After our cross country exploits (literally) around eastern Europe our tattered suits were looking a bit worse for wear.  We popped into a delightful tailors in the upmarket part of Gali.  Whilst my inner leg was being measured, a comforting smile came across the face of Mike, something I’d become familiar with throughout our perils.  He had a warming glow about him, but as the tailor would soon find out, the great arse he had in Britain had been ruined by the excesses we had indulged in upon our escape from Czechoslavakia, most culpable the late night private truffle and cheese parties.  He had told me of his past as an underwear model and his physique was something he took great pride in, he was obviously ashamed of me being able to see him in this gnarled state. 

We joined the Georgian branch of Weightwatchers and settled down in a little suburb, trying to reap some degree of normality from the seeds of chaos we’d indirectly sewn into our lives.  Mike and I would talk about the large selection of cured meats available at competitive prices on the market and how this compared with England.  Eventually I won slimmer of the month, much the Mike’s dissatisfaction, and with it my own entry into Georgian slimming history.  This lead me to write a diet book which is where i first transcribed my “grazing diet.”  A diet consisting mostly of grass and lawn shrubbery with the occasional petal as an after dinner treat, something Mike remains incredibly sceptical towards.