Day one went well. Breakfast was a yoghurt with 25g of protein, a cereal with 20g and a coffee with 15g. By 8.30am I had consumed more protein than a small rugby club. I felt powerful. I felt seen. The front of the packet said I was “Built Different”, and I have decided that is now my personality.

I should explain. I am a wellness columnist. I have not had an opinion of my own since 2019. I now outsource all of it to whatever is printed in a bold sans-serif font above the barcode.

Week One: Optimism

The crisps were fine. They had 12g of protein per bag and tasted, as the packet put it, “like a crisp that has been to the gym”. The pasta had 18g. The popcorn had 10g, which struck me as modest, so I ate two bags to make a point.

The water was the first sign of trouble. It was cloudy. The bottle called this “a creamy mouthfeel”. I have never wanted a creamy mouthfeel from water. I have never wanted one from anything except, possibly, a bath.

Meanwhile, in the cupboard, my ordinary digestive biscuit sat in its tin. It contains roughly 1g of protein. It said nothing. It did not need to. I could feel it looking at me, beige and unfortified, like a man who has turned up to a wedding in the wrong shirt.

Week Two: The Descaler

It was in the second week that I bought a protein-fortified kettle descaler. I want to be clear that I did not need to. I did it because it was there, and because the label said “15g per sachet”, and because I have lost the ability to ask what a number is for.

I did not drink it. I would like that on the record. But I looked at my kettle differently afterwards. It felt like it was being held to a standard.

Dr Fiona Marsden, a consultant dietitian at a teaching hospital in Leeds, was unmoved. “Most adults in Britain already eat enough protein,” she told me. “Adding it to water is like adding a second roof to a house. Nobody is cold. Nobody asked.”

I told her the water was creamy. She asked if I was sleeping.

Week Three: The Candle

The protein candle arrived on day 19. It is, I should say, a candle. It contains no protein that you can eat. It contains a protein-themed scent called “Whey Forward”, which smells of a vanilla milkshake in a locker room.

Graham Pettifer, head of wellness innovation at a supplier to several large supermarkets, defended the category. “We asked shoppers what they wanted,” he said. “They said ‘more’. We asked more of what. They said ‘yes’. That is the whole brief.”

He added that a protein sofa was “not on the roadmap”, then looked at his phone for some time.

My sourdough has also started to concern me. It has 14g a slice now, and it looks heavy. Not physically. It looks like it is carrying something. It sits on the board the way a man sits in a pub when he knows something about a colleague and has not decided what to do with it.

Week Four: The Cloud

Which brings me to tonight. Today I bought a snack called a protein cloud. The packet describes it as “airy, whipped and 22g”. It looks like a small, pale thought. It was the last thing in the cupboard that I had not yet tried, apart from the biscuit, which I am saving, the way you save an apology.

I put the cloud in my mouth at 7.40pm. It is now 8.20pm.

It has not dissolved. It has not shrunk. It has not become, in any meaningful sense, smaller. I chew, and it yields, and then it is exactly where it was. I can feel all 22 grams of it. The kettle has gone quiet. The candle is out. The sourdough is waiting.

I have a meeting at nine tomorrow. I would like to be able to speak by then.