Have you all recovered from carb overload?

I’m still housebound after vast consumption of chocolate and Easter dinner (essentially a Sunday dinner with kale instead of cabbage).

Pumping so much choccy and potato-based dishes into my body was never going to do me any favours, was it?

I’ve suddenly broken out and now resemble a human dot-to-dot puzzle.

Plus my stomach is so bloated I can’t even manage to button up my ‘fat pants’ – the only things that feel comfortable following a bank holiday.

I’ve also experienced the lovely ‘meat sweats’ – in which your body reacts badly to ingesting over 8lb of meat.

I’ve brought a whole new meaning to sweating like a pig, I can smell the pork on my skin.

Aside from self-induced, food illnesses I’m not doing too bad though.

Each day your gut recovers slightly and by the next weekend you’re ready to do it all over again, or so I hope.

My son, who seems to have suffered a similar reaction to myself, has been burping regularly every day since Easter.

If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s burping.

I can’t cope with it.

The fact that it’s called ‘burping’ doesn’t endear it to me, either.

I mean, it just sounds awful.

Perhaps if it was labelled something like ‘schumugglies’ or ‘cute popping’ it wouldn’t bother me so much.

They say ‘what’s in a name?’ Everything!!

If you get 12 roses for your birthday you immediately think ‘awh, lovely!’

I can’t imagine any woman being over the moon that they had a dozen stinking wasp nettles delivered to their workplace – which, by the way, is actually a very accurate description of roses.

Or what if, instead of coming down with a case of food poisoning, which seems a bit extreme of a description, you got a little bit of ‘foody boo boo’? See, it doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?

People often tell me that my name suits me. I don’t know why.

As far as I’m aware there isn’t some sort of deformed, pig-like creature knocking about that my parents happened across and thought ‘oh, that seems like a good name.’

If I’m honest I curse the fact that I wasn’t given an awesome name like ‘d’Artagnan’ or something.

I’m sure I would have led a much more productive and successful life.

I mean, who would turn down ‘d’Artagnan’ when they applied for the President of Awesomeness post at the Celebrity super centre? Not me!

Truth be told I was very nearly called Natalie or Natasha, though the story goes that my dad freaked out lest I be confused with the footballer.

I’m sure that once anyone saw me, though, the first thing that came to mind wouldn’t be ‘athlete’.

It’s weird isn’t it? Despite what type of person we are or how benign something may be, the title or name that it holds colours our perceptions of it.

Perhaps we could start calling Putin Mr Teddy McCuddle Face? He wouldn’t seem so scary then.

Though let’s leave Trump, as that suits him… a lot.

From now on though, guys, you may address me as d’Artagnan.