Well, maybe not diets per se, but just eating sensibly. I can’t do it. I should, but I can’t.

Every day I over-indulge in, well, everything. I tell myself that the crisps and biscuits I’m taking from the supermarket shelf and putting into my trolley are really for the kids, but we* all know, they’re to see me through my (not-so) secret Monster Munch binges. (*We being me and the good/bad fairies on my shoulder).

I read an e-card recently which sums up succinctly how I feel about diets: “Dieting is easy. It’s like riding a bike. And the bike’s on fire. And the ground’s on fire. And everything’s on fire, because you’re in hell.” My mindset needs a makeover. I need to think sensibly, then the eating sensibly might follow.

I start a diet every Monday. And end it every Tuesday. The problem with dieting is I can’t deal with the deprivation side of it.

“Why can’t I have chips now and again if I want them?” I wail (pathetically to myself).

“I will decide what I eat, not some poxy fad diet that I’ll never stick to long term,” I defiantly conclude (pathetically to myself).

So I have my cake and eat it. Twice.

Once again my indignation results in overeating, which then results in ‘falling off the wagon’ completely. And the cycle begins again.

There are many reasons I hate diets, but it’s primarily because I love food. More specifically, I love stodgy, calorific, heart-disease food. Chips being top of the list. Actually potatoes in any form. Chipped, mashed, boiled, roasted, crisped, baked, skinned and wedged. I love them all. But my waistline does not. If only the two could get along.

My love for food is only outdone by my hate for exercise. And, as any idiot knows, in order to be lose weight and inches and be healthy (blah-blah-bleurgh) the two go hand-in-hand. But the problem is, I find exercising about as appealing as curling my eyelashes with a blowtorch. And more painful. But that’s not to say I don’t try. I went for a jog recently (actually around four weeks ago, but we’ll gloss over that).

It started off well. I warmed up with a brisk walk then built it up into a light jog. Nothing too strenuous. Well not for the first minute, anyway. After that I felt like my lungs were ablaze and my chest was going to combust. Then I could taste the blood creeping up my throat. It was torture. But it didn’t end there. The next day my body felt like it had been tumbled dried in my sleep. I hadn’t even covered two miles. Embarrassing and worrying in equal measure.

So, (once again) I’m determined to fight the flab, shed the stones, and get fighting fit.

This time last year I had just completed a 12-week fitness challenge with our resident fitness columnists DuaL Fitness, and despite my protestations, pain and pig-headedness at the time, the fact is I had never felt better about myself (clichéd, but true) and the changes were definitely visible.

Fast forward one year and I have gained weighed (I’ll spare myself the humiliation of sharing how much) and returned to my old habits. What can I say, they die hard.

But they say half the battle is admitting you have a problem, don’t they? (Okay, that’s Alcoholics Anonymous, but still), so consider this a confession.

In the words of Sam Cooke: ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’.

Starting from Monday....