Tiger's Milk

by Deborah English — December 11, 2007

It's a mine-field out there! Stats fly out at us about causes and cures and preventative measures for every conceivable disease and health issue. Every day we read new insights about what to eat, what not to eat, when to eat what, and the matching exercise techniques and regimes. Valuable stuff...to be sorted by that fabulous computer that is the brain.

But sometimes the sheer load of information sends my fab brain into a spin. And for a flick of time, I switch off, give myself up to it, and drift out into the sea of wistful forgetfulness. Things were much simpler in my Grandparents' day. A healthy diet consisted of a hearty breakfast of crispy fried bacon, eggs, and grilled tomatoes with hunks of bread; dripping and thick slabs of cheese squashed between bread for lunch; and fat slices of roasted beef, lashings of potato, and Nana's boiled-to-buggery cabbage was the ticket for dinner. And exercise? The daily chores took care of that.

Somewhere near the beginnings of the international media blitz, but before the Internet, my mother began to develop an extra awareness about nutrition. She learned about the health benefits of yogurt, got the recipe to make the "germ," and every morning a new batch of yogurt appeared from the warmth of the "hot-water cupboard." When I started forgoing lunch to do gymnastics, my mom read some more, and the result was "Tiger's Milk." Disappointingly, Tiger's Milk wasn't actually tiger's milk, but a concoction made from cow's milk (yurrk!) stashed full of special ingredients; the only one of which I remember was wheat germ. So for a year or so that was what I drank in lieu of lunch. It probably did me some good.

The world has changed, and dietary knowledge is a crucial step towards well-being. "Bring it on," I say. The hours spent at my laptop is time well spent even if sometimes it does mean working myself up to that dreaded state of "Information Overload." Ding Ding Ding...the alarm bells ring. (Yeah...poetry never was my strong suit.) Time to switch off and go for a run.

My Granddad is still alive by the way. He's 94 and has his full load of marbles and fighting spirit. Go figure! (Must be in the DNA.)