Thursday 5th November 1993 Morning surgery 11:10

Bill Parry was already very overweight when his cherished, first wife died. For years, she had provided an abundance of delicious treats. Bethan, his second wife, knew she had a lot to live up to and did not want to disappoint. She worked her socks off in the kitchen. She was secretly pleased when Bill began to gradually gain weight but, in public, she admonished him. “If you are not careful, you’ll have a heart attack, Bill.”

“Goodness me,” my Dad said, when they arrived this morning. “This is the biggest that I have ever seen you, Mr Parry. You will have to do something.”

Bill nodded, turned to his wife and smiled sheepishly. She promised that he would start a strict diet straight away but, she warned my Dad, they did have afternoon tea booked for Sunday to celebrate their anniversary.

At the end of the consultation, Bill was stuck in his chair. His huge hips were firmly wedged between it’s wooden arms and he couldn’t move. Eventually, Dylan and I had to haul him up while Dad leant on the back of the chair to stop it lifting.

Bill smiled at Bethan again. He did not seem a bit worried.

Stuck in his chair.