Having the diabetes

Getting a handle on this diabetes thing is no joke mate

it’s as slippery as a bloody eel, or a big pot of boiled brisket.

Sure, you can take away those cakes and biscuits and crap

I’d rather have a tin of peaches any day. What? But it’s fruit, man!

I don’t think eating too much of that rabbit food

can do a bloke much good either – don’t know how

the cattle eat all that green stuff and still put on the beef.

Must have a different kind of guts somehow.

Pretty astonishing to be told that spuds and bread get turned

into sugar inside the belly. Find that one hard to swallow, eh!

Give away the fizzies? Yeah, fair enough, they’re just lolly water

but the beer’s a different story, eh – like an uncle who

puts an arm across your shoulders when you’re taking things hard.

He asks no dumb questions. Yeah, the beer’s family, it’s gotta stay.

Hey, if these pills are any good, can’t they take care of it all

and let me get on with normal life? Why pay twice?

I really don’t know about this diabetes fella, who gate crashed

my life and looks like he’ll never leave. Does a bloke’s head in.