My body is a holy temple. Lemon and ginger for breakfast, gallons of water throughout the day and dairy free air for supper. Well, almost.

I don’t eat flesh because I think it’s gross and I don’t eat dairy because the doctor said so. (I’m breastfeeding a dairy intolerant baby before you trolls launch your attack).

When I travel it’s different. Anyone who has followed a diet for whatever reason – weight loss, health, religion knows that travel and healthy food don’t necessarily mix.

Because fruit on holiday isn’t fruit unless it’s coated in syrup

Take Spain. The supposed foodie capital of Europe where I lose an average of a kilo every visit and still look fatter than when I arrived. I’ve fainted three times in Barcelona from sheer hunger because the Spanish don’t eat like I do. I don’t do meat and they don’t do vegetarianism. A ham sandwich without the ham doesn’t count.

All this tosh about the healthy Mediterranean lifestyle is a lie. The real Barcelona breakfast is not pa amb tomaquet but a plastic square of sponge they call bread served beside a glass of fake milk with brown sludgy lumps (hot chocolate, apparently). Oh, and a cigarette. Admittedly the coffee is rather good, but don’t get me started on their excuse for tea.

Even tools in Spain are coated in chocolate

So why do my Spanish friends look so damn good?

Because they don’t give a damn.

And this is a mantra I have been forced to adopt when travelling. I like my kids to eat their greens, but on holiday the green will most likely be the contents of a Haribo packet. Airports, roadside cafes and petrol stations will not serve my favourite Deliciously Ella vegan buddha bowl. When I eat out, I must chill out. Or as a friend put it ‘eat up and shut up’.

One chocolate marshmallow skewer. One sugar happy child.

I’d love to know how diet gurus manage their lifestyles when on the road. Or how they’d refuse my mother in law when she’s dishing up a meat feast.

One resort perhaps got it right when they put Baklava and chocolate cake in the healthy eating section of a buffet. Fill up and lighten up it screamed.

Personally, I prepare for the worst case scenarios; I have been known to pack oatcakes in my hold luggage. I won’t be eating flesh any time soon. But when travelling the normal diet rules can’t always apply. Pass me the spongy bread.

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