Newspaper article The Evening Standard (London, England)

Chronically Indigestible

Newspaper article The Evening Standard (London, England)

Chronically Indigestible

Article excerpt

Byline: VICTOR LEWIS-SMITH

You Are What You Eat C4

DESPITE maintaining for years that Psion organisers are ridiculous inventions purchased only by people who have no life to organise, I bought one a few months ago, and immediately found it to be utterly indispensable.

Trouble is, within weeks I'd dropped it from a balcony, and it's now changed my life by becoming a disorganiser, randomly and dyslexically jumbling up the information that's stored on its hard disk.

It now refers to the editor of this newspaper as "Masseimo Zuncheddue," told me yesterday that I had "a meeting with Harldy Hannomentuiq on the 33 July 2086," and has even begun anagrammatising phrases ("Irritable Bowel Syndrome" recently came out as "O my terrible drains below"), so that I've come to regard it as more of a food processor than a word processor. Well, day by day my documents are gradually turning into one vast lexicographical jambalaya, topped with an occasional portion of scrambled x.

But after seeing the irritable bowels and terrible drains below on last night's You Are What You Eat (C4), I've begun to wonder if perhaps my Psion is trying to tell me something.

Those bowels and drains belonged to 5ft 2in, 171/2 stone Yvonne Grant, the latest in a long and wobbly line of short, fat, jolly, disorganised losers (in the tradition of Maureen, from Driving School) to be ritually humiliated in the hallowed name of Light Entertainment.

As part of an eight-week attempt "to transform her bad dietary habits", her every belch and fart was broadcast to the nation, she was subjected to the indignity of an on-camera colonic irrigation ( complete with glass tube, so that we could all see what she'd been eating the previous Thursday), and her friends cheerfully queued up to tell us that "she'll never eat one biscuit, she'll eat the packet" and "she ate 11 cakes ... because they were there."

Frankly, with friends like that, who needs enemas?

Leading the humiliation was Gillian McKeith, a self-styled "nutritionist to the stars" who calls herself "doctor" at all times, even though she's only got a PhD, rather than a licence to practise medicine (it's legal to do so, but thoroughly infra dig).

Her technique involved the systematic public shaming of the hapless Yvonne, telling her that "you are an environmental hazard, contributing to the greenhouse effect with your awful smells," lamenting that "there's no fibre in your pooh," and warning her bluntly that "you can diet or you can die."

Of course, way up on the moral high ground where the doctor clearly dwells, the air is notoriously thin, which may explain why she periodically uttered complete nonsense, such as taking a microwaveable ready meal from the fridge and saying "there are no nutrients in here," which was not only untrue, but potentially libellous (perhaps that's why the manufacturer's name was obscured). …

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