First of July! How did that happen? Our family begins ‘Low Carb July’ today. It was my idea. The H and I did Dry July last year. That was fine. And boring.
So the plan being to eat a protein rich, leafy green packed veg dinner nightly. With none, or only one quarter cup of complex carbs ie. rice, pasta, potatoes after three pm. Why? To feel good. Alive.
Loads of vegetables do that. Go ask Gwyneth. Or Madonna.
My first day, I must confess has not gone too well. I munched my high protein brekkie. Pics salt free peanut butter liberally spread on linseed wholegrain toast with a very milky coffee. I ate four brazil nuts at morning tea. But then, post river run I munched not one, but two bowls of Ceres Organic Honey Almond Muesli with easy yo coconut and pineapple yoghurt and trim milk. Two bowls. Full.
Oops. That’s straight carbs you twit. I’d sent the rest of the family off with grated carrot, spinach and mung bean sprout laden chicken wraps for lunch. But I was already cheating.
It got worse. After scooping four wheelbarrow loads of horse manure and piling it on my lovely big pile turning into blackist friable compost, I got a craving. I may as well finish it off. While I can. Home alone.
I managed two rows with a cup of peppermint tea. Then I rang the consumer helpline. 0800 Whittaker’s I dialled. I stumbled over my words. Suddenly feeling like a cad. A nark also. I didn’t want to be that.
‘I eat a lot of your chocolate,’ I confessed and giggled like the techno nong I am who right then couldn’t get her dictaphone to record because she pressed the playback triangle not the small red dot with ‘REC’ under it. I got an earful of static and quickly turned it off. ‘It’s okay really, I didn’t crack a filling on it or anything…I just thought you’d want to know…’
‘Yes, we definitely want to know. Please accept our deepest apologies,’ said Michelle (named changed to protect privacy.) ‘Our quality control follows strict systems, each batch of nuts is roasted, sieved etc etc (see fuckit I can’t remember all the minutae and I wanted to, for journalistic purposes.)
‘We’ll send you out some replacement king size blocks of Almond Gold tomorrow,’ said Michelle, ‘and a prepaid envelope for you to return the evidence. Sometimes we send the foreign object out to be tested by forensics.’
Jeepers. I started to go a bit hot. They’ll have my DNA. I licked the chocolate off that little of rock hard over roasted nut bit before I sellotaped it neatly onto the inside of its packet. Knowing they’d want its batch number and use by date. FYI Whittaker’s even record the time your block chuffs down the conveyor belt. 15.13. Mine.
Augustus Gloop. Augustus Gloop. You big fat piggy nincompoop. Should I peel off my ticket to a free BAR of choco and wash it? With detergent?
‘What is your name?’ asked Michelle kindly. ‘And telephone number, in case we need to contact you with the results of our case study.’
I wondered if my call was being recorded for training purposes. I could ask for the transcript. Write a proper story. With details. Facts.
They’ll know where I live.
‘Do you have any idea what it was?’ asked Michelle curiously.
‘At first I thought it was a bit of shell,’ I said. And helpfully, ‘if I press my thumbnail firmly into it I can’t break it.’
Then I guiltily wondered how many nut blocks I’ll get. You know, coz of low carb July and all.