When I first started following the most restrictive diet in the universe – known also as the Specific Carbohydrate Diet – I did, for a spell, think my life was actually over. Not only had I been diagnosed with colitis (the world's least glamorous condition), but I reluctantly had to accept that food, which was placed very much at the centre of my life, was partly the cause of my symptoms.
Initially, I'd been happy take medication and carry on as I always had, but after a bit of research I felt I had to at least give this diet – which reduces inflammation – a try. That meant saying goodbye to most of the things that I loved and cherished with all my heart. So, pizza, pasta, and Pringles, no more. Begone, Mr Kipling cakes. Fare ye well potatoes in every form. It was time to give up my reign as Queen of Carbohydrates.
Here are some things that I can no longer eat: sugar; all grains (so: no bread, pasta, couscous, polenta, rice or even quinoa); yoghurt (unless I make it myself, over 24 hours), cream, milk, chickpeas, sweet potatoes and potatoes, soya, broad beans and butter beans and soft cheese – although hard cheese is okay. Keep up at the back!
It's boring, isn't it? And I couldn't bear the idea of being the annoying, high-maintenance buzz-kill guest who turns up with a list of demands so long that it takes any joy out of getting together. And do you know why I thought that? Because I used to be that person - the one who did a slight eye-roll if someone said they were, say, lactose intolerant. I was convinced that someone would think I was making it all up to get some attention and feel a bit special.
I spent the majority of the first two years feeling a bit hard done by, sad - and hungry. I'd sit next to my husband trying not to cry because he could eat bread and I couldn't. At the beginning I was so deranged with deprivation that in bed at night I'd imagine myself eating slices of chocolate cake, salty chips, or cheese sandwiches, which actually helped a bit.
As far as my life went, it was like I'd gone into mourning. I felt embarrassed that I had colitis so I didn't tell people. I stopped going out – certainly to restaurants where you can never be entirely sure what lurks within the soup, but even over to the houses of dear friends. Because the problem with a diet like mine is you can't just wing it and hope for the best.
Stopping doing anything that involved other people cooking for me really shone a light on how much our lives – or mine at least – revolve around food: making it for others, them making it for me, chewing the fat over something delicious and a glass of wine. And, luckily, after a while I realised that the solution was not to withdraw from all these things that made life worth living, but to get my head around the diet and find ways to make the best of it. And you may not be surprised to hear that my nearest and dearest were practically begging me for lists of things I can't eat because they didn't give a fig about me being high-maintenance and just wanted to spend time with me.
That's not to say that it was entirely plain sailing. I felt so awkward going to stay with my lovely in-laws at first that I didn't explain as much as I should have. What I should have said is: "I've got colitis. It really is hideous and if I eat so much as the tiniest bit of a long list of stuff I will get really sick, and the way it works is that I will stay sick for up to three months. Believe me, I really hate having to be such a control freak."
I learned the hard way that no matter how much I dislike feeling fussy, being honest about my needs is far better than being presented with a slaved-over meal that I can't eat because I haven't been clear. There is now a very prominent list on their fridge of all the foods I can and can't have, and I have learned to live with the embarrassment.
I've had to become very brave and unselfconscious about interrogating waiters about exactly what is in the food. But, happily, the world around me is changing – restaurants increasingly have gluten-free menus, and people like the lovely Hemsley sisters and Deliciously Ella have come along and made it positively glamorous to follow a restrictive diet.
And there are many upsides to my restricted life: I've been medication-free for six years. And I am healthier than I have ever been (without turning into a sanctimonious health nut).
In taking control of my health, I've found that I'm not embarrassed about saying I have colitis any more. And I don't feel the need to add insult to injury by sitting in the corner quietly apologising for my decision to treat it with diet. Over the years I've started experimenting in the kitchen, and started a food blog, which is all about having a lovely life, based on my philosophy of focusing on what I can eat rather than what I can't. I've even worked out how to make delicious cakes. In fact my life, in many ways, is better now than it was when I was Queen of the Carbs. And I never, ever, thought I'd hear myself say that.