Like everyone else back in November 2019, I had no idea what 2020 had in store, or how important our health was, which is why, one evening like many before, my husband, Stuart, then 44, and I were nestled on the sofa, our plates piled high with takeaway curry. ‘Pass me another onion bhaji,’ I asked Stuart, making room next to a mountain of rice.
At the dining table, my daughters Bethany, then 21, Holly, 20, and Megan, 18, were eating vegetables and pasta and I felt ashamed. I knew, deep down, that I should have been eating healthily like they were. Only, as always, I pushed those feelings aside. ‘Diet starts tomorrow,’ I told myself, scoffing every morsel.
Growing up, my parents fed me healthy dinners, but I’d squirrel…
