I am amazingly lucky, blessed as I am with a fabulous figure, even though I eat like Pavarotti on death row, but I appreciate that there are those less fortunate, who will stop at nothing in the quest for the body beautiful. I find my tiny frame trembling with horror at the mere mention of the macabre sounding self mutilation on offer.
In those enlightened good old days, if you found yourself turning into Hattie Jacques, you adjusted into a few more yards of crimplene and swapped your stilettos for a pair of Hush Puppies.
The radical eighties gave dieting a scientific angle, or tried to, with slimfast, which really is Angel Delight in a tin. The clever Americans who make it had plenty of gullible Gordos filled to the gills with the stuff because Uncle Sam told us it was scientifically worked out.
In the nineties we were shaking our bodies and not our slimfast. Every A, B and C list celebrity under ten stone had a work out video on sale. Between Jane Fonda feeling the burn and the green Goddess telling mature ladies to gently squat, the video shops were full of something ranging from soft porn to the grim reapers P.R.
That is well behind us now. Weight loss, plastic surgery, lipo-sculpture and any number of other unpronounceable tweaking has shot into another galaxy. But thanks to some very glossy, very swanky magazines available close by, all manner of pseudo medical jargon is explained and, if you cant read, there are plenty of pictures. So many pictures that at one point I thought I was looking at some poor unfortunates varicose veins when in reality I was studying a useful map showing a clinics whereabouts.
I dont pretend to understand or in fact want to know all the technical ins and outs of plastic surgery but, cosmetic surgery for Ken and Barbie personified aside, plastic surgery does have another face (no pun intended) and has been one area of medicine that has performed some minor miracles for burns victims, birth deformities and all manner of other very worthy, deserving causes.
I worry about the beautiful people. Most of them are so pumped full of silicone that topping up the orange tan must be a bit like Russian Roulette; how many of them run the risk of ending up as a puddle of melted silicone., when the midday sun hits 100º Fahrenheit? Imagine the poor relatives only being able to identify the body by its Rolex, Mercedes key ring and a set of porcelain teeth!
Still, look at the bright side. Funeral costs wont eat into your inheritance if you can send them off in style in a milk bottle.
Some people it seems will go to any length and endure any amount of what must be very painful surgery just to keep old
Father Time and his brother Gravity off the Christmas card list.
I for one, will not be visiting any of those Carnal Anatomical Clinics, in fact I am sure some of them are so scary you would be
hard pushed to even drag Mulder & Scully into them. On the other hand however, and just for the record, there are the soft option beauty clinics, the ones that dont offer to turn you into Hannibal Hectors party frocks. If you dont feel ready to cut off what nature gave you, how about Chocotherapy. Something described as a stimulating and invigorating treatment using melted chocolate, with Brazilian coffee and Madagascar cloves as a base. It sounds good to me; although I think I would only be going for chocolate rub downs in the winter, unless of course you were thinking of adopting some wasps.
So it looks like it all boils down to a choice between looking like a giant ripple or a raw liver lollipop. I know what gets my vote and I, like Marian Faithful before me, I will just have to take my chocolate like a man!