I never knew cucumber sandwiches could be so satisfying. But that’s what happens when you are living off a diet sheet.

Two years ago I changed the way I ate after a stern warning from Jill, a nurse and health care assistant at my local medical surgery.

She had taken all the tests and asked pertinent questions.

“How often do you have a fried breakfast?” “Every morning.”

“How about chips?”

“Frequently.”

“Oven chips or fried?”

“Oven chips? Certainly not. Deep fat fried for fuller flavour.”

No wonder my cholesterol was high.

Jill was not impressed and suggested, delicately, I might change my diet and try regular walks, apart from that undertaken to visit the kitchen for a cup of tea and three chocolate biscuits.

I began to walk every morning, a routine I still practice.

I cut down fried breakfast to only weekends and gave my chip pan the last rites before consigning it to the dustbin.

I embraced the new regime like a convert who had seen the light on the road to Damascus, as long as Damascus had a chip shop.

But like all endeavours and commitments I lapsed without realising it.

At the start, I banished steak and Sunday roasts, ate only fish and chicken, switched to wholemeal bread and plain biscuits, cut out crisps and sweets, denied even the contemplation of fried food and told chips to get behind me, Satan.

But, forgive me, nurse, for I lapsed and sinned against the code of good health.

My weekend breakfasts began to include enough back rashers to build a pig; I was tempted by the occasional steak and, once I got back into the habit of buying a salmon cut joint of beef, I was lost.

My wife Maria rarely eats red meat so I was having a Sunday roast followed by cold cuts Monday, Tuesday and sometimes Wednesday.

And as for fish and chips?

I decided I would allow myself to indulge occasionally as a treat.

Before I knew it, my resolve was in tatters and I was sitting in front of the television with a packet of crinkle cut cheese and onion on one side and a family sized bag of liquorice allsorts on the other.

The moment of truth came the other week during another visit to the doctor.

More tests had been done after a health scare and the dreaded cholesterol reading was reaching for the sky.

I came home with another low fat diet sheet that is now stuck to the side of the fridge, and new resolve.

Chips, fried or roast potatoes are out, as is pork crackling, sausages and meat pies which means I may have to plan a route round Huddersfield to avoid Greggs.

No cream, whole milk, fried bread, cakes, crisps or caviar.

Must remember to cancel my caviar order at the Co-op.

Instead, being a Born Again nutritionist has had me buying orchards of fruit, low loaders of vegetables and flocks of chicken breast fillets.

I even tried Quorn – but that was an experience too far.

Twice this week I had cucumber sandwiches for lunch and found them quite tasty.

Most things are when you’re hungry.

I realise my enthusiasm will wain and I shall adapt the strictness of my self-imposed diet but, if you ever see me with a bag of fish and chips in my hand, do please stop me and demand: “Is this a treat or are you slipping back along the road to perdition?”

I have a feeling that, if I’m not careful, it could be perdition. Again.