This isn't the first time that I've been mistaken for Marlon Dingle from Emmerdale. It's always an ominous sign.
Let's just look at Marlon shall we?
Last time this happened, I remarked sourly "I look like a z-list 'sleb, only fatter."
Oh, how true. You see, I'd taken an old suit in to be let out slightly (nothing major, I thought - it was originally a 30, and I wanted it to be 32, just to give me a bit of comfort). All went well until the tailor reached for his tape.
"38 inch waist, Marlon. You look smaller on TV."
I nearly reeled as much as when I woke up in hospital to learn I had no white blood cells. Oh my god! How did I get obese without noticing it? While fitting easily into normal size jeans...?
Naturally, I'm still in a state of denial. I think I'm a 32 at my porkiest, and his measuring tape lied. The numbers just slipped a little.
"Don't worry about it, Marlon. Me? I just keep losing weight - it has to go somewhere!" My dry cleaner chuckled fondly as I left.