One January, a decade ago now, I kick-started the new year with a 21-day raw-food cleanse. I’d heard a wellness guru extol its many benefits: improved skin and digestion, sky-high energy levels, and weight loss.
For three weeks, I lugged salad, green juice and dehydrated mushroom and almond burgers to work. Sometimes, between meetings, I ate lunch on a damp bench in the London drizzle, shivering. I’d watch people stream into warm cafés, and I’d fantasise about poached eggs on buttery toast and hot, sweet, milky tea.
When it was over, I was grumpy and exhausted, my digestion sluggish. And, thanks to all the avocados, nuts and dates I’d consumed, I hadn’t lost a single pound. Not one.
It was a good lesson in the value of turning inwards, and…
