Stella’s friend Theo turned three last week; his party was on Sunday. Imagine a table laden with soft, fresh sandwiches catered by Waitrose, a fudgy chocolate birthday cake and a jug of Pimms — for the adults, of course)! Imagine, then, sinking your teeth into a Lighter Life Peanut Bar, while your three-year-old is treating some moist mini-sausages on her plate with utmost contempt.
Afterwards, our friends invited us to their home for paella. I had my savoury drink in a mug while they tucked into prawns and squid. But by that time, it was okay. I was enjoying the company so much that I sort of — transcended — the immediate food-laden situation. My friends looked at me like I was on Death Row, though…
I still think about eating, but less frequently than I used to last week. However, I am tired, tired, tired. I collapse into bed in a heap at night and find it hard to wake up at 7. I think it’s just my body adjusting to its first two weeks of shock.
