Cheese eating surrender monkeys

Okay, in order of importance.

I'm starving.

I'm detoxing and I can feel the chemicals seeping out of my pores. I'm beginning to miss the peaks and troughs of the caffine jump-start, midday strung out on a sugar rush and the long slow afternoon descent into a yawning gulf of blissful whatever. Two weeks I've got to suffer this, two weeks of filling up on naturally cloudy pressed apple juice and five different types of mushroom. Oh god, deliver me from rice cakes with yeast extract and spicy lentil soup. I dream of caramel and gingerbread hot chocolate, anything that's sweet and sickly and can be broken down into simple proteins and turbo-injected into my blood stream. Hydrogenated fats, tropical oils, glucose, sucrose, fructose and cocoa solids. I'm feeling far too awake, too alert and altogether too perky.

Also of note. My friends and I are geniuses, at least within the strictures we set ourselves. The humble pub quiz, at which, last night, we excelled and annihilated the competition, beating the nearest team by a full eleven and a half points. That's pretty good, people, we could have torn up our answer sheet for round one and still won with a couple of points to spare. I celebrated with a glass of tap water and a good nostril full of the heady scent of smothered chicken breast - smokey bacon, mature cheddar and sticky, sticky BBQ sauce.

I want these two weeks to be over.

Badly.