Suing the NHS? Fat chance, son

Oh dear.

Put simply, the former world's fattest man is to launch a legal action against the NHS, because they apparently failed to help him when he went to them for assistance. We're talking about a man who was putting away 20,000 calories a day at one point. That's twenty THOUSAND calories, yet he believes that it's the NHS's fault that he's such a fat wanker.

Apparently he was told when he clocked 30 stone that he should 'ride his bike more'. Now, I'm not a professional dietician, but I would have thought that doing some kind of physical exercise that didn't involve the use of a rag on a stick would have gone some way to helping him lose weight, but instead he decided to carry on scoffing in his pursuit of some kind of macabre world record.

He further claims that he was referred to a dietician instead of an eating disorder specialist which further exacerbated things. You may be surprised to learn that I don't fully buy into this eating disorder caper. I'm not saying that some people don't have issues with food in the same way they might with alcohol, but you'd do well to convince me that this pie-arse had a disorder to the extent that he was using lard as toothpaste (probably not true, but you get the idea). To suggest that his problems are entirely the fault of someone else is ludicrous, but sadly not unique in today's blame culture, where you can walk under a ladder, have a bucket drop on your head and successfully sue the butter-fingered window cleaner, regardless of the number of 'look out - falling buckets' signs you deploy.

Personally, I hope this is taken through the courts, and he is laughed out on his special fat man buggy. He spectacularly fails to spot that he costs the taxpayer an absolute shitload each year (I've seen the price of nappies these days) and although he vows to put any compensation he makes towards anti-obesity campaigns, he had to understand that his condition is pretty much of his own making. I doubt a nurse (scantily-clad or otherwise) paid him regular visits to force feed him 11 pizzas and a Pepparami. Surely when he got to 25 stone he must have thought "Crikey, I'm proper piling it on. Maybe I should think about changing my diet and/or doing some kind of physical activity to shed the pounds. Nah, I'll wait 'til I'm 30 stone then get offended when someone tells me the bleeding obvious"

In conclusion, there is no place for this kind of person in society (almost literally). If he wants to eat himself to death, he can be my guest; it's free country. However, if he thinks I'm paying my taxes to fly a series of WWE wrestlers over to carry his fat arse into the crematorium when the inevitable happens, he's got another think coming.