Calling the local Chinese takeaway for the third time that week, I didn’t need to look at the crumpled menu, as I knew what my order was going to be.
Curry, rice and chips for me, then two portions of sweet and sour chicken for my husband Steven, now 62, and my son Max, now 27.
That was after skipping breakfast and eating a cheese sandwich with a thick layer of butter slathered on the bread with a few packets of crisps on the side for lunch.
Only, that wasn’t it.
With my guilty pleasure being anything savoury, I’d find myself gorging on sausage rolls, pasties, anything that was bad for me, topping it off with a slab of any milk chocolate that I could get my hands on.
Anything that was easy to eat or simple to serve up for dinner had my name on it.
Only, it hadn’t always been that way.
Leaving school weighing 6st, I had never struggled with my weight – I
