weight loss.

Correct me if I’m wrong, darling, but this month we’re only eating food groups beginning with the letter Y ... aren’t we?

Or was that last month?

So when did we were restrict ourselves to vegetables grown on the side of a hill in remote areas of Lithuania?

That was March, wasn’t it?

I get so confused.

I understand why we need to do this but I love my food ... I really, really love my food.

You know when you go to a smorgasbord and there’s always some guy who looks just a little too happy to be there?

That’s probably me.

I’m the guy who gives a little girlie squeal as he walks in.

"Oh my God, oh my God ... can you see the size of the prawns?" I’ll gush.

"And lobster! They’ve got lobster!

"And oysters ... and there’s a pizza bar ... and roast something-or-other ... and chocolate topping for the ice cream!

"I think I’m going to faint."

You think I’m joking, don’t you?

Just ask my wife.

She’s used to this sort of behaviour, although I can’t say she enjoys having to keep a firm grip on the back of my shirt in case I try to start filling plates before they’ve even shown us to our table.

"Yes dear. It’s all very nice,” she’ll say as she pats me on the head.

"But stop dribbling on the nice waitress and I’ll find a trough you can eat out of."

Three hours later, I’m the bloke still waving away the waitress when she tries to take my plate.

My wife would probably have a shot at me about that as well, if it wasn’t for the fact I would then remind her of the time a waiter foolishly tried to remove a half-full can of Bourbon from in front of her and she growled at him.

Seriously, she snarled.

The poor bloke thought we’d hidden a dog under the table.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, food ... and diets.

We’re about to start a new one and while it might only last 24 hours (I think our record is a little over 30 minutes) I have to give it a try.

My wife is the brains behind Team Bathersby (surprise surprise!!) and she knew I couldn’t back out when she pulled out an old notebook and waved it under my nose.

“Do you remember when we started that diet about this time last year?” she asked.

“No, not the one with food groups starting with Z – the one where we didn’t eat anything white.

“Yeah, the one that lasted about 72 hours.

“Well, I’ve just checked my records and found that our goal weight for this week’s diet is higher than what we actually weighed last year when we decided we desperately needed to lose weight!”

It’s a scary merry-go-round and I’m worried it’s impacting on other areas of my life.

For example, a work colleague commented the other day that she thought it was so sweet that every time my wife was talking, I watched her intently with a strange, almost goofy look on my face.

A bit like a loyal dog hanging on every one of its master’s words, apparently.
“It’s so sweet to see that,” my colleague said.

So I thought I’d score a few brownie points by telling my wife.

“Apparently, when you’re talking, I watch you really closely with a loving, pet dog sort off look on my face,” I told her.

“I’m told that it’s very sweet.”

“Sweet be buggered,”she said.

“You’re just used to watching me while I’m eating, just in case I drop something on the floor.

“It’s not about how much you love me – it’s about how much of my food you’re going to get.”

She’s right. It’s time we went on a diet again.

Maybe if I only eat the food she drops, I can be slim and still come across as very sweet.