Diets that don't work #1: The Chilli Diet

Me and Rach went to the Chilli fiesta the other week, and stocked up on pretty much every chilli-based foodstuff available.
Rach used a bit of her chilli jam in some cooking she did in the week, but aside from that, most of it had remained untouched.
So, yesterday, after a breakfast consisting of half a brioche with a smidge of jam on it, we really got stuck into the chilli products.
Here is a step by step 'how-to' of the chilli diet, and the outcome. Follow it at your peril.

Have some chilli cheese. First, sample the afterburner, made with habanero chillies, then cleanse your palette with a portion of the much less aggressive jalapeno cheese.

Smack your chops and think, 'mmm chilli cheese is good stuff. I should eat this more often'

Have some chilli chocolate. The really dark, 73% cocoa one with bhut jolokia chilli powder (hottest chilli in the world)

Put the chocolate to one side after only eating half of it and think 'those jolokia chillies really are in the record books for a reason aren't they. I'll eat the rest, erm, later.'

Wash all this down with some cheap cava, then eat nothing for a couple of hours.

After two hours, stupidly decide that you could murder a curry, and manage to justify this, regardless of cost and health implications, by pretending to yourself that you've not had a curry for ages, which is almost certainly a lie.

Go to curry house, and neck a Madras-heat Rogan Josh, washed down with two pints of coke.

On no account should you take heed of the fact that you don't fancy a beer, and that this may mean your digestive system isn't exactly on top form. This is almost certainly not true, you great pansy, now keep drinking the fizzy brown acid...

Finish your curry and think 'hmm, feel a bit full. Very full in fact.'

Walk outside.

Stop.

Ignore the painful gurgles emanating from your waistline and try to shrug the nauseous feeling off as being 'a bit bloated'

Head to a pub, saying very little to your friends while you try to concentrate on holding down the rising bile in your throat, whilst simultaneously clenching your buttocks against the insistent movement in the lower intestinal area.

Walk briskly for 20 minutes, this will aid the fermentation, erm, I mean digestion process.

Ignore the first pub you get to, knowing you won't last the length of the queue outside the door, and continue mincing with buttocks clenched firmly to the next pub.

Get past doorman as politely but overall, quickly as possible, and head for the toilets.

Read on if you want to, I personally would recommend skipping a few lines.

Sit on a manky pub loo and pebbledash the bowl with something that will in all likely hood erode the enamel away permanently, whilst holding back from vomiting onto your legs, caused by a mixture of the rotten-gut feeling and the stench coming from the recently re-decorated toilet bowl.

Get out of there as fast as you conveniently can, hoping nobody sees you leave and links you with the ungodly odour that has set up camp in the lav.

Feel much better, and go and get drunk.

Let that be a lesson to me. And you hopefully.