LIFTING my head cautiously from my pillow, I feel like I’m going to be sick. The room is swimming in front of my eyes and I feel so rough I can barely reach out to grab the glass of water beside my bed. I’d love to pretend it was flu or something else worthy of sympathy.
But my condition is self-inflicted, down to the two bottles of wine I’d happily swigged in the sunshine the previous day. The only thing I knew would make me feel better was food — specifically junk food — so I proceeded to eat my way through the sort of menu that would make a sumo wrestler proud. It started with two mozzarella and tomato croissants at 6.
30am, thanks to Deliveroo , and finished with a 10pm Pot Noodle. In between, there were fruit gums, pies and chocolate. The next day, still feeling the effects of the wine, I ate even more junk, starting with a bacon sandwich for breakfast, a cheese and salami baguette for lunch and fish and chips for supper.
I worked out I must have eaten more than 7,000 calories over the two days — a huge hike from my norm of around 1,200 a day. The booze assault on my body resulted in nearly a week of feeling ill. Emotionally, I hated what it had done to myself.
I was exhausted and even my bones ached. Oh, and I put on 5lb. A couple of those were water weight and fell off within the week, but the other three stayed, and that soon adds up.
Perhaps I felt so awful because I don’t drink regularly. For 99 per cent of the time, I’m supremely healthy. I walk 10,0.