Day 6 - The Gwyneth Paltrow post Christmas 7 day Detox Diet

As predicted, today was the best day by far.  Two hot meals, eaten with a knife and fork AND with mouthfuls that didn’t all taste the same.  Supper was the winner.  Chicken teriyaki, courgettes and brown rice and even if I had cooked it normally there wouldn’t have been much that I would have added.  Perhaps a little more salt and some butter on the courgettes, but apart from that, it was pretty darn good.

I’ve also felt my most lucid and energetic today.  We took our breakfast smoothies on a walk around the Sunday Up Market.  For those not familiar with said market, it’s amazing.  Full of authentic, delicious food from around the world.  My personal favourite are the king prawn tempura and edamame croquettes from one of the stands, mmmmmmm.  I obviously refrained with much internal pride.  A quick whizz round the stalls, a few purchases later by Bitchney and I and a quick photo (obviously) outside the market and we pootled home feeling satisfied and only a little disheartened that we could not indulge as we usually do on a Sunday.  You see the end is in sight which is a double edged sword.  On the one hand it’s given me that extra encouragement, like that last sprint of a long distance run, but on the other, all I can think about is what we can and will eat on Tuesday.  The hunger hasn’t been as prevalent today, in fact, I may even go as far as saying as I was only hungry once, in the late afternoon. 

I do, however, feel very strange about yesterday, especially after reading my blog entry.  The evening in particular feels like a peculiar dream which has, as I discovered today talking to Bruno, merged in to the very vivid dreams that I had all night.  I was convinced that I had answered a crossword clue correctly, the answer being ‘Fleet Foxes’, but I am told that that and the conversation (that I am positive happened immediately afterwards) never happened.  How curious.  The soundtrack to all of this is Sigur Ros, how apt, which we were playing last night and whose beautiful melodies crept in to my dreams as well.  I need a nutritionist (or is that psychiatrist?) to explain my overactive subconscious mind and markedly underactive conscious mind.

I almost fainted again today, but that may have been more to do with standing up too quickly than a sudden attack of diabetes, so I think I’m ok.  Tomorrow is the last day of being ruled by Gwyneth Paltrow and I can safely say that I won’t be sad to see the back of her and her hardcore detox diet.  One more bowl of retchid miso soup, bring it on Gwynnie.

Rigamoon

“Greens and rice and meat, oh my!”

Goodness, has it been nearly a week? I had barely noticed. Inevitably at this stage of the process, I am more obsessed with the past and the results than I am about the now, which may go some way in explaining how it is I am beaming at bedtime, rather than silently plotting the death of everyone around me. It may seem slightly too early to feel proud of myself, but looking back on the battalions of blended muck we have been reliant on throughout this experiment, I cannot help it. I want to lie down in the health food shop- called something like Totally Organic!, or Massively Overpriced!- and light up a cigarette whilst whispering to the herbal teas that I was faking it the whole time. I hate smug people, but the feeling is inescapable. In addition, our penultimate menu is almost humane. Certainly in comparison to yesterday’s satanic picnic, it is practically French.

We decided to take our ubiquitous smoothies on a tour of the food market which takes place opposite our front door every Sunday. I like to think of it as Special School for the flavour-retarded. An outreach programme for disadvantaged food supplements. “Look, Whey Protein, this is a samovar of fresh Ethiopian coffee, and if you work very hard and stop taking drugs, you too might be popular at breakfast time.”

Lunch comes not a moment too soon. I am famished and having flashbacks to that dreadful swamp sample I piped into the sink last night. Luckily there is nothing wrong with steamed salmon in my opinion, and who can guiltlessly hate green beans? They could do with getting out a bit more, of course. Maybe meet some new friends, like garlic, or butter, or potatoes. I guess it’s a little difficult to raise the confidence when you’re as small as our portions.

It’s incredible how quickly our bodies adjust to extreme changes. A week ago I would have ravished that food market sideways, charging like Genghis Khan from stall to stall, picking off noodles, momo’s, falafel, tagines… no mercy shown. Now, I whimper quietly in self-pity for two minutes and busy myself elsewhere.

Supper is a triumph. I had no idea that I actually liked brown rice. What a story to tell at future dinner parties! A quick pun using the word “buckwheat” and it’ll be a certified crowd-pleaser. I am happy, if you hadn’t noticed. Happy and full and less than 36 hours away from bacon and toast, and red wine and a food coma. I’m going to bed dreaming of the six most popular words in the Free World: “Do you want fries with that?”

Bruno