"The fetishisation of the burger continues. Despite the bombardment of Honest, Byron, Dirty Burger, Patty & Bun and MeatLiquor aiming to put a 3,000-calorie blowout of brioche, batter and bourbon on every corner, London shows no signs of ennui. I am not their average customer. Diet sensibility-wise I find myself straddled several yards short of the spooky Eat Nourish Glow brigade — who claim to survive on tepid egg cups of boiled bones — yet far from a woman who eats a double-stack patty with onion rings dipped in chipotle mayonnaise at lunchtime guilt-free. Although, if I’m honest, I can, and have done, and several photos of me exist on the internet standing at parties with my arms around gaunt, size 6 showbiz chums resembling, in relative terms, an amiable Tyrannosaurus rex that has entered a toddler’s sandpit."