Chocolate Blackout

My name is Elle and I suffer from chocolate blackouts.  It’s been 24 hours since my last blackout.

I don’t know what happens.  One minute I’m relaxing in front of the telly or have just walked in the front door from work and next thing I know I’m surrounded by empty wrappers and covered in chocolate shavings.  Oh no, not again….  A feeling of dread overcomes me; I’m ashamed and quickly seek to hide the evidence.  Chocolate blackout has struck again.

I’ve tried everything from going cold turkey to allowing myself to eat as much chocolate as I want in a hope that I’ll become sick of it and its allure will demise.  During my summer bikini diet I tried trickle feeding chocolate by allowing myself four squares of dark chocolate a day.  As I don’t particularly like dark chocolate this stopped bingeing but was enough of a fix to get me through.  But alas, post-holiday, my will power diminished and this method quickly fell to the wayside.

My other half has taken to hiding his chocolate supply around our flat.  Unfortunately I have a sixth sense for these things and can sniff chocolate out a mile away.   If there’s chocolate in the flat, I’ll find it.  I daringly balance on a high stool combing the top of the kitchen cabinets with no care for my own safely, or crawl around on my hands and knees to search under the sofa or chest of drawers. 

These searches usually come up trumps but when they fail chocolate blackouts can go as far as to subconsciously make me pick up my purse (or sometimes raid the penny jar) and take me to our local shop for a fix.  If this happens too frequently and starts to get embarrassing (see my earlier blog ‘no no no eating here today….’) I’ll gladly venture along the canal to Sainsbury’s come rain or shine blinded by the promise of a chocolate fix.

I’ve become somewhat of an expert at hiding my evidence.  Not so long ago I located a galaxy bar in my other half’s bedside table with a row of chocolaty goodness already eaten.  Blinded by chocolate blackout I scoffed the rest, went to the shop to buy a replacement, ate a row and stowed the rest back in the draw as if nothing had happened.  But things have started to slip.  My current weakness seems to be Maltesers.  I thought I’d hidden the evidence well enough but, stupidly, left out the receipt for the purchase.  Busted.  A cry for help some may say?

At these times I say to my other half “don’t let me buy it or eat it.  I may not like it at the time but I’ll ultimately thank you for it”.  This of course is followed by a toddler style tantrum next time I’m drawn to the confectionery aisle at the supermarket and he tries to be stern with me.  

I have now started to admit my ‘problem’.  When blackout strikes I go to my other half or Belle in the office, head held low, and say ashamedly “I had chocolate blackout”.   Maybe I should start a CBA (Chocolate Blackouts Anonymous) group and seek out other secret chocolate blackout suffers?  Together we may be able to stop this vicious cycle.  Or at the very least get some kind of group discount at Thorntons…..

The Haunting of Apple Tree Cottage

Hi, I’m Belle. I’m 32 years old and terrified of the dark. I am also the mother of a funny, little three year old Peanut. The hardest part about being a grown up is…being a grown up. I know that if I want Peanut to grow up to be a happy, well-adjusted Brasil Nut (or other large, grown up nut), I absolutely have to keep my own fears, neuroses and phobias in check. So far, so good. Rather than squealing, scampering and cowering in fear when she happens upon a spider, Peanut loves spiders and names all the spiders she meets in her daily life, she says they’re her friends. Result! When digging in the garden, she doesn’t jump back in horror or cry out in alarm when a worm crosses her path. Oh no. She takes great care in digging up the garden for the express purpose of finding worms she can hold and stroke. So, the master plan has worked. I have, it would seem, managed to master most of my phobias when Peanut is around. I stay calm and I am outwardly as cool as a cucumber, whilst inside I'm dying a thousand deaths to watch the six inch long millipede wriggling around in her hands. I’ve smiled and showered praise on her, as she proudly shows me the giant hissing cockroach she’s cuddling (and which appears to be trying to crawl up her sleeve *fainting*).

The one thing that still turns my blood cold, the thing that still strikes fear into my heart, is my fear of the dark. So, tonight, ladies and gentlemen, let me set the scene: I'm sat in the dark in Peanut's room, I hear Matthieu close the outside door behind him as he heads up to the farmhouse to talk the landlord about our water bill. I'm serenely singing lullabies to Peanut, when suddenly...THAT scene from The Others pops unbidden into my head. Now my heart is racing, I'm instantaneously paralysed with fear and I have to shut my eyes to try to block out the image of the old blind woman under the veil, when the Nicole Kidman character is expecting to find her daughter. Only, that’s not helping. Shutting my eyes is only making the image more vivid.

I open my eyes, but suddenly Peanut’s entire bedroom is transformed into some nightmare landscape straight from the dark recesses of HP Lovecraft’s mind. A pile of blankets is hiding a creature just waiting to jump out at me. The white shirt hung out for Peanut to wear tomorrow is now a phantom of unimaginable horror with dark designs on my soul. Every shadow is alive with unknown demons. I’m stuck fast, utterly crippled with fear, yet somehow I've got to travel the hundreds of miles from Peanut's bed to her door, in the pitch dark. Meanwhile, a slideshow of every horror film I’ve ever watched, every scary book I have ever read, every chilling radio programme I have ever listened to is playing on a loop in my head, leaving me completely immobilised. Anyway, what’s the point of escape? Once I make it to her door, I still have to negotiate the creepy hallway with the reflective window at one end and the deepest, darkest abyss of shadows at the other end. In my current state of abject cowardice, it seems to me that the best plan of action is to stay in Peanut’s room where there is, at least, a safe, snuggly Peanut to protect me from the distressing goblins creeping in the shadows. Yes, I, a grown woman in my 30s, was seeking protection from a toddler. What kind of nonsense is this? I gathered up my courage (which was now in quivering jelly form), gave Peanut goodnight kisses and cuddles, then somehow managed to dash into the hallway, switching on every light from there to the relative safety of my sewing room.

And do you know how this whole accursed situation came about? Today I told Elle about how the church hall in Paris, where Matthieu and I had our wedding reception, was decorated with creepy photographs that put me in mind of the book of the dead from The Others. This then reminded me of that scene in the film where Nicole Kidman uncovers the creepy blind medium when she is expecting to find her daughter. I then felt compelled to share with Elle how I am sometimes freaked out by sitting in Peanut’s room in the dark, when I put her to bed and sing her lullabies. I told her that sometimes I imagine that the blankets at the end of Peanut’s bed are the spooky blind medium from The Others. So, all I have to say is, curse you creepy old medium from The Others! And curse you too Nicole Kidman, for delivering such a masterful performance in a well-made psychological thriller/ghost story!

Elle, let us never speak of this again. The end.

Love,
Belle

“No no no eating here today!”

“….No no no eating here today, I’m on a diiiiiet!”

As per the coaster on my desk I definitely ‘Love cake, hate diets’. 

Generally our office is not renowned for its healthy choice of snacks.  From early morning lattes, biscuits and cakes at meetings, trips into town at lunch and more biscuits and cakes mid afternoon, it’s no wonder we’re starting to feel our waist lines expanding. 

Chocolate is generally the treat of choice when we’re celebrating or having a good day but also when we’re feeling fed up and in need of a pick me up.  If we have chosen not to accept biscuits at a morning meeting we then treat ourselves to a chocolate bar at lunch.  When we're 'being good', colleagues leave chocolates on our desk as a reward for doing so well with our healthy eating.  We them become stuck in a vicious chocolate cycle!

Similarly to how I avoid buying my entire (and substantial) chocolate supply from our local shop, it gets slightly embarrassing when you’re constantly seen stuffing your face behind your desk.  Therefore Belle and I introduced stealth biscuit runs.  We wait until the office is quiet….. know the exact location of where the ‘good biscuits’ are kept….. time our tippy toe up the stairs perfectly and strike the biscuits before legging it back to our office in a fit of giggles (normal for us) and no-one is the wiser.  Mwahahaha!

These moments of hilarity gave rise to ‘biscuit tossing’, whereby Belle would ‘toss’ a biscuit for me to catch in my mouth.  A talent we quickly discovered I was surprisingly good at!  A natural gift some may say!  Happily launching myself across the office (thank you wheelie chairs) to never let a biscuit escape the grasps of my jaw. 

Working in the city centre holds its temptations.  It is far too easy to pop out for cake, coffee, chocolate or all of the above.  Just down the road is my favourite bakery, Jane’s Pantry.  We lovingly exclaim ‘”Just popping down Jane’s pants” when the mid morning munchies arise for a Winnie the Pooh biscuit (my personal favourite) or snail bun (mouth watering right now…). 

Now and again Belle and I decide to give healthy eating a go.  Belle prefers the no-sugar method, whereas I prefer the ‘everything in moderation’ approach, aka half a cake rather than a whole.  This results in a week (if we’re lucky) of “oh no thank you, I’m being good” followed by a few weeks of “eff it! I don’t care anymore!”

Obviously we need to work on our motivation and determination.  But until then, let the biscuit tossing commence!