Since I was in the sixth form I have been on a diet.

Maybe I should clarify. Since I was in the sixth form I have intended to start a diet just about every day of my life. How sad is that?

Maybe I should clarify further. When I say diet I’m not ever talking about planning to embark on a healthy eating regime that includes a sensible 1,200 calorie daily intake.

Additionally, I’ve never got even the slightest intention of donning pink legwarmers to put myself through the torture of the Jane Fonda workout every other day – or taking up rollerblading up mountains at the weekends.

Oh no, I’m far too impatient for all that malarkey.

My idea of dieting involves barely eating a thing, preferably just about nothing, and jumping on the scales every morning (naked, breathing in, legs shaved and all jewellery removed) expecting continual daily weight loss.

Sound familiar? There are thousands of us, just on this one small island that spend our lives like this.

Sometimes, incredibly rarely, I’m successful for a few days and lose a few pounds.

Then, glowing with success, I’ll celebrate by eating something calorific and ta da – as instant as a wave with a magic wand – it’s all over.

Sometimes over the last 30 something years or so I have been a tad too successful, existing on black coffee and grapefruit for weeks.

And yes, I’ve been delighted with every rib that can be counted. How sad is that?

Most of the time I give in to the perfectly natural animal survival instinct to eat normally - and decide to try dieting again the next day.

It’s become, not too affectionately, termed the tomorrow diet.

What’s really sad (and I mean pathetically sad), is I’ve never been what anyone in the medical world would deem overweight. However, I’ve never overcome yearning for the figure I have when I don’t eat enough.

I’ve had a motto for years that you can ‘either eat what you want or look how you want.’ How ridiculous is it to be proud with yourself for not eating when you feel hungry?

I’m not even going to get into dealing with the fact that half the planet’s population is desperate for enough decent food to eat.

They say wisdom comes with age – well I’m sitting here very patiently, far too patiently, waiting for it to kick in. This has to stop.

I’m definitely not as bad as I was in my twenties, but the reality is that this absurd desire to be ridiculously slim is still with me.

It’s a midlife vice I could do without.

If I had two brain cells to rub together I could have spent the last 30 odd years actually enjoying the figure I have and realising I don’t have to be underweight to feel good about myself.

Hopefully common sense will eventually kick in, but you know how likely I reckon that is to become a reality? Yep – fat chance.