But I can certainly vouch for the fact that for four days, my mother ate nothing but grapefruit, green beans and the odd hard boiled egg. She lost about eight pounds, which although two short of the promise, was still pretty impressive. Then, in the four days following the diet, she put it all back on again. I gather all the air hostesses did as well . . . but at least, for one glorious day, there was a spring in their step as they paraded up and down their airplanes flogging fags.

It never really caught on, the air hostess's diet, and by the time I was old enough to sign up for it, the precious piece of paper with the details had disappeared from our house. So my head was turned by Slim Fast instead. It was the Fast bit that appealed to me, in retrospect. I remember having a socalled delicious shake for breakfast, another for lunch and then being so hungry for my dinner that I got off the bus on the way home and popped into the chipper. I can't recall now if I lost any weight with Slim Fast but the whole experience (to say nothing of the shakes) left a bad taste in my mouth.

Next, I bought some brown tablets that were supposed to make me feel full before a meal. They had no effect on me whatsoever, until years later, when I mistook them for tanning tablets . . . it was the brownness, I suppose . . . and swallowed a handful. They tasted like grass and made me feel slightly sick. But not enough to put me off my lunch.

There followed a couple of lean years when I basically relied on food poisoning and tummy bugs to control my weight. To be honest, I'm still partially delighted even now when I pick up a bug. But as an actual weight-loss programme, I can't really recommend it.

I suppose the day that I acquired a sensible attitude towards weight-loss was the day I walked through WeightWatchers' door. I went with two colleagues and we swore that we would never, ever mention our furtive lunchtime meetings to anyone in the office. It was great gas back then, so every Tuesday I'd stand at the doors of these unfortunate women's offices and enquire at the top of my voice if they were coming to 'Fat Club'. I didn't have an office.

I've only just this second realised why.

Anyway, at that first day in Fat Club, the group leader told us that we would have a weight problem for our whole lives. It shocked me: it wasn't at all what I wanted to hear. But by then, my idealised view of weight-loss . . . whereby I would eat green beans for a week, drop to eight stone and then live on fries forever without gaining an ounce . . . was disappearing in the rear view mirror even as my ample arse was expanding to fill it. And somehow . . . and I hate to sound charismatic about it . . . that was a turning point.

I was 25 then and I have never been as heavy since. I can't give full credit to WeightWatchers . . . I didn't go for long; those pep talks really got up my nose and I spent most of my time looking at a very famous politician* who was in our group (demonstrating a maturity and discretion I didn't have back then, I won't tell you who it was). But they did plant a seed of sensible eating for the long haul that ultimately saw me shed almost three stone. The bad news is that it's an ongoing struggle; the even worse news is that it gets harder to shift weight as you get older; and the worstest news is that there are no short cuts. The secret of weight-loss is that there's no secret: eat less, move more. And probably give up bread. That said, if anyone has a copy of the Air Hostess's Diet, wing it my way.

Game on!

ONE of the aspects of London life that I missed most when we moved back was Setanta Sports. I used to love spending my summer Sunday afternoons and winter Wednesday nights in the pub watching The Dubs and the Republic, smiling at the ads in which Irish people shouted at me about the best place to hire a JCB in Harlesden.

I never imagined that back home, I'd be spending my Saturday nights drinking wine while watching National League games in the comfort of my own home. I miss the ads for JCBs and The Swan in Stockwell, but I suppose these are the sacrifices that the returning emigrant must make. Three cheers for Setanta Sports . . . the only reason in the world to visit the high numbers on the remote control.

*It was Gemma Hussey. That's who it was.