Guzzling down my 10th Irn-Bru of the day, I glanced at my watch.
It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but the bin by my desk was overflowing with bright orange cans.
After hearing my alarm go off in the morning, I had been cracking open can after can all day long.
‘Carole, why do you need an Irn-Bru at 7.30am?’ my husband William, 51, said, still half asleep.
Padding down the stairs to find my secret stash in the cupboard, I knew what I was doing wasn’t right but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.
I knew my husband didn’t really approve, yet even then, he didn’t know the half of
