I MADE the mistake the other day of looking back at some old photographs in what was supposed to be a major chucking out exercise.

Over the years, we have accumulated many thousands of snaps, more than enough to fill two king sized holdalls and in a spirit of zeal, I vowed to throw out all those photographs that were out of focus, those with heads cut off, and those scenic panoramas of blowy hilltops and choppy lakes we could neither remember taking not identify.

The vast majority were of course of our four boys at various stages of growing up, and the bin bag remained undisturbed for hours at a time as we cooed in nostalgia at times gone by, and remarked on the striking resemblances of our grandchildren to our children.

Early holidays in tents gave way to caravans, and then to small seaside hotels before we managed to get all four of them abroad at the same time, before they decreed one by one they were too old to holiday with their parents.

We also found many long-forgotten and unlabelled mini video cassettes, but not the special adaptor needed to play them - even if we could get the video player which still resides under the telly cranked back into working mode.

Then there were the pictures ourselves, from love-struck teenagers to newly-weds, and I was left wondering how the dashing young blade of the 60s and 70s had metamorphed into Mr Blobby. Apart from a disturbing tendency to pose for pictures with one hand on hip in a decidedly camp fashion, I was relatively well proportioned throughout my 30s and 40s, until the 50s arrived with enough luggage for a round the world cruise. Some of the more lurid fashion choices, including me sporting assorted startling shirts guaranteed to induce a migraine, and with hair styled as though I had stuck my finger in an electric socket, were hastily concealed from mocking children, although I hadn’t got the heart to throw the snaps of shame out.

I used to spend hours at a time playing street football and tennis with the lads, but once they had outgrown such pursuits, the exercise ceased, and I ballooned prodigiously over a period of about three years.

Having a sedentary job did not help, and nor did my regular lunchtime visit to Wetherspoons for a couple of pints, or the Warburton’s Toastie loaf under my desk I got through every other day filled variously with squashed bananas, corned beef or Kraft cheese slices, all washed down with lashings of high octane Vimto cordial.

Then there were the daily pork pies - better known as growlers - supplied by the kindly editor, the Friday morning sausage and onion sandwiches, and the office-wide habit of feeding me with bait box left overs and the unwanted suppers from the Haydon Bridge carpet bowls team the night before.

All that ceased once I finished work this spring, and the weight began to disappear like a April snowman - even though I was actually eating an extra meal.

Since retirement, I have undergone a major change in lifestyle, thanks to the unlimited leisure time at my disposal.

When I was at work, I never had time for breakfast, once I had walked the dog and taken Mrs Hextol her morning cuppa, but now, I can enjoy my regular bowl of bitesize shredded wheat, with grape or strawberry accompaniment.

We have also switched from white bread to brown - reducing my bread consumption prodigiously as to me brown bread tastes like raffia - and we have also gone from blue topped milk to green, without noticing any difference in taste.

Add to that my regular ten-mile time trial on the pushbike, and my life has been turned round completely. When I first started doing the circuit, it took me an hour and 20 minutes, but I now regularly complete it in around 50.

However. there’s more to this losing weight lark than may at first be apparent.

Despite the fact I have added extra holes to my belt, my once alarmingly snug shorts now have a tendency to droop sadly at the back, giving the impression I am wearing a well-filled nappy beneath them.

I have even had to go to Specsavers to have my glasses tightened up, to stop them falling off my suddenly streamlined face every time I nod my head, and my watch whizzes round on my wrist like a hula hoop.

Where will it all end, I ask myself?