Exercise sceptic

My only regular exercise is a 30 minute daily walk. I've never done anything more systematic than that, and I'm still fairly healthy at the age of 76 - apart from the usual aches and pains that affect us oldies.

• I don't do yoga
• I don't do pilates
• I don't do tai chi
• I don't have an exercise bike
• I don't work out
• I don't aim for 10,000 steps a day
• I don't do marathons
• I don't go jogging
• I don't cycle
• I don't swim

Mind you, if there was a gym in the immediate neighbourhood I might very well use it, but there isn't. The nearest gym requires a car journey which I would rather not have to make.

I suspect that a lot of exercise regimes don't actually make much difference to your present or future health. It's probably more the case that it makes the person feel good or they like the sense of self-discipline. At any rate that's how an exercise sceptic like me explains my sedentary lifestyle.

I certainly don't need to exercise surplus flesh away. My weight has remained constant for over 40 years at around 11½ stone - the ideal weight for my height of six feet. Strangely I always shed several pounds overnight. It seems that my body uses a lot of calories concocting the weird dreams I'm saddled with.

I suppose that's one benefit of all the cricket and rugby I had to play at school - I left school in good physical shape and not covered in flab, like so many of today's podgy youngsters.

Far too thin

I've always been thin, especially when I was young and verging on the anorexic, so the women I know are always trying to fatten me up and make me 'healthy'.

Giant chocolate cookies, jam-smothered scones, chunky sandwiches and bowls of chips are pushed in my direction to stop me wasting away any further.

Actually my weight is perfect for my height, but the widespread prevalence of beer bellies and hefty hips makes me look like the oddity. I was actually asked the other day if I had ever been anorexic, so commonplace is it these days.

Even Jenny, who's well used to my body by now, still thinks I'm too skinny and ought to fill out a bit. But she just wants a comfier backrest, if you ask me.

Those who struggle constantly with their weight insist I must be naturally thin and able to stuff myself silly with calorie-rich titbits without gaining an ounce. Well, that was true once but nowadays I have to watch the pounds too.

It's ironic that if I were female I could savour my lucky conformity to the willowy stereotype of Ms Drop Dead Gorgeous. But physical size is fairly low-down on the Ideal Man checklist - what matters more is the size of his bank account and the size of his home. And possibly the size of something more personal.

I'm constantly amazed by the well-upholstered, ample-bellied males that women are happy to be seen with. The only arena in which male thinness is a definite plus seems to be the gay world - I certainly stirred a bit of interest there when I was younger (a lot younger).

For me though, the odd remark about my thinness is just amusing. But it's the thin celebs I feel sorry for. If there's no bulging flesh to be seen, anorexia is the word on everyone's lips - and a hundred denials mean nothing.

(see also Size Zero)