Deborah Ross: Our Woman in Crouch End

Deborah has not gone for a single run. Once. Even though she bought the fancy trainers

Report on Deborah Ross's New Year diet and fitness progress so far:

General Attitude: D

Deborah certainly has an attitude problem. Some members of her household, for example, enjoy You Are What You Eat and feel they have much to learn from it, but Deborah is noisy and disruptive throughout, calling Dr Gillian McKeith a slag and a cow and a bitch and a stringy old witch with a mouth as meanly puckered as a dog's bottom. Deborah gets particularly riled when Dr McKeith opens a kitchen cupboard and exclaims, more or less: "Crisps! Crisps! Why don't you just reverse over your children in an HGV? Why don't you just inject poison directly into their veins? Why don't you just push them off a cliff on to upturned spikes?" At this point, Deborah always shouts out: "For God's sake, it's only crisps!" We feel that Deborah is exceedingly immature not just for her age, but for any age. If Deborah had yet to be born she would still be immature for her age. She will have to take drastic action, possibly becoming a different person altogether, if she is to improve her grades this term. However, on a more positive note, she can recognise shapes and order objects by size.

Exercise: E-

Although Deborah promised she would really work at this and actually get off her arse we have seen little improvement, if any. Deborah participates in anything but. Her New Year's resolution - which we discussed with her fully - to go for a run every morning hasn't resulted in a single run. Once. And that even though she bought the fancy trainers. It pains us to say it, but she really would be a waste of space if only she didn't take up so much of it. As it is, she spends most of her time lying on the sofa, eating lethal crisps, and watching crap telly, just as she did last term. We would like to say that her contributions to family discussions are, at least, thoughtful and demonstrate an ability to communicate ideas clearly, but, alas, can not, as her comments rarely rise above: "Is Tess Daley the poor man's Cat Deeley, or is it the other way round?" And: "Couldn't they merge as Tess Deeley as who would know, anyway?" At one point she even begged her teenage son to make her go for a run, but the one time he said, 'Come on, then, Mum,' and tried to pull her off the sofa she punched him and told him he was really, really annoying. Such behaviour is both wholly unacceptable and cause for great concern. Still, her written pieces of work this term - especially her essay, "So, Dr McKeith, What Do You Poo? Pot-Pourri?" - almost met the expected level, and you can't honestly say she doesn't have a point.

Diet: U

Deborah really needs to pull her finger out, particularly when it finds itself in the peanut butter or box of Celebrations or clawing at the leftover Christmas pudding, which is so fattening she might as well get herself hooked up to a Trex 'n' Cookeen drip and be done with it. She claims to be working hard at reducing her alcohol intake, but as she was recently caught removing the silver foil pouch from the wine box and stabbing it with the breadknife to get the very last squirt out we are not at all convinced. Her oral report on preferring Davina when she was fatter and mumsier and wore combats was not only an ill-informed and pathetic exercise in self-justification, it also bored everyone shitless. I am personally yawning just thinking about it. If Deborah carries on at this rate, we feel that she will never fulfil her lifelong ambition to work in a bank and be sexually harassed. Deborah says she fails to understand why women who work in banks and get sexually harassed always make a stink. Deborah says that if her male boss made lewd and suggestive remarks to her or referred to her as "eye candy" it would make her day, pretty much. Her further comment - "Go on, Simon, you know you want to, and you have nothing to fear from the lawyers" - may be considered both inappropriate and self-deluded. Either way, unless she really knuckles down promptly, I fear she will simply end up as an unpestered shopgirl in Comet, selling washing machines she doesn't know anything about. Meanwhile, she can distinguish between different musical rhythms from different cultures and can express herself well during water-play. Well done, Deborah!

Appearance: U-

Deborah has neglected to make any improvements in this area. It doesn't help that most of her time is taken up with either leaning on photocopiers, sometimes for several weeks, in the hope of having her bottom pinched, or watching all that crap telly. Deborah's continually stated belief that Dr McKeith does not have to start every programme with basically saying: "My, you're fat fuckers, aren't you?", as we can see that for ourselves, is as wearisome as it is offensive to fat fuckers everywhere. We feel Deborah's time would be better spent experimenting with make-up and actually wearing lipstick rather then putting it on and then wiping it off because she feels silly. That said, she does use measuring equipment accurately and is able to draw conclusions from her observations.

Conclusion:

This has been a disappointing report all round for Deborah. She has made no progress on any of the above counts and is generally a bad influence, a pain in the arse and has probably put back feminism fifty years. She is useless, irresponsible, does not listen attentively to the opinions of others, leaves tasks incomplete - always - and is horribly selfish, hiding the stuff she likes right at the back of the fridge so no one else can get to it first. We don't think we're alone when we say we wish she was dead. She is quite good with sand, though.

d.ross@independent.co.uk