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We don't have a set of scales in our house, but I know without the proof of measurement that there has been seasonal swelling in the Shakespearean abdominal region. I had to wear my lounge suit recently for the first time in years and was alarmed to find that I couldn't do up my trouser buttons without risking asphyxiation. And my silhouette in the wardrobe mirror looks less "svelte man about town", and more "Alfred Hitchcock".

Two trends have combined to produce this unsatisfactory and unsightly increase. Firstly, I turned forty last year. It is widely known that within minutes of reaching that milestone birthday, male waistlines begin to inflate. A good friend explained to me that he went from size 32 to size 36 trousers within a year or two of turning forty.

The second trend is Christmas itself. You see, as I pointed out last month, I love Christmas, and I adore cooking. So the Shakespeare household, plus our neighbours, friends and relatives, have been regaled over recent weeks with home-made Christmas cake, mince pies, walnut tarts, spice cake, roast ham, cheese fondue, slow cooked lamb and other tempting recipes from the collected works of Nigel, Nigella and Delia. With all this food around, someone has to eat it.

You will be familiar with many popular illustrations of the dwarfs of myth, legend and Disney. My people are short, bearded, and tubby. Short I was born with, but proudly, I spent the first half of my life clean shaven and slender. Well, if not slender, at least not what you might call bulky. But if I am now to become as round as I am tall, then surely the time will come when I will be stroking my beard and saying "hi, ho, hi, ho" for the benefit of any small children who happen to be passing, not to mention treading the boards at annual Christmas pantomimes. You will understand why I wish to avoid this fate.

At this point I should explain that in my case, obesity is an impairment issue. Not all restricted growth people are chubby. But it seems that people with achondroplasia have a tendency to become overweight. It may be genetic or it might be something to do with metabolism. It could be that we have an average size person's appetite in a smaller body. But whatever the reason, many of our number are on the chunky side.

As we all know, being fat is bad for your health. For restricted growth people, it puts a particular strain on joints and spine that makes our mobility and back problems much worse. And as I mentioned, being short and fat, as opposed to just short, is hardly good for self-esteem or body image already bruised by the intrusive stares and mockery of the general public. So you will understand why I am keen to do something about this weight problem before it gets out of hand.

There is, of course, an easy answer - eat less. My late father was a very disciplined eater. He said no to second helpings, he spurned pudding, and he turned his back on cream, butter and other sources of saturated fat. As a consequence, he remained well proportioned until his dying day. But my maternal forebears were, to put it simply, greedy. I recently found a photograph of my great grandmother Minnie. She was renowned for her chutneys, her curries, her pastries and sweetmeats, and she was built accordingly. She was far from tall, but even further from slim. When she died, her coffin was so large that they had to break down a wall to get it out of the house.

So, if it's unlikely that eating will take a back seat in my life, my only option is exercise. Here again, us dwarfs are at a disadvantage. Many of us are so overweight that we find walking rather difficult, let alone working out. Luckily, I'm not at that stage, but gym equipment is not designed for the small of stature. Jogging would not only be undignified, it would play havoc with my back. It's far too cold and icy to cycle, so that leaves swimming. Somehow, the dank winter months don't seem the best time to disrobe and do lengths. And it's all so boring. Life's too short surely, to waste time on exercise.

There is another solution to the bulging midriff of course, a more realistic solution, an option that I could reluctantly live with; a choice that would only involve slimming my wallet.

I could just buy bigger clothes.