Day 5 - The Gwyneth Paltrow post Christmas 7 day Detox Diet

“Let’s make a lasagne on Tuesday morning and have it for breakfast.”

And here we are, at the summit of Mount Evil. From this very apex I am able to survey the gastronomically barren lands that we have conquered to get here, and can feebly stretch my neck to peer at the short journey ahead before we end this quest for good. My eyes are glazed, my brain is all but dead, and I take my morning smoothie like a saggy old moo-cow being hand-milked for the umpteenth time; the feeling of real discomfort has passed, the initial resistance has gone, and all that remains is a hollow stare into the distance and an occasional attempt to shuffle myself into a position of marginally greater dignity. In short, I am exhausted.

Still, what better way to take ones mind off of things than to pack up the carrot and ginger concoction which had so aggressively scarred my tastebuds on Day One, pick up a bag of crudités and head to an art gallery? Well, light yoga, apparently, but I don’t have a leotard and I do have friends, and I would like to keep it that way for now.

It’s an extraordinary challenge, eating raw vegetables on a bench in the literally freezing weather and trying not to cry. By the time we get inside, the “dip” has unleashed its sorcery, and my mouth is practically burning from the raw ginger and shallots. The taste and, more offensively, the smell just will not go away, and I’m so busy trying not to stand too close to the portraits lest my breath strips the paint that I don’t immediately realise that my kidneys are hurting. I also have a dull ache in the back of my neck, and I move clumsily from room to room with a peculiar sub-rhythmic waddle. A detox-trot, if you will. These are worrying side effects, and certainly worth warning anyone about who is thinking of undertaking this diet alongside an actual, active life. If I had to work in an office every day, or feed children (my own, naturally), or be responsible for anything not directly involving myself, I would have thrown in the towel days ago (and it has only been days). Because, at this stage, nothing can distract us from the constant, brutal hunger. We can only talk and think about food.

As a reward for making the effort to see some culture and facing public transport, we find ourselves faced with the most offensive bowl of food yet for supper. A cold, sloppy, terrorist of a meal, which somehow managed to be both watery and foamy at the same time, meanwhile smelling like the cheap handwash in an airport loo and tasting somewhere between Geri Halliwell and Norah Jones. It took me two hours to skim an inch off the top, after which I simply gave up. Strangely, though, I feel better towards the end of today than I have previously, and although concerned that we can’t possibly have eaten more than 350 calories today, have a suspiciously high level of optimism for the home stretch. If that means I am dying, there had better be no raw ginger in the afterlife.

Bruno

Today was the hardest by far.  Morning smoothie followed by a trip out to the Tate Britain, lovely, or so I thought.  Our ‘lunch’ of crudites - half a Marks & Spencers bag of carrots, long stem brocolli and sugar snap peas - dipped in to the same vile dressing that we had on our salad on day 1 was as disappointing as I knew it would be.  We then had a good walk around the Tate Britain but it was amazing how quickly our energy waned.  By the time we got back to the tube I was exhausted and less than excited about coming home to make our ‘supper’ of avocado and cucumber ‘soup’.  (I apologise for all the words in inverted commas, but seriously, how can any of these items be termed as they are?).  The soup didn’t make me gag which was a bonus but there just didn’t seem to be any point in eating it … it didn’t taste that good, it wasn’t filling me up and it was nowhere near a satisfying end to the day.

I always knew that today would be the hardest but I genuinely didn’t think that it was possible to be this hungry.  It’s made me appreciate food a lot, more than I ever have before.  All I can think about is what I would eat if I could and all those things are high in fat and carbohydrate, not surprising seeming as neither have passed our lips for days in any sizeable quantity.  Lasagne, toast and marmite, pork pies, mashed potato, baked potato with butter, bacon sandwiches, bagels (from up the road on Brick Lane), pizza, macdonalds … the list is endless and it’s actually painful writing about it.  Concentrating is the hardest it’s been all week too.  I know, I know, quit the moaning, no one made me do this etc etc.  At least I can genuinely look forward to tomorrow, we get chicken and salmon, happy days!

Rigamoon