My Story — And Why This Book Exists

Strangely enough, for someone who grew up to be properly obese, I was a SKINNY kid.

Not just slender—SKINNY. I’ve got the photos to prove it. Most of them are from summer holidays, me prancing around in a tiny bathing costume, looking like I’d been rescued from a Victorian orphanage. 

My ears stuck out like the doors of a London taxi someone forgot to shut, and I looked like a poster child for malnutrition.

My mum must’ve been concerned, because she fed me like she was trying to fatten me up for market. Maybe that’s what mums do. 

I vividly remember being in a high chair as a toddler. Mum was spoon-feeding me something—no idea what—but when I’d had ENOUGH, I’d spit it out and clamp my mouth shut like a vault.

Did she take the hint? Of course not. She’d scoop the spit-covered spoonful right back up and wait until I smiled… then BAM! Straight back in. Early emotional blackmail at its finest.

Looking back, I think that’s when the overeating habit started.

As I got older, the portions got bigger. 

We’re talking CATERING SIZE meals. But I stayed skinny—somehow—which must’ve confused the hell out of her. But I was forced to eat everything. If I dared leave food on my plate? It reappeared at the next meal before the next monster portion. Leaving food? CRIMINAL OFFENCE.

She’d hit me with that old classic: "There are starving children in Africa who would love that." And I always wanted to say, "Then please send it to them." But back then, kids didn’t answer back. We just chewed in silence.

In my teens, I took up judo. Loved it. Trained regularly. Got stronger. The SKINNY label disappeared. But the appetite Mum built into me? That stayed. I began inhaling food—seconds, thirds, fourths, fifths. Clean plate every time.

Sport kept me slim-ish and muscular… until my early 30s. Then? CLICK. My knee gave way. It swelled to the size of a football. Out came the cartilage and latter an operation on my knee-cap. No more active lifestyle.

That’s when the weight started creeping up. 

• Then sprinting up. 
• Then overtaking me. 

And suddenly, I was FAT. Then OBESE.

And now? Mum was telling me to eat less. 

Oh, the irony.

For thirty years—yes, THIRTY—I tried every diet going. Some worked short-term. I lost dramatic amounts. But then it came back. And brought friends.

So what finally worked?

Fasting.
I don’t even remember where I first heard about it, but once it started trending, I jumped in. In typical fashion, I went extreme: seven-day fast, water only. Lost TWO STONE. Seriously.

Downside? 

Felt awful. Weak, drained, miserable. 

But the upside? 

My stomach SHRANK. Couldn’t eat much, even if I wanted to.

• I felt lean. 
• Clean.
• Light.

I became addicted to that feeling.

Then I found OMAD – One Meal A Day. 

That felt more doable. I’d never liked breakfast anyway, so I pushed my eating to late afternoon or evening. An hour-long eating window suited me just fine.

What do I eat?

• Pretty much anything I want. 
• No sad little diet foods. 
• I go for natural, sensible choices—less oil, less sugar—but I don’t obsess. 

And the key?

I STOP EATING WHEN I’M FULL.

• Simple. 
• Revolutionary. 

And once I did that consistently, the weight fell off.

• Every week, the scales dropped. 
• So did my trousers. 
• It was working, and it was EASY.
  

The best part?

• I started enjoying food more. 
• Not shovelling it in. 
• Savouring it. 

Focusing on taste instead of belly-stretching volume.

That’s it. SIMPLE.

• So simple, you’d think it was a trick. 
• But it isn’t. 

And I’ve got loads more little techniques and tips that make it work even better.

In the next chapter? We’re going to make it FUN.