The Dukan debate

May saw an anniversary of sorts for me. On May 8 it was a year since I last consumed a carb. A real carb, mind, of the cake, crisps and chips ilk.

Before anyone writes in, I am fully aware that there are carbo-hydrates in celery too.

This time last year I started the Dukan diet, which is currently garnering headlines as its creator, Dr Pierre Dukan, is in court in Paris suing a rival for libel. Like the low-carb Atkins diet before it, the protein-heavy Dukan diet has come under fire from critics. The current court case is related to an interview with a French magazine in which Dr Jean-Michel Cohen branded the Dukan method a "fantasy" and alleged that it could cause serious health issues. One thing is certain for me - once I started on the diet, I bought the same pair of jeans in progressively smaller sizes.

The fourth size down - a 12 - is waiting in the wardrobe. They're still a little snug but I expect to be in them within the month.

Before the libel action, the diet was best known as the eating plan behind Pippa Middleton's behind. While I have yet to morph into the kind of creature who could upstage the bride at the Wedding of the Century™, I still stand by it. And I do so in considerably smaller jeans than when I started out.

The diet appealed to me for two reasons. First, it sounded sensible, promising sustainable weight loss, bags of energy and other things I probably should care about. Second, it allowed you to eat steak - lots and lots of steak, unlimited amounts of the stuff.

The first few months of the regime saw me proceed in the way that I imagine Desperate Dan might behave at a do at a churrascaria restaurant and while I'd love to say I started to long for a little balance, I really didn't.

There have been slips, of course. The occasional wild night in with a bag of cashews or an accidental encounter with a bowl of deep-fried calamari rings, and there was one small sandwich-related upset involving fear of flying, a private plane and a whimper-averting triangle of egg and cress. But the thing I have managed to stick to is the potato ban. Not a single chip, forkful of baked spud or smidge of potato salad has passed my lips. No roasties, Jersey Royals or hash browns.

And so, a year on, now what? A return to a less restricted way of eating beckons at some point in the future, as I start to think about the third phase of the diet where some carbs are reintroduced, but I'm far less keen on this turn of events than I expected. I had thought that I would reach the end of my annus horribilis and plunge headfirst into the nearest bowl of Dauphinoise.

Obviously, I am concerned about putting the weight back on, but it's more than that. The thing is that I've come to regard the stodgy stuff with disdain. It has been pointed out that my dining table demands ("No, no boiled potatoes thanks, but I will have the roast beef. Again") can seem rather spoilt and I will admit it has been great fun to have an excuse to reject anything boring-looking on the grounds that it's too carby. But all good things must come to an end and at some point I'll grudgingly have to accept a little starch.

On the upside, I'll probably get by better at work dos as deconstructing canapés and stashing small discs of bread in my clutch becomes unnecessary, my Waitrose bill will plunge (all that smoked salmon adds up) and dinner parties may become less fraught. Pass the mash.

Dangers of one-track dieting
by Dr Christian Jessen

Looking for a quick-fix solution to a weight problem is the first and possibly biggest mistake because, quite frankly, there isn't one.