I envisage a tiny part of my brain – roughly parallel with my tongue and upper palate – that won’t become activated unless I drink Diet Coke. I find myself craving Diet Coke in a way that is alarming and unexpected. When it arrives, I down it, making little whimpering noises of pleasure. “ Order it,” I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion. My head is pounding only the caramel smack of Diet Coke will do. “I thought you were quitting?” he replies. “Add a can of Diet Coke,” I instruct him. On New Year’s Day, I wake up hungover and watch TV in bed with my boyfriend. I finish my stockpile on New Year’s Eve, suckling from a two-litre bottle like a baby drinking from the teat. My attempt to quit Diet Coke does not start well. If I am being honest with you, I didn’t think I could do it myself. By the end of January 2021, I would be Coke-free. So I pitched this feature – mostly as a way of holding myself accountable – and set myself a target. I quit smoking in my 20s on my first attempt, but Diet Coke is my aluminium Annapurna: I daren’t even attempt the summit. The staff know me there and remind me if I forget to pick up a crate. To keep the costs down, I buy 24-can crates from my local supermarket. ‘I estimate that I have drunk 11,315 litres of Diet Coke.’ Photograph: leirbagenaz/Stockimo/Alamy If enduring an endoscopy won’t stop you drinking fizzy drinks, you know you are addicted. I recently spent a year on prescription medication for a stomach condition that was almost certainly triggered by my overconsumption of Diet Coke, according to my GP. I get anxious if I don’t have any Diet Coke in the fridge as bedtime approaches I run to the shop in the middle of the night to ensure there is a cold can waiting for me in the morning. When I go on holiday, I fill up the supermarket trolley with Diet Coke, to the amusement of my friends. I really want to stop drinking Diet Coke – and not only because I spend at least £500 a year on the stuff. (I have been conservative with these numbers – it is almost certainly more.) That is more than 11,000 litres of caramel fizz, fermenting my insides, bathing my liver in foam. Using some back-of-a-fag-packet-maths, I estimate that I have drunk 11,315 litres of Diet Coke in my 31 years on this Earth. My boyfriend jokes about my morning routine: wake up, pad to the kitchen. Five cans on a good day, seven cans on a bad day. I drink Diet Coke from the moment I wake up until I go to sleep. To much fanfare, my boss brings in an eight-pack of Diet Coke, with a burning candle stuck in it. (My mum won’t buy it for the house any more, because of my addiction.) My low blood sugar makes the artificial sweetness taste euphoric. After a long day starving myself, I walk to the corner shop and reward myself with a bottle of Diet Coke.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |