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Amy?’
    ‘It’s the thirteenth of March, so around six weeks away.’
    ‘Unlucky for some egh?’ He then realised he really shouldn’t have said that and quickly added. ‘A Pisces egh? I’m a Capricorn, Christmas Day boy me.’
    Oh God, how embarrassing, he knew why I had asked when his birthday was. I was a bit miffed about his unlucky for some comment, as the number thirteen is actually my lucky number. I was quite impressed however, that he knew that I was a Pisces and was just about to ask if he got two sets of different presents when he swiftly continued in a business-like fashion. He was obviously aware that there was no time to lose if I wanted to shed a stone in such short a time.
    ‘Do you smoke Amy?’
    ‘No.’ I smirked proudly. ‘I gave up 3 years ago.’
    Short of dumping my ex-boyfriend James Crook (of whom more later) it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. It was actually verging on a miracle that I gave up smoking. In fact, I should have gone round and sold my story as an inspiration to the whole smoking fraternity who wanted to give up. I was such an addict that I actually had cigarettes and a lighter on my bedside table so that I could wake up, roll over and light one up as I watched the news on breakfast television. I was an avid twenty a day girl, going on to forty once alcohol had been consumed.
    I chose a Valetine’s Day to give up – and chewed nicotine gum from 8 a.m. that morning. In fact, I chewed anything that I could get my hands on, and soon put on one and a half stone.
    The first week of giving up will remain in my memory for ever. It was dreadful.
    I gave up on a work day, by lunchtime everyone in my office was under his or her desk, trying not to catch my eye or mention anything to do with smoking. My bad mood was heightened by the fact that I had not received a single Valentine’s card, not even from Penelope or Brad who always remembered!
    Why is it that when you know you can’t mention something, you always do? My work colleagues excelled at this.
    ‘Amy you’re looking a bit puff – I mean rough.’ And so it went on.
    I put the phone down on my boss on numerous occasions; I started crying on the station platform because the train was delayed. Worst of all I told the woman behind the bakery counter to ‘shit off’ when she commented on the fact that I’d been in three consecutive times for doughnuts and I must be very hungry today.
    The hardest thing was that at that time I was working for a tobacco firm! I had to leave, as the weekly free cigarette quota was too much of a temptation for an addictive fish like myself. Brad was actually disappointed as he enjoyed calling me ‘Fag Ash Lil.’
    I still get the odd urge to have a puff when drunk, but know that one puff too many could lead to disaster. Brad laughs his head off whenever I say this. ‘Ooh and don’t I know that ducky!’
    ‘Right – I need you to fill out a questionnaire about yourself Amy, so that I can start to get an idea of your lifestyle and at what level I should pitch your sessions,’ Guy said efficiently. ‘Once I have taken your blood pressure and measured your fat proportions we can go through a few basic exercises so I get the whole picture. I can then work out a programme for you.’
    Oh God – the calliper thingies were to pinch my fat! How embarrassing was that?
    Surprisingly, my blood pressure and pulse were fine, even though I had a vision of the machine exploding because of the intense lust I was feeling.
    This feeling soon subsided when Guy then chirpily said, ‘Now let’s just gauge your fat percentage.’
    I suddenly had that horrible feeling you get when you’re in a meeting and somebody says, ‘Right, let’s go round the room and just say who we are and a bit about ourselves.’ Even though you’ve lived with yourself for so many years and know exactly who you are, you feel your mouth going dry and your mind going blank, and just don’t want your turn