Our straight talking Lancashire lass takes a sideways look at the daily news.
What they don’t tell you about detox
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It’s early January. It’s obvious that many, many people will embark on a quick detox to help their battered livers recover from the onslaught of Christmas. It’s the most normal thing in the world to do.
And it seems the world has gone detox mad! News article after news article gives instructions on how to detox your home, detox your wardrobe, detox your Twitter Feed and of course detox your innards.
The benefits of detox have been well advertised, but recently they were questioned by experts – namely the British Liver Society who feel that detoxing in January is ‘futile’ because as soon as you’re done it’s back on the wagon. Which is so obvious it’s like stating that people walk because they have legs.
But, let’s face it, sometimes everyone needs a bit of a break. So I decided to join the masses and have a wholesome alcohol/chocolate/fun-free month to reset my health button.
Over the past two weeks I have eaten my own weight in Quality Streets and I am currently wearing tents until further notice. After Christmas dinner my dad took one look at me and burst out laughing because apparently I looked like a bauble (round and shiny). A detox was not a bad idea.
But four days into my cleansing and I’m not feeling good. In fact I feel rotten and look grim. So in a move of pure altruism here is a brief list of the things they don’t tell you about detox (or they tell you, but you don’t just don’t listen), just in case you’re ever tempted…
1. Boils that make you look like a Medieval peasant
Detox spots are common knowledge. In fact if you don’t break out in unsightly zits you’re not doing it properly. But frankly, I’m worried that people will mistake me for Blackadder’s Baldrick.
At the time of writing seven (SEVEN!!!!) massive spots have erupted all over my face, including one positioned right on the end of my nose. It’s bright red, shiny and I feel as though I’ve been punched in the head. I can’t go outside without slapping on thick layers of woad. Right now I have the choice of looking like a Medieval peasant or a cosmetic saleswoman in Debenhams.
I’m wondering if some fortune-teller could make an art of predicting the future based on the crimson constellation on my face. Maybe I could make some money out of this?
2. Bloating in stupid places. Not only ankles.
Spots are one thing, but detox also equals bloating on account of the pints and pints of water you have to drink. I’m not talking about retaining a bit of water around the middle. I’m talking swelling knees, expanding bottom, huge inflatable tummy and chubby fingers. In short, I’m swelling up like Violet Beauregarde (without the blueberry juice). I’m a watery blubbering mess. It’s how I roll. Or waddle.
3. Cracking headaches
Three days into detox and I was curled up in bed with a headache that literally made me want to die. Okay, so I’m a total drama queen, but on top of the spots and bloating I’d reached the end of my tether. I wept. I moaned. I whimpered. I shoved my head into the pillows and spent the evening in a dark room, but not even codeine would cut it. And anyway, painkillers would defeat the object of the detox – so I continued to drink water, bloat further and contemplate the pathos of a spotty face.
4. The anger of Vesuvius
But none of these self-inflicted (and quite possibly ever-so-slightly exaggerated) symptoms could measure up to the terrifying mood swings I’ve been experiencing this past week. I never knew the depths of unprovoked anger this detox could summon from my very soul.
In the car I’m stuck behind an elderly driver who is going a bit on the slow side – I scream, beep my horn and cry tears of pure rage. I try to buy some water at the gym but the vending machine doesn’t work – I punch the Perspex until my hands are raw. I wake up in the morning, try on a nice shirt for work – it doesn’t fit (on account of the bloating) so I rip it off Incredible Hulk style and then collapse in a pathetic heap, crying over the buttons that burst off and are now lost forever beneath my bed.
My mum phones to say hi, I respond with: 'Hello? HELLO?? What the HELL is that supposed to mean? You don’t understand me!!! NO-ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!!!' before indulging in an uncontrollable temper, pounding my fists into the floor and crying. Again.
So angry. Right now I truly believe I can crush bricks into dust with my bare hands.
So there you have it. My detox experience – it’s hard bloody work. Frankly, if I don’t come out of this looking exactly like Claudia Schiffer I’m going to sue someone. Anyone. Be afraid.
