At a dinner party last weekend I gorged myself on the rich delicacies offered to me while the hostess picked away at a fillet of steamed fish.

"I've just joined WeightWatchers," she sighed, watching the fat dribble down my chin. "So I'm sticking to my points tonight."

"But that makes me feel dreadful," I said, forking in another mouthful of buttery potatoes.

"How can you cook a delicious meal like this and then not eat it?"

She pointed to her womanly curves. "I need to lose a stone."

If it were not for the fact I'm now 25 weeks pregnant and have a bump the size of The Dome in Brighton, I would be among the legions of people concerned about losing weight.

Just about everyone I know is detoxing, food combining, food denying, drinking cabbage soup or munching through six pineapples (and nothing else) a day.

The fact I'm eating lard-laden everything makes me feel like a freak.

Even my cholesterol-free husband has joined the calorie-conscious.

Every time I offer him a second helping of bread and butter pudding with custard, he says: "No thanks, I'm cutting down."

He then sees me piling it into my bowl and comments: "I thought the advice these days was you didn't need to eat for two."

"I'm not," I say. "This is all mine. I'm hungry."

I'm sure I shall regret this once the baby is born and I discover I still look like I'm carrying twins.

For now, though, pigging out is the only way I feel I can cope with January.

Of course, lots of you who are aiming to lose weight at the moment will fail in your quest. Sorry to be so pessimistic but it's true.

I wouldn't be a bit surprised to hear that many of you have already fallen off the wagon, tempted by that last box of jellied fruits left over from Christmas.

Most people choose the New Year to implement their grand weight-reduction schemes, forgetting January is always the most miserable month of the year.

It's cold, dank, dark and dreary and seems to go on twice as long as other months.

If ever there's a time when you need hot chocolate and a plate of digestives, it is now. February, or even March, is a much more reasonable time for dieting.

Spring is just a skip away and that surprise Valentine card you received could spur you on to believe you'll look like Geri Halliwell if you can be bothered to make the effort.

My spur, once the baby is born in May, is to lose weight in time for my landmark birthday in October. I do not want to be fat and 40.

The trouble is, I've never been all that good at following a dieting regime.

The only times I've got down to my goal weight have been during periods of extreme emotional upheaval, when eating has become a necessity rather than a pleasure.

Mild annoyance or relative contentment seem to have the opposite effect, which is to make me reach for the biscuit tin.

So, the answer must be to address my underlying emotions attached to food and, perhaps, change some of my attitudes.

I think I'll start chanting "I hate chocolate," and see if it makes any difference.