Move over Paleo, raw foodism and 5:2. This year’s consumption craze is the Sirt diet, which allows you to have your cake (well, red wine and chocolate) and eat it, too, promising to activate your skinny genes. I took a road-test of the diet that helped UK singer Adele slim down to see if I, too, can find my skinny genes for the sake of those skinny jeans. Wait, what? I have skinny genes? We all do, apparently. The diet’s UK creators, health consultants Aidan Goggins and Glen Matten, claim you’ll lose seven pounds (3kg) in seven days if you stick to their calorie-restricted meal plan of “wonder foods” that activate your skinny genes, or sirtuins (the same fat-burning genes activated by fasting). No need to commit to a strenuous exercise schedule on the side. In the words (or at least word) of Adele – hello. I embark on the Sirt diet full of hope and optimism, my kitchen stocked with red wine, dark chocolate and ingredients for green juice. A week later, at the end of “phase one,” I’m also feeling fantastic. Could it be that such sirtuin-activating foods as coffee, cocoa, chilli, garlic, walnuts, rocket and red wine have worked their magic? Here is a week in the life of a Sirt diet newbie. (Disclaimer: I do not own scales that can load more than 5kg, which I did try to stand on – and broke – so all measurements of the diet’s success are approximate and mental.)

I leap from the Sirt starting blocks with today’s meals prepped: buckwheat noodles with prawns, three green vegetable juices and 20g dark chocolate, all of which must be eaten before 7pm. I replace my ritual morning latte with a filter coffee for the first time ever, and a delivery of doughnuts to the office is all too easy to resist as I sanctimoniously sip on my second green juice. I don’t even need the third and final juice, as I’m feeling full after a late lunch of noodles. But insomnia sets in after dark when I’m trying to fall asleep with a rumbling stomach.

On the menu today is grilled chicken with cauliflower rice, which I really enjoy at 1pm. In fact a colleague tells me I’m “buzzing” after lunch, which really proves that hanger is a serious physical affliction. In the afternoon, I have a work event on an island in the middle of Sydney Harbour. It’s a sparkling day, there’s an alfresco long table set up in the sun, with food from the city’s top chefs and beautiful wines to match. Who’s going to see me commit Sirt crimes out here on this little island? I eat the tandoori kingfish and slow-cooked lamb and passionfruit chocolate dessert, and drink the crisp rosé and lush stonefruity viognier, and it’s all so delicious. I reason that today has already gone to the dogs, so I head to Fratelli for dinner and tuck in to pizza, creamy mozzarella, prosciutto and wine without guilt as I catch up with a friend to workshop her lovelife – a conversation that clearly requires the whole bottle of soave.

Back on the wagon, green juice seems to worsen rather than alleviate my hangover, so I eat today’s chicken breast with kale salad early, around brunchtime, while fantasising about bacon and eggs on thick sourdough toast. After work, I swim 1km, for penance, and am starving by the time I get home. So I make myself a silverbeet omelette. How bad can that be, disregarding the fact that I eat it at 8pm? Sleep eludes me as I feel hungry and wired the minute my head hits the pillow. I listen to a meditation podcast, which manages to do the trick after about two hours of tossing and turning. Farewell Day 3, you had me rolling in the deep.

I wake up feeling dozy after a bad night’s sleep, but the upside is that I’m over half way! And better still, today sees the introduction of a second meal (which I have unofficially been having anyway, so I don’t know why I’m so elated). I couldn’t be bothered making the Sirt muesli, which requires me spend a small fortune at the health food store, so I have leftover omelette for breakfast with a little avocado on the side, just because. Lunch is salmon with chicory, but chicory isn’t in season so I serve it with zucchini noodles and loads of parsley. I forgot to mention that parsley is a Sirt food, so I’ve been loading it into most meals to mitigate my deviations. I knock out a sweaty one-hour gym session after work and am starving by the time I get home, so I mix up a contraband protein shake, which I lace with walnuts and goji berries to Sirt-ify it.

I eschew Sirt muesli for another spinach omelette; I just feel better eating eggs for breakfast, which is my usual routine. Green juice? Tick. Then I head out for a farewell lunch with my team. Despite my efforts, I can’t find a single Sirt ingredient on the menu amongst the burgers, hot dogs and crinkle-cut fries. Not even a parsley garnish to save me! Facing deviation or starvation, I order a cheeseburger, but exercise a little control and pass on the chips (well, after a few, anyway, which I suddenly feel super guilty about). It’s a super-humid Sydney day so a glass of Sangiovese not going to fly. I drink rosé to stay hydrated. That’s close enough, right? Lunch rolls into afternoon drinks as we head out for margaritas, which I struggle with. I’m stuffed after the burger; is it psychosomatic, or has my stomach shrunk to proportions that cannot handle a whole burger, or am I now a sirtuin snob? Later that night, I head out on a spontaneous date, but I’m still stuffed by the time I meet Casanova, and can’t even finish a cocktail.

Saturday arrives. I wake up with the sun blazing on my face through the open curtains, feeling rather shady despite the blinding sunlight. I can’t be bothered to make a green juice, so instead, I forage two hot cross buns form the freezer, ignoring their freezer burn, and slather them with Pepe Saya butter. So. Damn. Good. I don’t feel up to exercising, so I clean the house and redeem myself with a Sirt-loaded omelette for lunch, and by that I mean eggs with onion, garlic, chilli and kale. Tonight

Today I feel fantastic, with an exclamation mark! Today is officially the last day of my Sirt regime! Despite last night’s early exit, I decide to finish strong. On a (sirtuin-induced?) high, I head to Coogee beach to do an hour of soft-sand running with a friend, then we have breakfast at one of those healthy cafés with raw cakes and bliss balls on the counter. I stick to my guns and order a green smoothie, no latte, and a veggie omelette, hold the toast. I have every intention of enjoying my final Sirt meal of chicken breast with walnut and parsley pesto tonight, but fortune strikes on the beach and I start talking to a gorgeous Frenchman who proposes we go for dinner. So instead, I end my day exercising my high school French over rice paper rolls and pinot grigio.

While not necessarily allowed at the frequency I would like, the recipes on the Sirt diet are super yummy, packed with flavour, and satiating; and the meal plans are, at face value, seemingly easy to stick to – if you have nothing else to do, that is, be it training, socialising, dating, enduring late nights or meeting work commitments. The days I had any of the above to contend with, the diet fell apart. Like all other diets I’ve tried (and failed at), Sirt is great in theory – on paper – but in practice, for a real living, breathing, hungry human being, it is impractical. There are some elements I’ve taken home – cutting daily milky lattes, adding more regular green veggie juices and resisting treats, which fly into the delicious. office at lightening speed. But when it comes to eating once or twice a day, and eating before 7pm, for those with a life outside of Sirt, the challenge is not sticking to the rules of the diet, but rather finding the time to be on a diet alongside real life.