OK, so that Atkins malarkey lasted even shorter than I’d expected. I mainly bowed to social pressure – phoned Mark up and he said he refused to talk to me if I came to London and wouldn’t eat potatoes dauphinoise. Fair ’nuff. Also, I was feeling shit, carbohyrate-shortage headache was coming on, and I was too weak to push Lola up the hill in her pushchair. OK, next stop paleolithic diet. Another one that makes kinda sense.