On Saturday, I ate lots of cake. In a backlash, I decided to go without junk food for as long as I could. None of this “moderation” business; it was cold turkey or nothing.

I resisted Kate’s temptations. I withstood mum urging me to eat her newly baked coconut rolls. I ignored the many treats scattered throughout the house. Today, though, my resolution was spectacularly smashed.

I went to a trivia competition at which we were showered with chips, soft drink, chocolate and lollies (aka sweets). I thought, “This is all right. I can handle this. No worries.” But then the peanut M&Ms arrived. I love peanut M&Ms. I love them and have them so rarely that I sieze every opportunity to eat them in the expectation that I won’t be able to eat them for a long time.

(Some background for you all — there is no chocolate at my house. Ever. We just don’t buy it and that’s the way I like it.)

One M&M, two M&M, three M&M, four.

Five M&M, six M&M, seven M&M, more.

Crunch, crunch.

And then it was downhill after that. I ate some chips. I didn’t drink any soft drink. I have been off soft drink ever since someone told me eight years ago that every bubble in soft drink destroys one of the alveoli in my lungs.

I will resume my no-junk regime tomorrow. I’m not on a diet, I just find it interesting to test my resolve. I figure some people’s weaknesses are cigarettes, gambling, heroin, moisturiser. Mine are peanut M&Ms.