Berocca kicks off another day of self-medication. Next, there must be coffee, or else I never wake up until bedtime. Then I'm ready to think about eating something writes John Butler
I’VE STARTED DRINKING Berocca in the morning and I’m not entirely sure why. There’s an underlying strain of Australian-ness to Berocca, and they’re a ludicrously hale and healthy bunch. Australians drink it and the packaging is vaguely medical, so I thought I should give it a whirl – after all, I’m not getting any younger. In she plinks, and I am brought to life of a morning standing at the sink and watching the orange disk slipping through a cool molecular caress of water. The tablet turns the liquid a dubiously radioactive hue of orange, but the packaging is science-y, so it must be okay. It must be better for me than neat water because there are more good things in it: vitamins etc. And it’s tasty too, tasty supercharged Rubex, re-branded for medicinal benefit.
As we all know, food is no longer food; it is medicine. Sometimes it is delicious and sometimes it is vile. But it is always medicine; a way of making yourself healthier or sicker. Berocca kicks off another day of self-medication. Next, there must be coffee, or else I never wake up until bedtime. I don’t feel great about stage two because I’m pretty sure coffee’s not good for you, but at least I’m not chopping out a fat line of gak. It’s only espresso. Then I’m ready to think about eating something, and here I’ll crowbar the first of five-a-day past my stubborn, reticent jaw. For some reason, fruit revolts me in the morning, but I’ll squeeze a banana in there.
Then, yoghurt time. Either the Benecol one, which looks like cough mixture and has some pleasingly Latin-sounding bacteria that my body must need, or Danone Actimel with the bacteria whose name I can recall, L casei immunitass. I feel guilty about having deprived my body of l casei immunitasfor the preceding 30-odd years of its life, so I'm trying to make amends in that department. But the Benecol usually wins out because the label barely refers to taste or even hints what the contents are made of, and I like that. It's just matter – good stuff. It feels as if you're dosing yourself. Down she goes.
Apparently, if I don’t feel better in 21 days, they’ll refund me some of my yoghurt money, which is nice, but I doubt whether I’ll remember exactly how my digestive tract felt three weeks before when the time elapses, or whether I would care to explain the machinations of my bowel to reclaim a few coins. I didn’t feel particularly bad at the start of the period, anyway. I didn’t feel like I was missing anything – apart from the chance to exert some control over my destiny by self-medicating.
For now I am sufficiently dosed – I mean fed, but soon lunch will roll around and I’ll have to begin thinking about two, three and four of the five-a-day. Despite the fact that they taste like erasers, I have to factor goji berries into the equation because, apparently, they are a superfood. I don’t know what a superfood is, but it sounds amazing and there’s no way I’m stumbling through life without allowing my body to experience something with the “super” prefix. Broccoli is another superfood, which I happen to like and have been eating for years. So I’m way ahead in this regard. But there are other concerns at lunchtime.
Here, bread rears her delicious head, but does she contain sugar? And what is the story with yeast and wheat? Should I be eating them? It’s impossible to know. And then there is the matter of what to put on the bread. A low-fat spread, clearly, but olive oil based? No. Surely butter-based – butter-based and salt-free.
But then, does the application of jam negate the previous benefits? I bet you it does, so lose the jam. But then do I want to eat toast with low-fat spread or would I rather not eat at all? And what about ham? Is ham good or bad for you? Surely it’s bad. Well, that depends entirely on its provenance. From where did this ham emanate? In the small print on the back it is referred to as reformed ham. Oh dear. Reformed ham? Had it fallen apart or was it misbehaving? Was the pig on a steep downward behavioural curve until a wiser pig took it aside and told it all about Jesus?
What is in mustard?
I can remember when I ate according to what was the most delicious thing within grabbing distance, and what I could afford to buy. Now, I am literally hamstrung by the desire to do the right thing to this broken temple, my body. Sardines and tuna are good for you – that is an empirical fact, this week at least. Soon, there will be a study denouncing them as the new crack. But I’ve eaten tuna and sardines for the past eight lunches. I have to find some kind of variety. You know what, I’d dearly love to get involved with cheese again, but people tell me that it’s just terribly bad for you. Can I put some kind of vegetable on bread? No. That’s it, I’m off bread. I’m going to steam some French beans for lunch.
Twenty minutes later, I am fed, starving and depressed, and it’s another four hours to the next lap around the aisles of additive, carbohydrate and medicinal pro and con. By way of revenge for the misery of the morning, maybe I should be done with it all and order a McGangBang for dinner, an unofficial McDonalds sandwich which they will make you if you shake their hand a secret way. The McGangBang is a McChicken sandwich within a Big Mac. And after, to wash away the self-loathing, I’ll have a few pints. Tomorrow I’ll make it all better, starting with a Berocca.