It’s day two of my three day detox and I’m happy to report I haven’t keeled over through starvation. Yet. Though that’s not to say it hasn’t been a mighty (and frankly superhuman) effort staying away from those bloody Crunchie ice creams in the freezer, not to mention resisting dipping into the ‘drawer of goodies’ at work. By dinner time last night I was more excited about consuming soup than I ever previously fathomed it possible for a human to be. And remembering I was allowed to have a chamomile tea before lights out elicited an actual squeal of delight.

What is happening to me? I’m not at all sure I like this version of myself, who spends her days wafting dolefully past trays of cakes in the office, and was so pathetically grateful for this morning’s coconut and spinach smoothie it nearly reduced her to tears? This afternoon I was even overjoyed to remember I had left the eight raw almonds out of my lunchtime salad, and subsequently ate them hunched over my desk like a starving savage.

But worst of all is the guilt. Yesterday I had eaten my salad before it dawned on me I’d made enough for two portions (according to the person who came up with this plan-who must, in my opinion, actually be a stick insect), then at dinner I crumbled after eating my allowance of ONE CUP of soup (ridiculous) and ended up having at least twice that (what? It’s only got vegetables in it for God’s sake, and I’m not even allowed any bread!) Today, too, I over-catered, albeit accidentally because my colleagues expressed a mild interest in trying my Mean Green Smoothie but, when it came to it, decided it smelt too much like pond scum to imbibe it. Nice.

It’s now 7pm and I’m attempting to wait until 8pm for my poxy ‘cup’ (read: at least two bowls. I no longer believe in conformity) of soup, as I don’t think I could bear watching the Great British Bake Off without some food (though even with the soup there’s a strong chance I’ll have gnawed off my own leg by the time the programme is over, or at the very least launched myself at the freezer and done away with every Crunchie ice cream in it).

I’d be rubbish at proper dieting. When you’re not allowed to eat things  those things are all you can think about. It’s pure torture. Thank God there’s only one more day standing between me and all the ice cream, chocolate, cheese and pizza I can eat. Not to mention the red wine. Yes, I know I’m missing the point of the detox if I’m not prepared to change my ways for good at the end of it, but one thing I’m learning with this experience is this: Life’s too short to detox.