Unsurprisingly, I have fought the fight against flab, flatulence and firm-fitting-frocks my entire life. If only food didn't taste so friggin' good all the time. Despite my mother's best efforts (especially in the seventies, with our sunbeam-fried lamb chops on offer at least five days a week), my appetite remained undaunted, and my face was always in there, hogging away to my heart's content.
The letter is C.
Firstly, it contains my three most favourite foods, all starting with CH - Chocolate.
.... and let's not forget cherries, champagne, Chinese, chardonnay, cheesecake, chickpeas, chives, chop suey, chowder, chutney and chestnuts...!
It is then my mind runs out of 'ch' foods and goes for the Big C - caesar salad, cabbage (raw, not boiled into a grey, stinking, slimy cowpat), cake, cabernet sauvignon, cannelloni, calamari (or squid, to those who are more earthy), capers, capsicum, caramel, cardamon, cinnamon, carrots, cashews, celery, cereal, cider, citrus fruits, clams, club sandwiches (stretching it a bit), coconuts (hopefully fairly plentiful on a tropical island, unless I'm shunted out to the Orkneys), cocoa and cocktails..........
And even though I like the idea of vegetarianism, meat cooked well just tastes so damned wonderful. We've seen the 'Meat is Murder' t-shirts that say in smaller, more evil letters underneath, 'Tasty, delicious murder', and I heard Michelle Laurie on Good News Week say the other day that she's mostly a vegetarian as "I only eat the ones who taste really good." Therefore, Chicken is right up there in my desert island C list favourites. Forget the shiteful desecration of the sacred bird by KFC but instead think of your Mum's roast chicken, satays, marinated breasts on the barbie, burgers filled with lemon and coriander, stir fries, casseroles, fragrant curries and even a good old rotisserie chook with crunchy burnt wings and deliciously wicked and crispy skin...... Ohhhhhh.....
And when Sapphire (whose real name starts with C, incidentally), comes home from school, we both have a cup of hot chocolate, made with milk and real shavings of chocolate. We sit at the kitchen counter, sorting through the detritus of her school bag - crumpled newsletters, art works, tupperware lids, leaky drink bottle, her 'found' hat - and talk about her day. Who is in love with who, who got sent to the principal's office, who farted when they bent over to pick up their crayon and who she wants to invite over for a playdate tomorrow. Bliss.
It's why I run so much. I love every mouthful.