"I Can't believe I was Second Fattest!"

One of the legendary quotes from my friend Alex on seeing the holiday photos last week. The most unfortunately portly of course being The Tank Dinning - a nickname he cruelly acquired during our Valencia stay (we thought we were being original, but it turns out most people have a mate called the tank). Far from being cruel, the Tank revelled in his new found fame and spent part of the holiday trying to impress the young ladies with his notoreity.

But the Tank wasnt always the Tank, back in college he has a sixpack which wouldn't look amiss on the promotional poster for 300, but his love for the food has ended all that.

Why am I talking about this now you might ask? Well, I discovered in the build up to Valencia, that a group of 8 fully grown heterosexual males can develop quite an unhealthy obsession with weight when they know they are going to be forced to parade in their undergubbins around one another, and it turns out that quite a number of us had turned to extreme dieting and long distance running regimes prior (1 week prior - probably too late) to our debut on the Spanish beaches. I could see the guys sizing each other up at the airport thinking "bugger it looks like Rob's been on the old treadmill a bit recently". Then the Tank arrived and it was all ok again.

Lucy said to me just before we went "dont you think its sad that the only reason you guys want to look good for the holiday is to impress one another? You're not even bothered about impressing any girls". I pondered this whilst waiting for my fake tan to dry and came to the conclusion - yes it is sad, but I dont make the rules.

So, its 8 weeks till Pete and I arrive in Indonesia, and Pete has already hinted that he is going to be hitting the gym before we go. So it looks like I'll be living off belly button fluff and pencil sharpener shavings for a while.

Anyway gotta go - my celery is getting cold...