Thursday 16 May

9st 3, alcohol units 2 (vg), cigarettes 4 (excellent), calories - irrelevant since exercise is key

9am: Right. Am going to start going to gym every day so can go round saying smugly, "Yes it hurt, yes it worked" in manner of Conservative Party, and everyone will believe me and think I am marvellous.

7pm: Actually is stupid to go in the evening when it seems like such a chore: far better to go in the morning. Have set alarm for 7.

Friday 17 May

9st 4 alcohol units 7, cigarettes 37, calories 3,248 (poor),

7am: Aargh. Who set that bloody thing off?

8.30am: Right. Going to get up and go. Actually, though, it is probably quite dangerous to work out before you have properly woken up. Will jar joints. Better to use gym to de-stress after busy working day.

7pm: Right. Gym. Ooh - telephone!

7.05pm: It was Jude saying she has something to tell me and to meet her and Shazzer in 192 in 10 minutes. Would be shallow and wrong to put narcissistic obsession with own body before friendship. Will not drink anything and go in morning.

Midnight. Argor. Blurry Hell. Blurry Jude, eh? Ooops.

Saturday 18 May.

9st 2 (vg), cigarettes 9 (g), alcohol units 3 (excellent), no of correct lottery numbers 1 (g)

Blimey. Last month, Shazzer and I finally persuaded Jude to chuck Vile Richard, his most recent relationship concept being that he might feel able to commit (i.e. go on holiday with her in June) if he were allowed to have affairs. When Jude asked if she could have affairs, too, he said "no", on the grounds that he wasn't actually going to have an affair: he just wanted to feel he could if he wanted to. At last we were able to make Jude understand that if she had just one more mad conversation with Vile Richard about the shifting sands of his Commitment Problem, she would have to be put in a mental hospital and thus be unable to go on holiday with him anyway for years till she was released into the community.

Jude then startled everyone by - having previously dressed rather like Gillian Shephard - turning up to her flash job in the City in leather jackets and hipsters jeans, revealing a board-like midriff. Every be-suited colleague who had ever idly wondered what was under Jude's suit was thus catapulted into a state of Priapic frenzy. She was out with a different Hugo, Cosmo, Johnny or Jerrers every night and last week brought one to a party who was such a crasher that he took all jokes literally. When asked if he'd heard about the man who ate too much in an Indian restaurant, passed out and ended up in a korma, he bellowed, "Christ! How bloody awful! I knew a chap once who got a stomach ulcer!"

In consequence, Jude excitedly revealed she is now having an affair with a Rastafarian aerobics teacher called Lennox St Laurent who is 25 has two separate Baby Mothers and a conviction for housebreaking. Hurray! Have never seen her looking more radiant.

Right. Actually, though. It is stupid to go to the gym when hung over. Will only be sick into machinery.

6pm: Just bumped into Rebecca in the street. Could tell something weird was going on because she didn't say one hideously hurtful thing in a nice smiley voice during the entire conversation. Eventually, all became clear. "I've got a new man!" she cooed. "He's my aerobics teacher."

I felt a sudden lurch of horror . "Is he, er ... ?'

"He's black!" she trilled with a smug 'aren't I marvellously liberal, unconventional and sexually adventurous' smirk that made me wish Shazzer was there to shout "Shut up, you sick-minded racist", then bite her face.

"What's his name?" I muttered, nervously.

"Lennox Saint Laurent!"

Aargh. Aargh. Should I tell Jude? Will go to gym and think about it while doing press-up things.

7pm: Going round to Tom's instead, as too depressing to go to gym on Saturday night. Must not repeat last Saturday night's depression trip of watching documentary about people who die alone, get found several weeks later in maggot-infested decay by Social Services and have to be buried in a pauper's grave with only TV crews as mourners.

Sunday 19 May

1am: Tom said there is nothing to be indignant about re: Lennox St Laurent since it is perfectly satisfactory symbiotic exchange - the girls get to satisfy their middle-class race guilt and fantasies and he gets to shag as many guilty middle-class girls in leotards as he likes. Huh. Anyway, I would not fall for anything like that, self.

9pm: Am going to gym. Have packed bag and am leaving now. Lalalala.

11pm: Oh my God. Turned out gym is closed on Sunday nights and was turned into a disco party for members. As stood there bemusedly staring at flashing lights and gyrating bodies noticed very beautiful black guy staring at me. Tried to ignore him but he looked straight at me, and mouthed, "Want to dance?" Flattered, I started making my way towards him at which he shouted, "Not you: her" and pointed behind me.

I turned to see a giantess who looked like Jet from the Gladiators yelling "Oh, go f**** yourself, Lennox."

Am definitely going to tell Jude now.

Tuesday 21 May

Oh no, oh no. Jude was catapulted by the Lennox news back into the arms of Vile Richard and now Jude and Vile Richard are getting married and Shazzer and I are expected to be bridesmaids. That is last time am ever, ever going to go to the gym.