Well, that's over for another day. I think I've dislocated my shoulder, my legs feel stretched like elastic bands and I've got a headache.

What I'd like now is a mug of coffee and a jam-filled, sugar-coated doughnut - but that would defeat my purpose. Which is? To get a flat stomach and rediscover a waistline (what's that?) before the end of August.

That's why my back feels as if it's been broken and my legs shake when I stand up. I have just finished 15 minutes on my Gut Buster, which promises to tone and trim as you roll and pull.

Imagine a large tortoise with a plastic shell and four little wheels instead of legs. Running through the tortoise is a metal bar (look, this is only a pretend tortoise) with a handle at either side.

Kneel down, grab hold of those handles, arch your back, tuck in your stomach and PUSH. Do not fall flat on your face.

Now, when you are fully stretched, pull the tortoise back towards you. That's it, push-and-grunt, pull-and-grunt, push-and-grunt. Do this until you do fall flat on your face or someone comes to the door.

"What exactly are you doing?" said The Mother, who had come to the door just as I was taking the GB for a few rolls.

She had been sitting in the living room below, watching TV.

"I've bought an exercise wheel," I grunted.

"Really?" she said. "Like the ones you get for hamsters?"

"Not quite," I said and showed her the GB.

"What is it supposed to do?" she asked.

"It tones and trims, gets rid of bulgy stomachs and gives you a waistline," I said.

"Really?" she said again. "And how long does that take - one year? Two?"

"Four weeks," I replied. "And if you say 'really?' once more I'll flush your Silk Cut down the loo."

"I'm saying nothing else," she said, "but please stop that awful grunting. I don't know what the neighbours must think."

"I'm sure you'll enlighten them," I muttered.

Well, I didn't want to be thought of as inconsiderate so I put the BG away and took out my Slenderbod.

Minutes later I went downstairs and joined The Mother for half an hour with Alan Titchmarsh.

Unfortunately, the reception was not good, the picture kept slipping, upwards and then sideways.

"It's never done this before," said The Mother, fiddling around with the set.

She turned to me. "What's that?" she said.

"What's what?" I replied.

"That buzzing sound - it's coming from you!" she snapped (she hates anything to come between her and Mr Titchmarsh).

She was perfectly correct. I was buzzing and, if she'd looked closer, vibrating too.

"It's your fault we can't get a proper picture - you're plugged into something, aren't you?" she said.

I shook my head. "No, it's battery operated," I told her. "It couldn't possibly be interfering with your reception."

"What 'it' are we talking about this time?" she asked wearily.

"My Slenderbod," I said. "It's an electronic muscle stimulator. You strap these pads to your body and ..."

The Mother sighed. "Why can't you join a gym like everybody else?" she asked.

"Don't be ridiculous, you know I hate exercise," I replied.

"So do I," she said, "Your sort in particular."