Basically, I ate quite a lot of pork and became a bit sweaty and anxious.

Polly had a birthday so we all thought it'd be a good idea to drive up to Walberswick beach.

We spent most of the day in the car, then at a cafe in Walberswick where Polly ate a normal adult sized bite of Elly's shortbread which led to Elly having a full blown nervous breakdown.

I took her out of the cafe to lovingly talk her down.

She perfomed such a convincingly tearjerking rendition of inconsolable innocence that another diner came over to give her (Elly) all the cream and chocolate flake bits from her (other diner) dessert, saying "Be happy now," to her.

We then went to fly our kites on the beach for the forty remaining minutes of sunlight left in the day.

First of all I smashed my powerkite into a beach hut.

Then Polly tangled all the strings up because when I tugged the strings meaning "Drop the strings" she thought I was meant "Really tangle the strings up worse than they have ever been tangled up"

Finally we got lost on the beach and ended up wandering backwards and forwards in the dark trying to find the way back to the car.

Polly likes this kind of thing though. Once in Nepal we climbed up a mountain using a footpath and "explored" our way down which eventually involved aiming at a tree and hurling ourselves down the 1:2 incline, blindly hoping that the tree would withstand the impact and stop us from falling all the way down the mountain.

Then we drove to Southwold to the fish and chip shop. (Not after we got down the mountain in Nepal, that would've been an interminably long drive, after we got back to the car at Walberswick.)

It was closed. We drove home.

We had a great 40 minutes on the beach, but it seemed like a bit of a long drive to achieve it. I didn’t have a very good drive down either.

On Saturday I'd decided that we would have Roast Loin Of Pork for dinner. I'm a big fan of Pork, in spite of, or maybe because of the being Jewish thing.

When people come over to our house to eat for the first time they'll often, absolutely hilariously, say something like "Will we be having Pork?" expecting me to react in some sort of negative way.

I thought a Roast Loin of Pork would be a great end to the post Christmas binge eating festival that's been running at our house.

We ate lots of pork and watched that lovely film where Hugh Grant gets very anxious about whether or not he will fuck Julia Roberts and then he does fuck her (romantically) and looks at her tits too (in a really amusing way) only to get chucked, and then get back together with her and make her pregnant so she can lie pregnantly on a bench with him while he reads Captain Correlli’s Mandolin. It was superb.

It was really lovely for me to imagine Julia Roberts having Hugh Grant’s baby – the actual birth.

We decided to save some Pork for the next day’s sandwiches. Well, Polly said “David, you should probably stop eating the Pork at some point,” and I said “Can we have it in sandwiches tomorrow?” and she said “O.K.”

Whilst I was cutting up the pork for sandwiches the next day I was reminded of the following line in "Real Cooking" by Nigel Slater where he, somewhat irresponsibly, writes "And I cannot be the only person who tears a strip of crackling off a cold roast to chew while I read the paper,"

Firstly you should never ever start a sentence with the word “and”. And secondly you shouldn’t encourage someone as greedy as me to eat more crackling the next day.

Despite it’s recklessness, I've always liked this notion and this being the first time I'd ever had a cold piece of roast pork with crackling on I thought this would be a chance for me to finally live out the fantasy only without the newspaper or the reading or the general relaxed scenario that Slater lazily conjures up, preferring to stand desperately over a work surface covered with discarded packed lunch prep detritus, shoving it into my mouth as fast as I can before being caught in the act by my wife.

(“Really? That’s the only time you’ve done that in your whole life?” says Polly.

”I only started roasting Pork about a year ago, before then I was always a bit scared of doing it” I say.

Polly looks at me with amused incredulity “You’ve certainly made up for it.” she says.)

So, living the dream, I ate up all the left over crackling from the night before while I cut the pork into bite sized pieces to put into a tupperware box. It wasn’t that good to be honest, but I thought I had to keep doing it because that’s what Nigel wanted.

Obviously I also ate up a few of the bite sized pieces of pork just to see what they tasted like cold (nice, in case you are wondering).

I didn’t mention that as it was Polly's birthday we'd had bacon and eggs for breakfast. I had 3 rashers of bacon.

Twenty minutes into the journey to Walberswick Mick said he didn't want his ham sandwich so I scoffed that too.

Five minutes after the ham scoffing I realised that I’d eaten myself into a full blown porkadose.

I started feeling really nauseous and burping up horrific pork burps which sent me into another spasm of Nausea. This got progressively worse throughout the journey, climaxing with an exquisite twenty minute depression which ended with me shouting "I need to visit the toilet NOW," the second we arrived in Walberswick, then sitting in the toilet with my head in the hands counting the ways in which I was a failure then realising that if I didn’t stop counting it’d be dark then walking around in the freezing cold with just my jumper on for 20 minutes until the sweating stopped.

Basically, I ate quite a lot of pork and became a bit sweaty and anxious. Maybe I should have just written this one line. Would that be a better blog?

I resolved not to eat any more pork ever again.

When I got home that evening I had Pork in Pitta Bread.

This lunchtime I had the left over left over Pork with noodles, and this evening I sucked the meat off the Pork Bones that I used to flavour our curry.