The art of denial

So for perhaps the eighth time this year, I've started a diet. Today is Day 2 on my journey towards my dream figure and believe me, that's an achievement in itself.

It's not a coincidence that the first three letters are DIE. Trying to lose the weight is killing me.

I've tried SlimFast, cabbage soup, the Atkins, the 5 to 2, WeightWatchers, the grapefruit diet. I don't need celebrity endorsement, if it's going to fight the fat, I'll give it a go.

The most successful diets for me show results FAST. If I get to Day 3 (if I make it that far) and haven't noticed a difference in the snugness of clothes or the digital scales being kinder to me, I get despondent and then I stuff my face with anything and everything I can lay my hands on.

I'm using Diet Fuel - a vanilla-flavoured shake - and exercise to achieve my weight loss this time round. I've access to a gym as anyone who's read my previous blogs may be aware. I've had a PT session with Kev, who assures me that two or three cardio sessions a week in conjunction with the shake replacing two meals will see the weight melt away. I'm predisposed to believe Kev - he had me at "you can still eat carbs", although his stock went south when he told me I have a small frame. All these years I've been living under the comfortable misapprehension that I've inherited the family shape of Shrek.

When I'm dieting, it's the texture of food I crave the most. I maintain that if I could chew and taste and then spit it out, I could cope with not swallowing. But that's only one step away from an eating disorder and I don't want to go there.

But back to the texture. When I'm supping a thick shake that wouldn't take off even if it were sold under the golden arches brand, it's the texture I miss the most.

• Biting into a premium sausage roll, feeling the pastry flake from the pressure. 
• The way chocolate coats your tongue as it melts against the heat of your mouth
• The crunch of thick-sliced golden-brown toast with just the right amount of Marmite. Or peanut butter. Or lemon curd. Or Dairylea.
• The hard v soft juxtaposition of a crumpet, still hot from the toaster and dripping with butter.
• The crumble of a rich short pastry mince pie followed by the deep texture of mincemeat.
• The softness of goats' cheese, cut with the tang of a tomato relish.
• The gooey stretch of bubbling cheese on a thin and crispy pizza base.
• The fluffiness of a perfectly baked potato, followed by the crackle of the jacket skin.
• The smooth creaminess of confectioners' custard.

I've thought about this way too much.

So keep your fingers crossed for me, as I approach the end of Day 2. Only another 36 hours or so to get through and I'll be able to prove that this is the diet that's going to transform me. Or otherwise.