Set-point theory hypothesises that there is a control system built into every person dictating how much fat he or she should carry – a kind of thermostat for body fat that the body is determined to revert to despite efforts to become so skinny, only the one eye would be required. Studies using mainly dietary restriction have shown that weight loss is accompanied by complacency followed by the habits of old (TOTB et al. 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014). Severe caloric restriction has been shown to increase cravings for Curly Wurlys as much as 85% (Cadburys & TOTB 2015).

Scientists remain divided over the validity of the theory, but research findings appear consistent with evidence-based studies involving lesser-explored set-points including the following:

1. Sibling Set-point:  Despite reaching maturity, being able to retain a job, and convince bank officials to hand over the equivalent going rate for an internal organ on the black market for an upgrade to the garden shed, adults will naturally revert to their sibling set-point whenever they reconvene. This is most acutely determined by being present in the childhood home environment. Sibling set-point behaviour fluctuates from one sibling to another but “That’s not fair” in a high octane voice is a common refrain among most…40-somethings.
2. Music Set-point: If a person exhibited scant interest in music at an early age, they are most likely drawn back to the oeuvre of Florence and The Machine, and Ed Sheeran after several failed attempts to listen to The Paul McLoone Show. Adults who were early music fans will eventually seize up whenever they see Little Green Cars having momentarily been duped into falling for their pseudo musical credentials. They’ll not be fooled.
3. Internet-at-work Set-point: Having flicked straight to the internet use policy in the employee handbook with a renewed determination on the first day of a new job, workers will vow never to re-abuse the policy and risk a bollocking, or worse – risk exposure of the variety of bodily ailments giving them jip that they just can’t resist Googling . By six months, their favourites will include the 8-Ball Question & Answer site, and Medics R Us.
4. Teen Set-point: Irrespective of the distance between adult children and their parents, the former will revert to their Teen Set-point age whenever they learn that their parent(s) are going on holidays or will not be at the family home for a night. This usually involves a warm fuzzy feeling accompanied by a stare into the middle-distance to speculate on what one would do to pass the time in the family home if they were 15 again. Only they don’t imagine they are 15 again, their thoughts automatically revert to age-type, and more often than not include a cameo appearance from the drinks cabinet and an involuntary tapping of the right index finger previously deployed for circumnavigating the phone-lock.
5. Calm Set-point: The adult-man habit of gently placing a hand inside his pants is thought to derive from the unconscious return to child-hood self-soothing. Actually, I just made that up, but it sounds about right. Work with me here. For others, the sight of Bert and Ernie sends them hurtling towards a yearning to retreat to the bottom of a garden so they can talk to themselves without interruption. In lieu of either, the bathroom is a reliable garden simulator where day-dreaming can last for as long as you can get away with it, and you don’t even have to warn the next person in to give it a minute.
6. Coastal Set-point: Growing up in close proximity to the sea can be a challenge for an adult who later finds themselves landlocked between painful social conservatism, and that nice coffee shop that occasionally opens on Sundays. This can be harder to return to and the mind will invariably induce a variety of deviant behaviours until the adult’s discomfort finally washes up on the shoreline to which they eventually return. These have been known to include: being over-friendly to shop assistants, menu-planning for a fortnight ahead, almost buying a dog based on a single photo from a colleague, resurrecting the what-does-it-all-mean speech whilst in the car to visit the in-laws, and hovering around the non-alcoholic beer section in Sainsburys.
7. Group Set-point: Studious rule-abiding types in childhood are likely to carry this responsible behaviour into the work environment. The temptation to collude with their messing colleagues to hide one of their cars will test them, but they will scupper the carefully orchestrated plan by calm calls to reflect on the unfairness and potential shock the unfair and potentially shocking prank could unleash on the unsuspecting individual. The messing student who frequently sat at an annex of the teacher’s table will agree with the studious type. But not for very long.

M.y..t..h..u..m..b..s…h..a..v..e….g..o..n..e….w..e..I..r..d

This is by no means an exhaustive list. Research is on-going, and contributions from your good-selves are always welcome.

Few things strike fear more than the moment before my bank balance is revealed, and being invited to a hen party. It’s not the women per se, or the variety of them, or the number of them – I am one with innumerable personalities of my own after all. It’s just the women, the variety of them, and the number of them (according to one of those personalities).

You know how we all generally have different mates that draw out various aspects of our personality more than others? There’s the more serious you, the maggot-acting you, the riled-up you, the cheese-appreciating you, the yarn-telling you, the hyena-laughing you, the over-earnest you, the slightly-more-confessional you, the obsessive you etc. etc. Then there’s your best mate who you’re the nearest to being totally free with and with whom you can talk in euphemisms until she finally calls a halt and demands to know what the fuck you’re talking about when you say he likes his tea upside down?

Well, for the first few hours, a hen party is like going on a blind-date with variations of them on a school reunion for the class five years behind in a random pub with everyone pissed out of their heads on smiles. Consequently, they tend to make me very tired and lead to my premature escape. Just on the cusp of chaos before anyone can be accused of looking at someone “funny”. Oh yeah. There’s funny haha. Funny weird. And the final funny in the holy trinity of funnies – are-you-looking-at-me-funny? funny. Predominately found among the inland towns of the North, parts of Leitrim, smatterings of the Midlands, young people aged 13 – 16 everywhere, and there’s a higher-than-average propensity towards it among adults with surnames beginning with O’ and Mc.

Why, I’d just LOVE to go

All and all, they’re treacherous affairs best avoided. But as a carrier of one of the aforementioned surnames and first generation insincerity, I accepted an invitation recently with an enthusiasm so overbearing, I probably qualify as funny weird. No sooner had I donned the mandatory themed gear, when all my personae predictably made a bee-line for my big mouth smack in the middle of a group of strangers. These are confusing and dangerous occasions. They require a period of settling-down where one must await the conversational match-making gremlins to do their work.

Somewhere along the way the name-settings were switched. The over-eager-listener me got cornered by Sara who was in the middle of house-hunting, had a pronounced antipathy towards students, and a compulsion for revealing her bemusement at the number of cross-dressing customers visiting the second-hand shop she occasionally volunteers in. These Christian types. Their inclusiveness is a credit to fundamentalists everywhere. “Right”, I kept responding, which was probably too subtle a jibe.

Relief arrived in Michelle, who was about to make the leap into matrimony shortly herself but couldn’t find a fuck to give about it. Wahey. Within twenty minutes we were bent double with laughter at our respective examples of how we attempt to behave professionally in the work place. She surpassed herself by laughing uproariously at my worrying Mary Robinson claw predicament while I bent backwards under the weight of the guffaw at her method of listening to her boss. It was all going wonderfully until someone ruined it with the announcement that the Chinese had arrived. Off she went to freshen up leaving the maggot-acting me to grind the train of thought on everyone being a bit mental in one way or another to a halt with Tina.

But Tina was half-way through an emphatic rant on maternity welfare benefit. In the end I had to dig out the riled-up me just to stay awake. “It’s only going to get worse with the Tories back in!” My new get-out-of-jail response.

And so to dinner, and back pretending to be grown-ups. “So what do you do yourself?”, countered Anne to my enthusiastic dot-joining on how we knew the hen. Oh no, not the job question. The dull me was already shot to hell after enduring a monotonous exchange on the summer weather so far that ended in a cliff-hanger when Caroline (who I kept calling Catherine while apologising for doing so) was interrupted by an urgent need for me to have a wee. All the talk on rain didn’t help. Thankfully, Anne was usurped by the Mr. & Mrs. Quiz klaxon (fork on the wine-glass, polite at first before quickly reaching Gestapo levels of authority and fear).

The final question was my cue to leave. Specifically that moment when the bride-to-be was pressed for an answer on which famous person she reckoned her fella said she looked like. Always a tense moment.

*five seconds of tension*

Another doppelganger for Andrea Corr! That’s every black-haired woman in Ireland who may or may not keep their internal organs in their handbags.

Mounting the wagon, I could see Michelle stoking the fire while everyone pulled their seats closer and huddled together as the first round of shots was fired. As it happened, I did have to be somewhere else the following morning. But for a brief moment, the more sociable me regretted the risk of missing out on the action.

You looking at me funny? *eyes narrow*