Only one bandwagon at a time...

I am not one for fads. Unless you count the whole ‘House of Colour’ thing which, for a crazed month last year, had me throwing out anything olive in favour of blue, blue blue. Or the time I bought spirulina, macha powder, and a whole host of other powders to make a morning smoothie that would energize and cleanse me, only to discover that they are all vile and leave green marks on your teeth. Actually the macha powder was okay, mixed into museli, but I digress. The point is… Um… yes. Fads. I am not one to jump on every bandwagon going. Just every other one.

But one ‘fad’ has caught my attention, and I’d probably try to argue that it isn’t a fad at all, but I always say that, and it’s wearing a bit thin. The fad is sugar avoidance. And I say this as a former sugar junkie.

To say I love sugar is understatement. I have sugar in m tea and my coffee. I have always, always, considered pudding to be the main point of every meal. I like to have one of those huge 800g bars of Fruit and nut in the fridge, and will happily eat an entire row in the space of about twenty seconds. 

But no more. Because I realized that I was getting sugar obsessed. And it didn’t feel good. The more sugar you eat, the more you crave. I wasn’t sleeping well. I had a whole load of small but irritating things wrong with me; my doctor suspected candida.

So I started reducing my intake. On the advice of Kathleen DesMaisons (www.radiantrecovery.com), I upped my protein quota first, making sure that I had protein with every meal. Then, bit by bit, I reduced my sugar. Not carbs, mind; I don’t want to strip all the joy out of life. And I didn't follow her rules about writing things down, or eating a potato before bed. Actually I didn't do anything she said apart from making sure I have more protein. And  bit less sugar. I still have museli for breakfast; I just have a low sugar one, and an egg as well.  I’ll have a glass of red wine, but I won’t drink half a bottle (not every time, anyway). I don’t eat chocolate, but I eat plenty of fruit. I’ve cut out biscuits and cakes, but I’ll have a piece of wholemeal toast smeared with peanut butter if I need a pick me up mid afternoon.

But do you know what? I don’t, usually. Need a pick me up, I mean. I don’t get that mid-afternoon dip anymore, and I’m sleeping like a log at night, too. My skin is better, my digestion is better, and my stomach is flattening.

I’m even less crabby at the weekend when woken up by my 3 year old jumping on top of me at 6.30am. It may be a fad, but I think this one is going to be a keeper.

Until the next one comes along of course…

And we wonder why we drink?

Let me, for a minute, bore you with a day, chosen at random from the past two weeks: Leave house at 7.15am with daughter’s urine sample to drop off at GP's surgery on the way to work – suspected urinary tract infection. Get to work, meetings, reports, call doctor to check on sample, discover has been left with nurse, call back and speak to doctor, reminding her of daughter’s history and urging her to check it and send to hospital, back into meetings, ask surgery to call me on mobile with any updates. Get home, shove piece of bread in toaster and smear peanut butter on it as have ten minutes before having to leave again to attend parent evening at school. With three year old clinging to leg crying ‘Mummy, I want YOU to put me to bed,’ see blinking message on answerphone. Daughter does indeed have UTI; prescription is waiting at surgery. Peel three year old off me, quickly kiss five year old and seven year old, cram toast into mouth whilst grabbing car key and race to surgery, then chemist, to pick up antibiotics. Drive furiously to school and get there just in time. Back at 9pm, shattered, no time to cook anything… Open a bottle of wine instead. Pour a glass. Drink it. Exhale…

I know there are other props. Mindfulness, a hot bath, popping some fresh kale and spirulina into the blender for a delightful smoothie (tried that once. Not so delightful).

But none of them hits the spot like a glass of red. None of them says ‘Okay, it’s your time now. Kick back. Enjoy me. You’re done for the day. Everyone’s alive, the house hasn’t burnt down, and no one has seen through you yet…’

And none of them taste anywhere near as good with stilton, either…