In the same way that, many years ago during a period of some financial embarrassment, the casual comment by my bank manager that, "Well, you do have your flat as collateral" concentrated my mind wonderfully, so, the more recent observation by my doctor that unless I lost ten kilos it was possible that I would have to be treated for diabetes 2, also prompted a fairly radical change in my life-style!

     After some months of denial and a blood test, I was pronounced 'clear' and the (Spanish) doctor called my test results '¡Brutal !' - which is a good thing in Spanish in this circumstance!  I then reminded said doctor that we had shaken on a bet/deal which meant that if I lost the required weight, he would give up smoking.

     The weight was lost and I demanded that he keep his side of the bargain.  

     You can imagine with what sense of betrayal I observed the doctor this morning, sitting with his family in the leisure centre that we both use, with a packet of cigarettes in front of him!

     I thought of calling the poem I wrote about this event, 'Power?' because it does say something about our relative authority!  However, I have decided to keep with the old-fashioned 'honour' aspect of shaking hands on an agreement instead!

     To add insult to injury, although we were sitting on adjacent tables, he had the gall to light up in spite of my hard stares!

     This poem is my 'revenge'!

Broken promise

A bet’s a bet.

We shook.  I did my part.

And now it’s up to him

to show equal gentility.

Because

. . . a bet’s a bet.

I stared at the offending pack.

He started like a guilty thing,

and hid the evidence

beneath his phone.

And with a look as

near to sheepish as you’ll find

a doctor give,

he claimed he had

‘some months of grace’

before he did his bit.

No, sorry, I insist,

a bet’s a bet.

The kilos I was told to lose

have gone.

So he must quit the fags.

It’s not just a British thing –

a bet’s an honour debt,

and must be paid.

But,

there again,

one-upmanship against

your medical support’s

a risky thing.

Though it’s still true:

a bet’s a bet.

In a way the doctor got his 'revenge' in first, by saying at the same time that he was delighted with my results, that I had to lose yet more weight by the next blood test in October!