I think it’s a bit politically incorrect to call my friend Fat Mac ‘Fat Mac’ anymore, so I’ll refer to him as Unslim Mac from now on.
We arranged to go for a bike ride today. As soon as I caught sight of him I could tell that Unslim Mac had been letting himself go again. He used to be physically and literally fighting fit, but nowadays it’s difficult to tell the difference between him and a lump of lard.
I knew it wasn’t exactly going to be a joyful bike ride when I asked him what he’d been doing recently, and his answer was, “Mostly going to funerals, Rodz.”
Changing the subject didn’t do much good. Asking, “So, how are you, Mac?” was a big mistake, and led to a detailed listing of his current ailments, which, if I remember correctly, included, but were not limited to:
A strange ‘spongyitis’ swelling on the ball of his foot resulting from attempting 100,000 prostrations at the behest of his rinpoche guru.
Leprosy around the mouth.
Crutch rot/Jock itch.
The last two are obviously caused by his near-exclusive diet of beer and bread, both of which contain yeast.
After a short bike ride, he was completely out of breath, and I was glad that I’d brought my phone in case I had to call 911. We stopped, and whilst he was recovering I tried to arrange a meetup with him and some of his champagne socialist friends – the ones who bang on about how disgusting it is that there are food banks, and how they’ve given up, in order to save the planet, eating pâté de foie gras if it comes in a plastic tub – but it appears that it will be some time before we can arrange a date, as they are all currently on an extended luxury cruise around Tahiti.
Late news: Mac called off today’s bike ride, and I’ve made up all of the above, but we’re now supposed to be cycling tomorrow, and I’m sure that what I’ve written will be pretty accurate.