Somebody stop me

My flatmate said yesterday, in jest, that I was in need of an intervention. It wasn’t for any of the obvious reasons – drinking, drugs, or an addiction to porn* – but a more harmless affliction that could easily be overlooked, shrugged off as a sign of the season and left to spiral quietly out of control.

*Mum, I know you would probably much rather that I was addicted to drugs or booze or porn than what I’m about to confess, but remember I'm your daughter and you need to love me no matter what.

Hi. I’m Alice, and I've recently become addicted to junk food.

I’ve blamed the weather, the pill, the lack of vegetable space in the fridge and excess of takeaway joints in Kingsland. The truth is I have no idea – but it's real and it's happening and I can't seem to stop.

Don’t believe me? Lets take a look at Friday:

I get up, have two crumpets with butter and golden syrup (dessert cleverly disguised as breakfast - GENIUS) and head off to work. Mochaccino. Muesli bar. 'Nuther moccachino. I walk to the dairy, buy a sausage roll the size of my forearm and a banana. Back at the office I scoff the food, and am told I need to attend a lunch at the rotary club to get a comment from John Key.

Do I think to myself: “Gee whiz! That’s a bit exciting that I get to meet the Prime Minister even if he is a complete plonker”? No I do not. I think to myself “Rotary club = old people = buffet lunch. Huzzah!”

It is a buffet (downfall of the compulsive eater), and happily I pile my plate up with three meats, potato salad, bread, pasta and rice. I'm a bit disappointed there's no free wine, but John’s speech is set to be long and boring so I shell out for a house sav.

John’s speech is long and boring, but made bearable by a plate of mini desserts I've stocked up on first. I eat four miniature strudels as JK explains to the ancient crowd that global warming is real, two bite-sized sponge rolls as he pokes fun at Shane Jones. China’s economy is the one to watch he says... Or perhaps it's the Philippines. I have another glass of wine and a chocolate truffle.

Later that evening, after I’ve wiped the crumbs from my mouth and tipsily accosted John (I would later realise my fly had been down), I return home for a raging Friday night of scrabble. I eat Subway for dinner, then pop out for a pack of biscuits. I return with wine, chocolate, chips and onion soup dip. I eat/drink these. My friend comes over with wine, animal biscuits (remember those! They still taste just as good, only they've stopped making pink ones. Why god, why?), and chips. We eat/drink these.

It's epic.

It's disgusting.

The next day I eat even more.

Last night when Sylv joked that I needed an intervention, I laughed. What a ridiculous idea I thought - like something off Home and Away. I imagined Alf telling me awkwardly that he was only doing it because he flamin’ cared about me, Irene calling me darl and making me a cup of trim-milk tea.

I laughed, holding my belly like a jolly Saint Nick. I popped another crumpet in the toaster.