"Oh, that looks healthy ..."

... she said, as I was munching on yoghurts.

"Don't know if it is," I answered in between mouthfuls (I had to be quick as I had two open and I didn't want any of them to go off, now, did I?).

"I was told in Fat School there weren't any Syns in them. So I have, on average, about 10,765 a day now. Give or take."

"I guess it's the calcium in them, the Omega this and thats which is good for you then," my slim friend offered.

"Umm... well... haven't got a clue what's in 'em. I don't ask questions after hearing the words 'you can eat as many of these as you like'."

She came back with, "I'm trying to be good too. I've started to alternate a packet of cheesy biscuits with carrot sticks."

At this point, not ever having tasted a carrot but certainly having played that game of stuffing a load of cheesy biscuits into my mouth at the same time to see if I could talk with a dry gob, I wondered, for the umpteenth time, why really slim, lovely looking girls with bodies to die for and hair made for a Timotei advert, are so strict with themselves.

"Why are you being good?" I go, confusion written all over my face, now in a Lasting Satisfaction (please!) strawberry yoghurt.

"Have you seen your figure? If I had a body like yours and wasn't prone to putting on weight, I'd be stuffing for Wales all the time."

"Because... er... well... I suppose it's because I'm trying to be healthy."

"Healthy? No bugger can see your innards!" was my skewed logical argument back in her beautiful face. Funny, isn't it, how differently people see the weight thing. I've now lost one and a half stones (oi, you in the back – that's 21lb!) and I'm still fat in the head.

Whenever people ask me why I want to lose weight and why I'm on yet another diet, I always say it's because I want to live a more healthier lifestyle. My body, I tell them, is a temple (albeit one already semi-condemned with a few leaks in the roof). I don't give people the real reasons which can basically be reduced, just like a good bolognese sauce, to a few home truths, tossed in a not-so-light light Hannah-style dressing. And that's because I feel ugly, I hate not being able to buy stuff on the high street, and I want to see my feet.

This is my unholy triumvirate, otherwise known as the Three Little Pigs of Me.

When you say you're on a diet, that you want to lose weight for whatever reason, I'm sure that most women think I'm doing it to reach an absurd goal weight, some space age size.

Here's a newsflash – I DON'T WANT TO BE A SIZE 12. I can't imagine it and neither do I really fancy it if I'm honest. Okay, so I may be greedy when it comes to portions, but I'm not a glutton for delusion. I've said it before and I'll say it again, a size 16 to 18 would suit me fine.

This is what's attractive to me.

I'd even "settle" – reluctantly using that word because I don't want it to sound like I'm shortchanging myself – for a comfortable 20. Then I could shop where I wanted, I think I'd feel more attractive and I'm sure I'd be able to see my feet after all these years. I don't want to be the kind of slim where I'd be capable of touching my toes – as far as I'm concerned, if god had wanted me to do that, She would have put them on my knees instead of nobbles. Or think of carrots as a treat.

Words of wisdom:
"Self delusion is pulling in your stomach when you step on the scales" - Paul Sweeney