MY LESSONS ON EMOTIONAL EATING by Dame Jenni Murray

Many of us have turned to comfort eating to help cope with lockdown blues. But there are ways to break unhealthy food habits, as Dame Jenni Murray explains

Weight loss (from 24st to 14) and understanding how my body functions in relation to food and fat have pretty much been my obsessions for six years. In 2014, I opted to have surgery to remove a large portion of my stomach and create a gastric sleeve. Although that led to the loss of nearly half my body weight and significant changes to my metabolism, I was as worried as anyone recently about the effect that lockdown life might have on my relationship with food, and the temptation to eat from boredom rather than hunger.

I spent the recent months alone apart from three dogs and a cat. My family is scattered around the country, but I stayed in London because I had to work two or three days a week and didn’t dare travel to the south coast, where my husband was also alone. I didn’t want to risk taking any London bugs to our home there.

What was there to look forward to as another day stretched ahead with nowhere to go apart from a walk in the park with the dogs, keeping my distance from other humans? Comfort was very much required. And where, in the absence of cuddles and conversation, can comfort be found?

How many times, since the coronavirus began to sweep across the world, have you had friends on the phone detailing what they’ve cooked for dinner, moaning that they’ve resorted to wearing the baggiest, most elasticated items in their wardrobe and pondering whether, when this is all over, they will head first to a slimming group or Alcoholics Anonymous?

EATING FOR COMFORT

Nigel Slater told me early on in the lockdown how he was so fearful of confronting the virus during trips to his local shops that he was relying on his veg box delivery and what he had at home. He spent the days thinking about supper (usually with plenty of carbs), planning which cocktail he’d concoct at 6pm and craving cake. Comfort in plentiful quantities.

And he has not been alone. A recent Yougov poll found more than 40% of us have expressed fears that we’ve put on weight during lockdown, while sales of biscuits, sweets and cakes have risen

by £25m a week and market researcher Kantar has found that ‘wine o’clock’ begins when the TV is switched on. And that’s earlier than ever, because it has been our main form of entertainment.

Food is one of the greatest comforts known to man or woman. Our mothers and grandmothers showed their love for us by cooking delicious and nutritious meals. A bar of chocolate or a bag of sweets is what many of us were told was a treat for best behaviour. And it’s what the advertising industry knew would send us to the bakery for a cake: ‘Naughty, but nice!’

Lockdown has done nothing to alleviate the chronic problem of obesity and its attendant ill health: type 2 diabetes, heart trouble and some cancers are known to be related to being overweight. Those of us who have battled for decades with our weight have long suffered insults, aware of the accusation that we’re a drain on NHS resources – and that has been brought into greater focus during the pandemic.

I was always a big girl. My mother would remind me what a pity it was that I’d inherited my father’s strong, powerful frame rather than her elegant, delicate bone structure. Yet I wasn’t fat as a child, which I realise was probably a result of eating a healthy, home-cooked diet before processed food became the thing.

There’s clear evidence that the microbiome (the bacteria that live in the digestive system) has a role in controlling weight. I have no doubt that my grandfather’s home-grown vegetables and fruit, the use of real butter rather than margarine and a fondness for Gorgonzola fed my microbiome beautifully. Processed food merely loads us with salt, sugar and preservatives.

To be fair to the food industry, Professor Francesco Rubino, professor of metabolic surgery at King’s College London, who is my main source of knowledge about the science of diet and body size, is less damning of its practices. There was no intention to do harm, he says; rather, it wanted to make food tasty, and with a long shelf life, for everyone, rich or poor. But the result has been far from beneficial.

THE DIET ROLLERCOASTER

My first experience of weight gain came at university, when fish and chips in the refectory, white toast with lashings of Flora, endless chocolate digestives and cheap lager in the union bar became standard fare. I began my first year at 9½st. After I’d been there for two terms, my parents drove past me because they didn’t recognise their 11st daughter.

In desperation, I went to the GP, was given pills to help me diet and lost a huge amount of weight after eating nothing but hard-boiled eggs and tomatoes. My tutor found I had been given ‘black bombers’ (amphetamines) and had me admitted to the health centre, as a virtual anorexic, to learn how to eat again. I vowed never to repeat such a drastic course of action.

My 20s and 30s were busy beyond belief; climbing the career ladder, bearing two sons, riding regularly and rushing about with the

More than 40% of us have expressed fears that we’ve put on weight during lockdown

kids. The problems began again in my 40s. We had moved to the Peak District, so while I was in London for work, I stayed alone in a dingy basement flat, feeling lonely and often depressed, and my need for comfort became overwhelming. I did no cooking: instead it was chips in the canteen, takeaways, restaurants with friends. I always ate more than my fill and failed to acknowledge that treating dry white wine as a non-alcoholic drink would only do me harm.

My weight ballooned and thus began the lethal diet rollercoaster. I did everything. First I went to Susie Orbach’s Fat Is A Feminist Issue. Listen to your appetite, she said. Eat when you’re hungry, and when you’re full, stop. I joked it was the one subject on which I was deaf. I tried Atkins, Dukan, Weight Watchers, 5:2. I’d lose a few stone, relax back into normal eating and then put on more weight than I had done before.

I’ve found there is a genetic element in my tendency to fat. I had two rotund grandmothers, but it was dieting that really did it for me. The hormonal system reacts violently to crash diets. Your body is made to believe you’re starving, and you’re more hungry than ever. Some succeed in losing weight and keeping it off, but evidence shows it’s only those who stick ruthlessly to the regime and think about their diets all day, every day, who retain their slim figures.

TAKING BACK CONTROL

At 24st and the age of 64, I took the scary decision to go for the gastric sleeve. The starting gun was fired by my son who, during a walk with me in the park, saw a hugely obese woman on a disability scooter, her little dogs’ leads attached to the handlebars. ‘Mum,’ he said, ‘if you’re not careful, it won’t be long before that’s you.’

A large portion of my stomach was removed, the hunger hormone, ghrelin, went with it and my life was transformed. Within a year, I weighed 14st and I’ve stayed that way since.

It took a while to get used to my tiny stomach, but now I can eat whatever I choose. I deny myself nothing, but have learned that small portions are the secret. Lemon tart and chocolate éclairs have always been my downfall. I no longer resist the urge to eat them, but it’s merely a tiny slice of tart or half an éclair. To feed the microbiome, I always have sauerkraut in the fridge, plenty of fruit and veg and, every morning, granola with full-fat yogurt and berries. Plenty of fibre and nothing low fat. I feel better and move better. At last, I can listen to my appetite. Eat when I’m hungry, enjoy the food and stop when I’m full.  Fat Cow, Fat Chance: The Science And Psychology Of Size (Doubleday) by Jenni Murray is out 16 July