I went for my routine diabetes check-up this morning, and had confirmed what I have long suspected: I'm just not tall enough.
My sugar levels are pretty much under control, my blood pressure is (as always) too high, and the little stick they dip in your pot of urine turned the right colour, but there remains this height problem.
I have always realised that this was an issue, but hadn't suspected quite how short I am. I thought perhaps an extra 7 inches or so would be ideal. But no.
It turns out that to sustain the Body Mass Index I have, I need to grow by no less than an extra foot, taking me from my average 5ft 10ins to a fairly unlikely 6ft 10 ins.
The other day, I stepped on my daughter's bathroom scales. I 'did the math' as we have learned from American TV to say, to convert the reading into stones and pounds, smiled to myself, and made a mental note to tell my daughter her scales were way out and that she perhaps needed to change the batteries.
Imagine my surprise when I stepped on the scales at the surgery to find that they were showing the same erroneous figure. Sandra, my fantastic diabetes nurse, assured me that the scales were in fact not lying and that I am what the medical profession like to call a fat bastard. Of course she didn't say that: she actually said I was obese.
This did not make me feel good. I've always struggled with my height - I suppose I mean weight - but I genuinely thought I was about two stones lighter than I now have to accept is the reality.
So I came home and signed up for Weightwatchers on-line. My initial target is to lose a modest - but still daunting - 6kg.
Why am I sharing this with you, dear reader? In the hope that by 'going public' I will feel more motivated, and more ridden with guilt if I fall by the wayside.
I'll let you know how my weight - or height, if that turns out to be a practical solution - progresses.