Expanding girth

Ok, so British food is pretty scary, most of the time: heavy on the dairy and white bread, low on the fresh veggies, but I seem to be doing quite a good job of stuffing it down my neck. At first I thought I’d stuffed up with the clothes dryer and shrunk a pair of pants. But it wasn’t possible for me to have shrunk the trousers I hadn’t worn yet.
Seems all that time sitting on my clack while I was ill, plus two weeks of high-fat, low-impact holidaying have taken their toll. So much for all that gym time. I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting in front of the telly all day: I’m out every day, on and off buses, wandering around interesting towns, in and out of old buildings, through fields, over bridges… and in and out of tea rooms.
At home I’m pretty damn active: lots of bike riding, a bit of dancing, off to the gym twice a week, etc etc. But here, I’m eating far more, i'm far more sedentary, spending more time on my date on buses, and certainly not riding any bikes or dancing (so far anyway). All the nostalgia food hasn’t helped: hula hoops, jaffa cakes, chocolate buttons. Lucky I’ve gotten over them, now. I can move on. Perhaps.

Shee-it. Well, there’s London next week. I’ll be doing some dancing there, I hope. I’m sure.
I’ve only so many pairs of pants with me: I can’t afford to get any bigger.