You will be delighted to know that day one of the Great Bread Abstention (or GBA, if you will, since that is how it feels) has gone rather well.

Despite my initial dream in which I nearly consumed a rogue baguette, I have avoided the temptation to become doughy eyed all day, and celebrated this with a little trip to Sainsbury's on the way home.

Now - do you ever, when you get to the till in a shop, look at your basket and wonder: 'What will the girl on the checkout think?'

Not about me, since that would be more than a tad egocentric and vain (and thus entirely out of character), but about the shopping itself. I sometimes get into a right fluster about the bizarre, motley collection of goods, to the point where I feel compelled to throw a few other things in so that it looks more like a general shopping trip, and less like I've specifically come out for a carrot, a pot of garlic sauce and some cat litter.

On reaching the till tonight, exactly the same sensation. I looked down and in the basket were two bottles of wine (my turn to replenish the stock in the fridge), some Coco Pops (I've had a craving for Coco Pops for ages, and at last this presented a chance to get a box and make tomorrow morning that much more exciting), and some bin liners (all the better for keeping one's humble abode tidy).

You are the lady on the till. The gentleman in the large black coat with the green scarf and the funny hair pops his basket down next to you. You briefly scan the contents, and discover that he intends to buy two bottles of wine, some Coco Pops and bin liners.

What on earth is he going to do with them?

See, my overriding fear is that she's going to conjure up something a bit like this:

1. Man takes bottles of wine home and consumes them both, alone, simultaneously.

2. With two bottles of wine safely downed, man chugs entire box of Coco Pops in one go, eschewing advice that they taste better with warm milk. (Bollocks to that, by the way. Heresy.)

3. Man waits a number of minutes for mixture to take effect, then vomits profusely into wisely acquired bin bag.

So by the time the nice lady, in a heavy Polish accent, has asked me if I'm having a good day, I'm reduced to the appearance of a tramp reliant on a kindly cartoon monkey and cheap Australian plonk to get me through my miserable existence.

Still, at least I'm getting by without bread.