The Bad News

For the last three months, I've been suffering what are most likely stress-related digestion problems. Without wanting to get too personal with everyone let's just say my life is currently unpleasantly full of little "surprise" moments and the kind of excruciating stomach pain I presume you usually associate with childbirth. And it ain't babies I'm giving birth to...

So, after fiddling with the self-medication counter at Boots to no avail, I turned to a nutritionist, or rather Naturopath at the John Bell and Croyden Pharmacy in London (a marvel if one can possibly get excited about pharmacies). She looked at my fingers, my tongue, my eyeballs and poked me in various parts of my body before declaring me essentially "worn out, unfit for service, exhausted and suffering from visible anxiety". Now this may have had something to do with narfing a scrumptious and huge burger at the Ebury wine bar about a half hour before hand, although I feel she has a point. I have not been good for a while, and I knew the bad news that was coming next as she started drawing up a diet plan to not only sort out my "hideous colon" but also my skin, my hair, my nails, my spine, my liver, my kidneys and, thank heavens, my karma.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the dreaded words have been uttered: No wine. No cheese. No dairy. No wheat. No alcohol of any kind. Ever. No excuses. Essentially, "Emma, why not just eat quinoa and soy for the rest of your life and die a miserable mess in the furthest reaches of gastronomic hell".

The sheet is taped to the fridge door. It's looking at me with a beady eye and a mirthful chuckle. Bastard.

Not even potatoes and tomatoes are allowed! Not even aubergines! What the hell is amaranth when it's at home? Burdock? Can I buy that in Sainsbury's? Lotus root? Thank god I moved to Brixton or I'd be wondering around Hurst Green hunting down obscure chinese herbal concoctions between the danish pastries and the economy cheddar.

So tonight begins the first no wheat, no dairy, no fun whatsoever meal. Oh and a plethora of pills worthy of a mafia drugs baron. My simple aim: Kick ass at this diet and emerge looking fabulous, feeling awesome, learning how to cook quinoa and eventually getting a job as my karma magically soars to astronomical heights! Hurrah! Oh, and perhaps avoiding any more surprises...