Every afternoon promptly at 4pm, I sit myself down in front of the box to watch the mini blonde tyrant Gillian McKeith transform some long-suffering overweight victim into a glowing picture of health. (With a little help from the hair and makeup department of course).

That aside, there is much wisdom in her mantra. Much of it - for those of us old enough to remember the days before microwaves and fast food - is common sense, back to basic values, that I grew up with. Fresh, preferably home grown fruits,' vegetables, nuts, berries and fresh meat, that lacked antibiotics, and amazingly actually tasted like something other than a mouth full of leathery fog.

Based on Ms McKeith's logic, and my belief in what she 'preaches', I determined I'd follow the 'rules of engagement' as laid down by the 'diet dictator'.

Goodness knows I need to lose weight, and at the grand old age of 'blankety blank', health is suddenly important to me.

No more sitting at my computer with a super family-sized bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and a half gallon of vodka and cranberry juice (cranberry, for my urinary tract health of course, especially as the vodka is probably doing my liver in. I'm all about compromise). My excuses for bringing the sugar-loaded banquet to the computer with me? It helps me focus. You're not buying that either are you? No, I didn't think so.

For weeks now I have sat at my desk working on one project or another, with a bag of unsalted, untoasted mix of nuts and seeds, something akin to what I feed my hamster at school. Washed down with endless bottles of spring water I pay good money for, which is probably tap water attractively packaged, for the gullible, such as me..

Daily, I hear Ms. Gillian's shrill voice echoing in my brain like some demon alter ego. "No more of the processed white muck", I hear her say, as I pour whole grain rice into the pan and peel endless fresh veggies. Banned is red meat. "It's for your own good" I explain to my miserable looking and unsupportive family.

"No more of that disgusting over-refined white sugar", I hear Gillian's grating voice scream into my subconscious, she never whispers! My biggest sacrifice is my morning coffee. Yuk! No sugar, I've been told I'll get used to it, I have my doubts.

Anyway, for once I was sticking with it - until an email dropped into my box yesterday morning from the 'British shop'. They had just received a shipment of med. sliced white English bread. Out of the window went my resolve. If I miss anything, as I have mentioned before it's English bread. Who cares if it's white sliced rubbish, and I'm going to have to pay a king;s ransom for it? I knew I had to have some. After a quick call to some my English friends, (because I am basically a nice person) the race was on. They had a limited supply. (I did forget to mention that part).