Learner Dad: I started going for a cycle nearly every day. I think I’m competing with my wife

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“Would you prefer an overweight wife with a drink problem, or a skinny one who isn’t any craic?” 

That’s what my wife asked me recently when I was trying to get her to share a beer on a sunny weeknight. I told her I’d prefer an overweight wife with a drink problem every time, particularly now that she’s my only booze buddy and the pubs are shut.

The wife was not for moving. She’s been a lot less craic since she bought an exercise bike and started doing spinning classes in the mornings. If the Tour de France goes ahead this year I can see her up on the podium on the final day, and not handing out the flowers either. (The French are still a bit 1978 when it comes to women.) 

She’s a living virtuous circle, cutting out any mid-week treats in case they undo the good work on the bike. That’s all very well for her and her nicely toned legs – I ended up  feeling guilty every night, tucking into my half a pack of Bourbon Creams after dinner. (They’re the Bourbon Creams from Aldi, which are reassuringly small, but I still get the whiff of superiority from my wife as she sips her boiled water.)

Anyway, I think her virtuous circle is starting to influence me. There were at least three nights last week when I didn’t do my traditional Cookie Monster attack on the Bourbon Creams once the kids had gone to bed. I’ve also started going for a cycle nearly every day. I think I’m in competition with my wife.

This isn’t a bad thing. In the past, a middle-aged man wasn’t supposed to take care of himself, at least not in Ireland. His job was to grow a beer belly so big that it had its own nickname. Exercise was for Americans. The Irish beer-belly cad was much-admired as a lovely, cuddly life and soul of the party guy. He was also much mourned when he dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of 58.

So, in fairness, there is plenty to be said for exercise and healthy living. But where do you draw the line when it comes to having a bit of craic?

My wife pointed out this morning that we’re becoming like an American couple, with our smug exercise regimen and healthy living. I see where she’s going with that – Americans are lovely, positive people, but no one would accuse the average Yank of being bucket loads of fun.

My s uburban American phase is down to vanity. And that vanity has an extra edge now that a foreign holiday is possibly on the cards. You don’t need a beach body for a staycation in Ireland. All you really need is those wind-breaker fences that people put up on the strand and a couple of decent fleeces. (If you’re lucky and it doesn’t rain.)

In that case, no one would ever know about my Bourbon Cream problem. But talk of Europe opening up this summer with a vaccine passport system has changed everything. Regular readers of this column will know that I drove myself mad last summer by booking a holiday in France while foreign travel was frowned-upon. (I didn’t go in the end, it wouldn’t have been fair to put the kids through quarantine when we got back.) 

I’ve learned nothing. We’ve ten days booked in August in a campsite near the Pyrenees. It will be hot down there – every beer and biscuit will be visible on my midriff, and I find Germans and Dutch can be very judgmental.

Like most middle-aged men in Ireland, I have a bit of vanity about me these days. So my wife probably won’t be much craic for the next couple of months, and neither will I. We’re Americans now.  (The kids haven’t noticed yet. My daughter still thinks I’m good fun and still likes to point at my belly and giggle. I’ll get her back for that.)

If it’s possible to travel this France in August, we’ll be off, so, I’m going to lay off the treats for the next while. And if you do meet me in France this summer, don’t be surprised if I have a drink in either hand and pizza hanging out of my mouth. You can’t stay good forever.