Beyond Perspex and Willpower

Now, firstly, pin back your lugholes, cos it's rare I print retractions or amendments.
Went back to Westfield this morning for breakfast. On a Sunday morning, before any other bugger is sad enough to be awake and make the journey over here, it's not Hell. What's more, when there's room to move, we discovered there are a sweet handful of independent-feeling food outlets, where you can pick up everything from Indian deserts to Moorish cuisine, to Japanese provisions and Italian deli outlets. So - in the right light, and void of practically everybody, it's OK.

Now, I learned a thing yesterday that's taken until today to really sink in.

Most of you will know that I've always worked this experiment on the principle of not breaking perspex walls - in other words, not eating what for me would be 'gateway foods': not eating diet yoghurts, because it's in my addictive (and frankly deceitful nature), to upgrade them from diet yoghurts to full-fat yoghurts, to custards, to eclairs, within a matter of days. This is not someting of which I'm proud, but it's a definite marker of my personality - I have never been able to function in grey areas, I either do a thing, or I don't do a thing. I have a feeling that Yoda and I would very much get along.

Well, I'm not about to reveal a Road to Damascus moment or declare myself cured of my addictive nature or anything so foolish and brim-full of hubris. But I have to report that yesterday, I had something fried. Something well within my perspex boxes of "Stuff not to touch". And I enjoyed it, but so far, I haven't crossed the divide from sweet potato fries to chips, to cheese fries, to banquets of raw grease and sugar. And the point, probably, is that I have, as yet, no desire to do so. So while, as I say, there's no Road to Damascus here, it sort of feels as though my rigid dependence on avoidance of temptation might be lessening, and as though there may be some equalising, normalising influence at play. I may be baby-stepping towards an altogether more normal relationship with food, if you'll excuse the nauseating encounter-group terminology. Which I suppose, while not exactly much use right now, might be useful once I'm done with this phase of my life, and I have to push forward with a more ordinary day-to-day life - being able to have little bits of what I like, and not regard them as diving boards into extremity and chaos...that might be very useful, not to mention comparatively restful, compared to the vast majority of my life, lived in black and white and screaming beautfiful madness.

Blimey...is this what normal feels like?