Sod this healthy eating lark …..

Today was the first day of my health kick. Again. No really, it was. I’d planned it well. I’d emptied Holland & Barrett’s shelves of various lotions and potions. I got the book. And I dusted off the Gillian McKeith Superjuicer. Got a fridge full of fruit, veg and live yogurt and there was nothing to stop me.

In theory, it should have all been very straightforward. It’s just a change of routine. It can’t be that difficult. But it was. And it went something like this.

6.30am. Dark. Got up. Went to loo. Tripped over cat. Made hot water with lemon. Let cat out. Let cat in. Let cat out. Drunk lemon water. Was I meant to put sugar in it? Probably not. Start assembling juicer. It’s been a while. Seems bits are missing. Never mind. I’ll make do. Start chopping fruit and veg. Let cat in. Let cat out. Throw everything in juicer. Press button. Odd whirring sound and smell of burning. Turn everything off. Step away.

7.00am. Drink 2 glasses of water. Start Tibetan 5 Rites. Book says they are “A set of exercises that are meant to promote increased energy, stress reduction, and an enhanced sense of calm, clarity of thought, increased strength and flexibility, and an overall improvement in health and well-being”. Just difficult whilst holding a book. Apparently these exercises will also wake up my entire endochrine system. But probably won’t fix the juicer. Rite 1 involves spinning round very fast until you feel dizzy. It’s a stress buster. Allegedly. A top tip if you try this. Move the table out of the way. And anything else that your flailing arms might knock over. I have a bruise on my shin and I smashed a plant. I am not calm now.

7.10am. Exercises 2-5 are fairly manageable. Assuming you don’t have back problems. Which I do. Still, I’ve done them and hopefully I shall soon have clarity of though and endochrines that are cock-a-hoop by. Let cat in. Kick the juicer. It springs into life. 2 minutes later, my liver flushing, toxin-eliminating, cocktail is done. I tip the brownish liquid into a glass and drink. Funny, I didn’t gag half as much as I thought I would.

7.15am. Throw all the peelings into a pot of boiling water to make a potassium-rich soup. Rest of household wake to the smell of hot rotting veg and threaten to leave home. Leave to simmer. (The veg, not family members). Drink another glass of water. Wonder where cat is.

7.20am. Up to the bathroom for a spot of body brushing before showering. This will remove dead cells, toxins and improve lymphatic drainage. It will also leave you looking like you have had a rub down with a brillo pad. So, red raw and bleeding, I have a cold shower. Followed by a hot shower. And finish with a cold shower. Well I’m meant to. But it’s too cold. So I finish with a hot one. I now look like a freshly boiled lobster.

7.30am. Have a wee. Check colour. It’s meant to look like straw. Make a note to self to go and buy some straw by way of comparison.

7.40am. With a soft dressing gown covering my wounded body, I head back down to the kitchen to strain the rotting veg into a flask to take to work. Try to dismantle the juicer but it seems to be wedged together where I thumped it. Make rest of lunchbox. Box? I need a picnic hamper! Lunch consists of seeds, nuts, oatcakes, cottage cheese, salad and chicken. Stare longingly at cat food.

7.50am. Spend 10 minutes trying to find something to wear that’s made of cotton wool. Fail. Start hair and make up. I am now late.

8.00am. Scrape tongue with a teaspoon. And probably won’t ever again.

8.10am. Time to leave the house. I’m wearing odd socks. The cat has left home. I’ve got wet hair and have only managed to put mascara on one eye. “World Renowned Fucking Holistic Nutritionist” Gillian McKeith’s fucking juicer is in 29 different pieces on the floor. The Liver Flushing elixir has given me terrible wind and I think I’ve fractured a shin.

8.30am. Greggs.

I’m on a diet – hell yeah!

I’m back on the diet. God help you all. Mind you when I say ‘back’, it does conjure up a number of possibilities doesn’t it: A) That I’d been on one and failed and B) That I’d been on one and succeeded but then put every last pound back simply by the power of the chip shop. Well both of those are true if you count the 20 odd years it’s been on the agenda.

I’m an all or nothing kinda gal. Obsessive is possibly too strong a word. More mildly exictable. But sadly this ‘mild excitement’ has often cost me dear. Take the juice diet for example. I bought the book (£8), the juice machine (£50), the entire contents of Tescos fruit n veg dept (£20) and it must have lasted – ooooh 2 days? Maybe less. Partly due to the fact that, having read the book, the thought of getting up at 6 to drink hot water, do some visualising followed by half an hour of excercise before I brave the Central Line just seemed horrifying. This hour is far better spent clutching a cup of builders tea in the comfort of my bed, contemplating the day ahead. So the juicer remains, shiny and hardly used, at the back of the cupboard. Along with the South Beach Diet Book, the GI Diet Book and the Low Fat After Work No Stress Cook Book for Working Mums.

I think the reality is, is that I just can’t seem to fit it in to my schedule long term. Well I think I can’t. I know I could if I put my mind to it. I get all gung-ho and fired-up ready to embark on a new eating regime, only to be scuppered by the lure of the teapot and the thought of the Central Line. Then someone offers me a glass of wine. Seems churlish not to. And so the downward spiral begins.

And somewhere buried in all this turmoil is the thought that I DESERVE to eat what I want. I work hard. I do other stuff hard (if you can count extreme ironing and power washing). But unfortunately, a whole tin of Quality Street doesn’t just pass through my person without leaving it’s calling card.

I did well last year on the Cambridge Diet. 1 stone and a bit in 6 weeks. But the thought of powdered soup and protein bars again is making me twitch. And I’ve put on that bit that I lost – and some. So I’ve plumped for the Atkins diet. Low carb, high protein. Which kind of works with my clearly rigid schedule! Even I can manage to throw a few left over lumps of lettuce and a slab of cheese in a tupperware box. As I write, I’m half way through day one. But already, the lack of bread is starting to take it’s toll. What doesn’t help is the smell of toast in the office. Suddenly everyone is looking like a giant pastry.

But I’ll persevere. At least until Wednesday. At which point, there’s every possibility anyone casually eating a sandwich will be attacked and wrestled to the ground just so I can sniff their crust.

I’ll keep you posted.