I don’t need a gastric band - I had somebody else’s ticket

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I was in the chemists’ shop the other day and decided to weigh myself, stuffing the reading in my pocket so I could survey the damage later.

That evening, sprawled on the sofa, large vino in hand plus a box of Matchmakers and a bag of dry roasted nuts, I retrieved the scrunched-up ticket.

To my horror, it read ‘you are 17st 7lbs’, making me severely obese for the height of 5ft 1ins.

Downing another glass of vino, this was much worse than I thought.

I shot straight online to look at gastric band procedures.But later when the effect of the wine had worn off, I thought ‘hang on, something’s wrong here’.

I’m 5ft 7ins. Yep, I had picked up someone else’s ticket. Phew!