Why is it that when I’m a bit peckish, I can’t just eat one chocolate digestive?

Why instead, do I stuff down seven and then spend the next half an hour imagining my thighs are growing exponentially?

I do not understand where this greed and lack of temperance comes from.

It’s the same with:

Wine
Always completely unable to recognise when the party is over. Everyone’s going home completely lambasted on port and I’m sat there nonchalantly smoking a fag, declaring, “I’m hardly pissed at all, where the fuck are you losers going?”

Shoes
Blown the wages on a new pair? Might as well go the whole hog and buy another then. Yes, and live on 2-4-1 Asda bargains and disgusting cheap wine for the rest of the month. (But at least my feet look bloody fantastic.)

Sleep
I can’t just have the normal eight hours. Ho no. I get right narky if I haven’t been able to horizontally laze around for at least an hour either side of the actual sleeping. As a result, I operate at low-level pissed off the majority of the time and despise those smug twats who hop out of bed all cheerful in the morning, and then who drop off to sleep the moment their heads hit the pillow. They can all go fuck themselves.

So to conclude: I lack discipline in every sense.

If I hadn’t spend all my cash on parties and shoes, and missed countless working hours (and therefore extra dollars) because I was hunkered down eating zzzzzzzz’s, I’d send myself off to a very expensive bootcamp for some serious whipping into shape.

As this is not an option, I shall simply patiently wait for my mid-thirties and pray the passage of time instills some self-control.