I HIT rock bottom last weekend, literally. But at least I’m still here – and that's more than I expected at my loo-ist point (yes, loo-ist, read on for explanation).
I actually began to bottom out late on Friday, when my brain signalled an immediate drop-off and I headed for the WC.
Moments later the stable door was open but the horse wouldn't budge. I was constipated with a vengeance.
I spent virtually the entire night creased up on the loo, convinced I had a permanent blockage and fearing I was going to bloat up and explode like a pricked balloon.
I considered calling 112 but the thought of paramedics catching me with my pants down was too embarrassing for words. So I just sat there, cursing the Cambridge 800 diet I had started the previous week, and wondering who would find the 1,000 bits of bloated body I left behind (pun intended, as ever).
Now that it’s all over, I can now laugh at the Weekend of Weak Ends. Or Tight Ends, to be more accurate.
Either way, panic sent in when my bowel and bladder suddenly went on strike. I was so busy trying to force a return to work that it was breakfast time before I had the sense to call my Cambridge 800 consultant Debi Winston.
“Don't worry. You've clearly not been drinking enough water,'' she scolded.
“Just drink and drink and within an hour or two the problem will be solved.''
Unlike her patient, Debi, a qualified senior nurse, knew what she was talking about. And well before midday I was indeed back to my grumpy old self.
My flirtation with the Cambridge 800 diet was always going to be a major challenge. I knew from the off that I would struggle to drink the required 2.5 litres of liquid every day. Or even for one day.
“Just do the best you can,'' Debi had urged when I expressed my doubts. The vital message did not get over to me – that if I DIDN'T pour those 2.5 litres into the well, there would be consequences. And they would not be pleasant.
In the event, what I thought was a decent amount of water over the first few days of my diet probably totalled little more than one litre.
So I really have to blame myself for the sweat I got into on Friday night. Had anyone seen the bizarre pan-orama, they might well have mistaken it for a Poo Bare impersonation!
Having told that, I am told that nominations for the 2014 Strain of Britain award are still open.
Not since my argument with a large kidney stone back in the 1990s had I suffered so much discomfort as I did on Friday night.
Common sense should have told me the lack of water meant my system had been unable to break down the high-energy Cambridge products – and consequently everything had seized up.
I know the diet works but it clearly cannot be toyed with. My instinct at the weekend was that the regime was not for me
But now that I have (hopefully) found my way, I owe it to Debi and Co to keep it going.
