Thriller?

When you watch a makeover show on telly, do you ever think it's the new hair-do that makes the biggest difference? I do. Sure you can do wonders for a flabby belly with magic pants, and elongate hobbit legs with heels, but a good haircut really can knock years off you.

But it is a scary procedure. Scarier than going to the dentist in my book. My hairdresser has no idea that I seriously consider Valium before each visit and she probably wonders where the large knucle indentations in the chair come from. It's been that way ever since the purple and orange Mohawk hair modelling fiasco of 1984 - the only time I seriously flirted with expulsion.

I mean these people have way too much power!

Fortunately, thanks to dailymakeover.com, you can now experiment with a new hair-do in the comfort of your own living room, for free and without the need for sedatives. Simply upload your photo and get to work on your virtual barnet. Whether you ever go to the hairdresser again is entirely up to you!

Right, where's that Michael Jackson Thriller 'do'.

Cha'mone!

Say cheese!

Did you see this story?...

Pregnant woman had to lie to buy cheese

What's next? Are the orange bods at Sainsbury's now going to accost me at the till with the news that I'm too fat to eat chocolate, or force me to eat oily fish so I get enough Omega 3 and 6? Please tell me I imagined this whole debacle, that I'm hallucinating, that it's April Fool's Day and I've just fallen for the joke! Somebody, anybody, please?

If not, I'm going to really have to excercise my fibbing muscles.
"Well, you see, I NEED the chocolate to survive. If I don't get at least 100g a day, I get terribly violent and attack people wearing orange. It can get messy. What's that? Yes, of course you can see my note from the doctor..."

The Origin of Morons?

A rerun of Frasier with breakfast is a particularly cracking way to start the day. But this morning's episode, where Frasier dates a PE teacher and gets flashbacks of being useless at gym at school, had me choking on my cereal...

It was 1981, I was 13 and I too was flailing around at the bottom of a gym rope. I can still hear my peers giggling behind my back...

Me: It's no use, Miss P, I just can't do it!

Gym teacher: Nonsense, you simply aren't trying! Try harder. Right, nobody goes to lunch till she climbs that rope.

Other girls (no longer giggling) : Awwwwww Miiisssssss!

15 eternal mins later, and at least 2 inches off the floor...

Gym teacher: Useless, utterly useless. Right off you go, the lot of you.

Oh yes, those were the days. If the big green industrial-strength gym pants didn't give you a complex, a spot of public humiliation would certainly 'build character' and do wonders for your popularity.

Looking back, it probably was quite funny to watch my puffy red face and big green arse swinging perilously like a shabby Christmas tree bauble, but to this day I maintain that gyms remain the habitat of sadists who have forgotten we are supposed to have evolved.

I mean, what would Mr Darwin have said if he'd been ordered to climb a rope, let alone in unflattering green pants...

'What the **** for? One can buy perfectly good fruit at the shops!'

A small portion of advice for fellow lardies…

When cravings strike, say to yourself: ‘I want to be slim more than I want that biscuit/chocolate bar. You won’t always win that battle, but after a while you might find yourself actually believing it. (Yes, might!)

Buy a stash of chocs or sweets you like and always have some in the house. But NEVER buy your favourites. Only some ninja-disciplined superwoman could resist their favourite craving. But this sweet little bit of reverse psychology is clever enough to fool me if I buy something that does the job, but which I can take or leave. I ate my first Curly Wurly in 35 years the other day. Apart from being a third of the size they used to be, they aren’t as magic as I remember but if they prevent me from committing murder on the grounds of chocolate deprivation, I guess they’ll do.

Use your hands to measure out portions. There’s nothing like groping your pasta and rice and pouting like Nigella to make cooking dinner more interesting, and your spouse even more worried. If you have boxer-sized mitts, don’t be a dough ball, put some back!

Make a least half or more of your dinner veggies. Tough it out. There’s a million and one ways to disguise the veg you’re not mad about. Except brussel sprouts, which ARE the devil’s own vegetable and should be exorcised from all kitchens.

Use smaller plates. It’s no wonder I got fat – you could mince a whole cow into mine.

But it’s the weekend, this is no time to talk portion control. Quick, pass the Dairy Milk!

Survival of the fastest

Inner Goddess: Slow down, for heavens sake, your Weetabix does not have legs!

I’ve read about it, Paul McKenna advocates it and I try my best to do it, but I find eating slowly really, really hard.

I don’t even have the excuse of being one of those so-rushed-off-my-feet people. I could eat at snail’s pace if I wanted to but, oh no, put a bowl of chow in front of me and before you can say ‘was it a bird, was it a plane?’ my plate will be cleaner than your brightest Daz whites.

I used to be quite proud of this finely honed skill. I went through some of the toughest survival training on the planet to acquire it. Not the SAS, not MI6, no, I went to the big mama of all survival training...

...a girl’s boarding school.

Let me just briefly sum up dinnertime etiquette…

“Hold on to your ugly green gym pants girls and prepare to toughen up! You’re not here to enjoy your meals. No ladies, you’re here to learn to fight or starve. Don’t like it? Lump it! Trust me, a month from now you’ll be begging for more of that snot coloured, nutritionally void cabbage. Now, let’s say grace…”

You laugh, you think, yeah right, it can’t always be this bad - our parents are paying good money for this educational incarceration. But sure enough, by week three I could have taken out Muhammed Ali to stake my claim to that cabbage.

Revolting chow made sure I never got fat at boarding school – that came later - but devouring my dinner in seconds lest the vultures attack sure did turn out to be a tough habit to break.