HELLO and a belated Happy New Year to all readers of Corkers, especially those who have joined us on our Internet-Today web sites.

I'm back with more wine recommendations and sorry tales of domestic trouble and strife.

I spent a relaxing New Year in Sweden, that renowned wine-producing country and a natural choice for a connoisseur like me.

Sweden is a beautiful country full of beautiful people and I blended in perfectly.

I spent most of the week sampling bottle after bottle of my brother-in-law's excellent Swedish and Danish beer, the weakest of which was about nine per cent alcohol.

We celebrated New Year‚s Eve itself at his friend's farmhouse which was in the middle of a snow-covered forest on the highest hill in Sweden, about six feet above sea level.

Our host was a trained chef and he treated us to a five-course dinner, lots of beer and the most frightening firework display I have ever seen.

The probable reason the Swedes don't drink much wine is because it is so damned expensive. Plonk we wouldn't pay 50p for is about £230 a bottle in the state-run off licences.

Luckily I took with me some three-cork bottles from home, including a Gewurtztraminer (Victoria Wine £6.49) and a Coopers Creek Sauvignon Blanc (Somerfield £3.44).

We enjoyed them over dinner one night with some Swedish friends who I thought all had a deformed upper lip.

I discovered later that they all had Snus in their mouths, a disgusting kind-of chewing tobacco which apparently is all the rage in Sweden.

After a week of meatballs, mixed saunas and general debauchery I returned home almost at bursting point.

I have now put on about five and a half stone since I started writing Corkers and my handsome chiselled features have almost completely disappeared.

With a Spanish walking holiday looming, I decided it might be a good idea to get fit and lose some weight, so I went on a virtual starvation diet.

I ate something called Fat Burning Soup and vegetables or fruit every day for a week and even started walking to the pub.

As an incentive I had a £1,000 bet with an overweight work colleague on who could be the first to lose a stone.

As an added stimulus, I told my chef I was growing a beard and was going to keep on growing it even if it reached my knees until my mission was accomplished.

My rival was equally determined to win and he deliberately broke his right wrist so that he couldn't eat anything.

After seven days of pure hell I managed to lose a creditable 10lbs and am now difficult to see when standing sideways.

I am still watching my figure, as are most of the girls in the office, but have chosen a more sensible long-term diet instead.

Until I win the bet I will be slimming on only three days of the week and enjoying myself as usual on the other four.

Surprise, surprise, though, I have already regained the weight I lost on the crash diet and am now heavier than ever before.

It didn't help when I celebrated the Chinese New Year, the year of the snake, with a home-made Chinese meal and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, a three-cork Chilean 1999 Antares (Co-op, £3.99).

We had low-fat chicken and spinach soup, stir-fried prawns followed by chicken again in a piquant sauce with rice.

For afters we had strawberry meringue accompanied by a bottle of Creme de Fraise which I brought back from Dijon.

The following day I marked Burn‚s Night with haggis, tatties and neeps along with a few drams of single malt whisky.

I now realise that I was never intended to be like those stick insects or muscle-bound Chippendale-types you see posing round town on a Saturday night.

I may lose the bet but, luckily, my wife loves me just the way I am. Fat.

Bon appetit.