Life as I knew it changed on a grey Sunday morning when, lazily munching through a pile of chocolate bourbons and staring mindlessly at the television, I had a revelation.

Too sedate to even flip channels, my eyes found themselves resting on a random channel where a hypnotist was attempting to sell his latest weight-loss DVD.

Rattling on about the wonders of his brain-washing thin-making programme, his boundless enthusiasm had me reaching for the remote.

But suddenly, for a man trying to flog £50 worth of mental slimming techniques, he said the oddest thing.

Apparently, scientists have found that the real difference between the weighty and the slender is that the naturally slim take at least 2,000 steps more per day than their fatter counterparts, he announced. You will lose weight if you take at least 10,000 steps a day, he added.

It took a moment to process this nugget of slimming advice. But then, as if possessed, my feet slid off the couch and planted themselves firmly on the floor.

My backside followed and I was suddenly upright.

Then the marching started. Left, right, left, right. It was on the spot at first but then the feet began to travel. They marched round the lounge. After about six ever-accelerating circuits, the feet went to explore the rest of the house leaving the hypnotist still gabbing away in the background. No longer just stepping, they were skipping, leaping and turning pirouettes.

£50 for mind-control? Stuff that! The feet marched to the computer. An internet search found the Tanita 3Axis pedometer with 97 per cent accuracy and a calorie counter thrown in. £21 plus p+p. Sold to the marching madwoman.

Two days later with the marching still going strong, my shiny black pedometer arrived in the post.

The first task was to the find the number of steps I took in an average working day.

Despite tearing around to interviews, meetings and press conferences, a
large amount of my day is spent sitting down.

Resisting the urge to do extra marching, by home time, my new little gadget showed an average of 5,500 paces. 4,500 steps had to be pulled out of somewhere.

I began in the garden where a circuit of the lawn racked up 150 steps.

I did four laps. But why walk when you can run? I sprinted round instead but this soon got tedious. I fetched the mp3 player and headed back outside. The sun was setting, the birds were chirping, neighbours were relaxing but there were steps to be marched.

Blasting Beyonce directly into my brain, I began dancing in my own silent disco; energetic arm-waving diva strutting and gyrating.

When the Bee Gees came on, I looked even crazier. Unable to resist re-
enacting the step-tastic Saturday Night Fever dance routines, the mad stepping reached new levels but I did not care. I was up to 9,000.

Now cold and stumbling around in the dark, I went back indoors for 600 metres of lounge pacing before bed.

And so, three months later, my life consists of endless pacing, marching, jogging and even volunteering as the office errand girl to rack up more steps.

Despite all this activity, I am not yet thin, but I blame that on the chocolate bourbon habit (the unfortunate side effect of marching is working up an appetite).

Though all is not lost. I think a spot of DVD hypnotherapy might do wonders for that and I know where I can get one for £50.