![]() ![]() ‘I estimate that I have drunk 11,315 litres of Diet Coke.’ Photograph: leirbagenaz/Stockimo/Alamy If enduring an endoscopy won’t stop you drinking fizzy drinks, you know you are addicted. I recently spent a year on prescription medication for a stomach condition that was almost certainly triggered by my overconsumption of Diet Coke, according to my GP. I get anxious if I don’t have any Diet Coke in the fridge as bedtime approaches I run to the shop in the middle of the night to ensure there is a cold can waiting for me in the morning. When I go on holiday, I fill up the supermarket trolley with Diet Coke, to the amusement of my friends. I really want to stop drinking Diet Coke – and not only because I spend at least £500 a year on the stuff. (I have been conservative with these numbers – it is almost certainly more.) That is more than 11,000 litres of caramel fizz, fermenting my insides, bathing my liver in foam. Using some back-of-a-fag-packet-maths, I estimate that I have drunk 11,315 litres of Diet Coke in my 31 years on this Earth. My boyfriend jokes about my morning routine: wake up, pad to the kitchen. Five cans on a good day, seven cans on a bad day. I drink Diet Coke from the moment I wake up until I go to sleep. To much fanfare, my boss brings in an eight-pack of Diet Coke, with a burning candle stuck in it. (My mum won’t buy it for the house any more, because of my addiction.) My low blood sugar makes the artificial sweetness taste euphoric. ![]() After a long day starving myself, I walk to the corner shop and reward myself with a bottle of Diet Coke. ![]()
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