Sisyphus had nothing on me

I'm hungover to all hell and I've deliberately, doggedly spent the last two days stuffing my body with as many toxins as I can: greasy fried bacon, mayonnaise-slathered sandwiches, battered fried miserable battery chicken and chips, cigarettes galore, a good 12 pints of bitter, lager and cider - all culminating in last night's crowning glory of a 13-inch pizza (all to myself) with ham, pepperoni, onion, green peppers and extra bacon. And a can of Strongbow. I crawled to bed at 2am, happy I'd done my job well.

Just reading that back makes me feel a bit queasy now. I figured if I was going to knock my shit diet and lifestyle on the head, I may as well do it in "style". But now I'm suffering. I want a fag, I'd happily chow down on the packet of Pringles winking at me enticingly from the kitchen, and I've already allowed my mind to wander forwards to this evening, when I'd usually have a delicious, greasy Chinese takeaway.

But no. This morning I bought a job lot of Actimel, some nectarines, some bananas and a big tub of pro-biotic yoghurt. And some sesame-flavoured (peppered? Not sure) rice cakes. So even if I'm starving, at least I'll be regular. My distended belly looks bigger than ever as I type this - it'll be nice to be able to see my belt at some point.

The thing is, though, I'm not actually fat as such. As an American friend said to me in response to one of my drunken self-pitying "I hate my body" whinges, "Honestly, you're not fat. You don't know what fat is till you've been to Texas". And she's got a point.

I'm not the skinny bean I was 10 years ago - in fact, I'm nearly four stone heavier - but I'm not technically fat. I'm just in dreadful shape and I've been abusing my body almost constantly since then.

So it's all my fault! Hurrah. But now I'm thinking, well, if I can do all this damage to myself and still be standing, then I can repair the damage myself as well.

As long as I don't have to do it by taking any exercise, I'll be fine :-) That's pert of this experiment: to see if I can lose weight without exercising at all, and to zero in on the specific aspects of my lifestyle that make me feel bloated, sluggish, lethargic and sweaty.

Obviously, it's beer and curry, but let's just pretend it isn't for now...

And so it begins

At 00.31 on Wed 27 February, having just got home from a night out during which I drank seven pints of cider, saw three bands, ate two sausage rolls, smoked 10 cigarettes and slurred one lengthy and largely incomprehensible rant into one friend's undeserving voicemail inbox, I sent the following text message to one of my best friends:

"On Saturday 1 March I'm giving up alcohol, cigarettes, takeaways, meat, processed snacks, recreational drugs and all sundry excess for a month. It's a big stupid idiot test of me. You're the only person I'm telling. I don't want your help but I may need your support. Is it OK to burden you with this?"

She said yes, and I thanked my lucky stars my friends are so ace.

You won't hear from me again until Saturday. Between now and then, I've decided to eat as much fast food crap as I can handle, smoke till I can't speak and generally make the most of my last few numbered hours of bodily freedom. Is it possible to stock up on MSG and nicotine? I sure as hell hope so.

Today I ate a sausage bagel, a cheeseburger, a huge packet of Cadbury's mini eggs and a bloody great bowl of spicy Chinese pork and greasy noodles. Only two fags though, must try not to let the side down tomorrow...