Seduced by chocolate and haunted by Dr. Eva

Country Living with Francis Farragher

On balance, it’s been a pretty tough week. Anytime I buttered a sultana scone and smathered it with jam, or put a dollop of ketchup into a chunky sausage sandwich, I’ve been accosted by colleagues and acquaintances that are all coming out with the same line: “Do you realise how much sugar is in that. Did you not see Dr. Eva’s programme the other night?”

Well the truth of the matter is that I saw about the first 140 seconds of Dr. Eva Orsmond’s programme before taking a strategic decision to retreat to the bedroom and gently slip into the world of dreams with a few country strains from local radio ringing in my ears.

I don’t doubt for one second the veracity of Dr. Eva’s conclusions on the dark secrets of bright sugar but she scares me a little bit too much for my own comfort. Maybe deep down, I’m a serious wimp, but if ever I was to meet Dr. Eva, I fear it would be similar to one of those dreams where the baddie is chasing you, and the legs just won’t move.

We all remember the experiences of bringing the little ones to see Santa Claus in person for the first time. They’ve been told that he’s a nice man and that he has presents for them, but yet when they meet him in the flesh, they tend to curl up in fear before returning fretfully to their parents.

And yet in the full flush of my ageing maturity, I feel that if the phone rang some day and the voice said at the other end said: “This is Dr. Eva, how are you,” I think that the lump in my throat would prevent any words from coming out for the first 10 seconds. Then in trembling tones I’d manage to tentatively utter the words: “No more sugar, no more sugar.”

In some ways, I probably could put up a decent personal case to her. I don’t drink minerals, I do love fruit and veg, I do drink lots of water, I do take some exercise but then, oh God, there’s the other side too and it’s not good! There’s the regular pints of Budweiser . . . the deep seated cravings for Chocolate Kimberleys and Mikados . . . that sinking feeling when the shirt from 2014 doesn’t fit anymore and it hasn’t shrunk . . . and those love affairs with sausages, butter on spuds, tomato ketchup, Purple Snacks and thick slices of fresh white bread. There’s also that aversion to standing on the bathroom scales and noting those awful digital figures that you have to blink your eyes at, before realising that they are delivering a pretty horrible truth.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.