I am sat typing this in my boxer shorts, my thirty-four year old gut sticking out like a fat balcony protruding over a valley of tree-trunk thighs crushing a pair of underused testicles below.
I am planning a jaunt through Eastern Europe with Nothing Man in September - Poland, the Czech Republic, Austria, Slovakia, and Hungary - and we have vowed to get into shape in the months to come.
We are also vowing to save money, and I am adding not smoking, exercising like a banshee, and trying to finish writing the second draft of my (Ha!) 'book'.
Instead, I find myself getting back from work and playing a quick game of Spider Solitaire which ends up lasting til about midnight. I checked my stats just now. It says I've racked up 999 losses. Not only is that a shocking indictment that I have played that many games in just a couple of months, but none of them were actual wins.
I have been cycling to work every day. As a consequence, I am sat here with a thick layer of Ibuprofen gel coated over my broken knees. My diet consists of fish, grilled chicken, vegetables and other suicide-inducing meals. I am bored shitless and pining for garbage.
An hour ago, I snapped and bought a pack of cigarettes, if only to remind my self-destructive rebellious side that I am still able to Stick It To The Man.
Regrettably, that Man is me.
That first cigarette gave me such a headrush that I reeled unsteadily on my feet, just as a large gathering of attractive young Asian women walked past. Now they all think I'm a drunk, and I haven't touched a drop in three days. So there's another notch on my deadpost.
And now Germany's got through to the final of Euro 2008 in what can only be described as a nail-biting scrape to victory.
At least they didn't have that luck 60 years ago.