If you’re wondering what that glow is in the sky over North Yorkshire, I think it’s just the shine coming from my halo. Yesterday, I ate clean. Well, all except half a portion of sticky toffee pudding at dinner…nobody wanted to go halfsies so I had to order a whole one, which tested my willpower and then some, but you would’ve been proud…I left half on the plate.

And this morning I was in the hotel gym at 7am, I mean if that doesn’t warrant a Mexican wave from the posse I don’t know what would. It’s the first time I’ve seen the inside of a gym in years, and I enjoyed it every bit as much as I used to. As in, not at all. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a spoon, but I was determined, you know?

I’d brought a pair of fat yoga pants with me and a t-shirt so as I strode purposefully across the hotel reception in my trainers I was feeling the part even if I wasn’t Lycra-clad and pert. Once I got in there though it all went a bit wrong, and it’s all because I wasn’t on my own.

Turns out that only the most hardcore gym bunnies turn out of their deluxe rooms as soon as the gym opens. There I was, part of the gang. I appreciate that I probably looked like I’d just taken a wrong turn and ended up there by accident but even so, I wasn’t going to lose face, right? They stretched, I stretched. They slung their towel and water bottle on their treadmill and I…well I just got on, it hadn’t occurred to me to take accessories.

They started running…yeh well that was never going to happen was it. I stopped copying them at that point, I mean I want to survive the weekend. But I did walk, quite fast. Then I had a go on an exercise bike, and I finished off with a swim. I broke a sweat.

I must admit, I felt rather smug as I ate a good breakfast, knowing that actually not only was it a bright shiny new Weight Watchers week, but I’d also put extra Smart Points in the bank before a single morsel had crossed my lips. This must be how skinny people feel, all the time…gotta admit I quite like it.

What I don’t like are these pissed off muscles…my chuffing arms are killing me, I’m assuming because of the swimming. It’s a long time since they’ve been asked to pull this fat old body through water, and I’m totally paying for it now. Still, we are back at the hotel after a lovely day out, and I’m now heading back to the spa for a hot tub by way of an apology to every sore muscle.

I’m doing it…I’m really here on a weekend away, playing by the rules and not being bothered at all by the Asshole voice. How the hell did that happen?

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