ALISON'S DIARY

Sep 2 2007 Alison Craig

AS WE ENTER THE SCOTTISH SLIMMERS HALL WE'RE STRUCK INTO SHOCKED SILENCE, BROUGHT ON BY THOUGHTS OF THE LACK OF CHOCOLATE AHEAD

MONDAY

The last three weeks in Edinburgh have been full-throttle and great fun. Hot, sunny and bursting at the seams - coincidentally a good description of me after a variety of Fringe frenzies.

The Royal Mile is packed with interesting street performers. Some are hugely talented but seriously need to look at their personal hygiene. Yeuch - you don't want to get those oxters downwind.

We see a Spanish guitarist who could grace the world stages and get a standing ovation. He plays wonderful music as astounded bystanders watch and as ever in Scotland reluctantly scrabble about in their back pockets for some embarrassingly small coinage.

There are acrobats, jugglers, fire-eaters, break-dancers, Morris dancers and people in S&M gear lying completely still - or maybe they are dead.

Princes Street gardens are overrun with sandwich-eating tourists staring at a great didgeridoo player.

Respite comes by way of an ice cream which we eat while watching Jump!, an acrobatics squad from Japan.

Finally we slope off home, dodging a few drunks and fedora-wearing thespians. Goodbye till next year.

TUESDAY

With the kids back to school and the festival over, the time has come. Having declared my intention to change my shape over the past few weeks, while psyching myself up three other pals have declared they are up for it too.

We have joined Scottish Slimmers. I will name them so they will keep coming as it is easy to drop off. We have made the pledge to support one another on the rocky road to thin.

On entering the Scottish Slimmers hall, Fiona, Catherine, Karen and I - normally outspoken, loud, raucous women - are collectively struck into a shocked, reverential silence, possibly brought on by the thought of the lack of chocolate over the next few months.

After we pass over our cash and sit down, the leader stands up and gives us a pep talk during which she passes round 1lb of fat to illustrate how much it is.

I don't know about you but if I lose 1lb, I say: "Och is that all? Pass me that doner kebab with hot sauce and a lager chaser pronto." But seeing it as a large lump of lard is a real eye-opener.

After prodding the lard we are individually weighed (not funny) and measured (even less funny). Karen pipes up: "I am the right weight, it's my height that's the problem. I should be seven feet!"

This breaks the ice and we are soon raring to go but all that talk of food makes us hungry so we head off to Bar Roma for a pasta. Well, if you count your checks, you can eat that too, so off we go!

WEDNESDAY

Wake up early and get so engrossed in reading my diet manuals, I suddenly realise I am going to be late for a meeting. Skip breakfast which is against the plan as three good meals are the way to go apparently.

After my meeting I find a wonderful fruit shop and stuff my bag with pears and greengages. I haven't seen them for years - where have they been? Well, at Argyle Place in Edinburgh, with a great selection of pineapples, strawberries, nectarines and plums - the diet has started in earnest.

As soon as I get home Dave is nudging into the bag and produces a handful of greengages. "I haven't seen these for years," he says, running them under the tap.

So there we stand eating them while spitting the stones directly into the bin - true sophistication.

THURSDAY

Transmogrifying into a fruit bat. Eaten practically all of the stuff I bought yesterday and, without putting too fine a point on it, it's like a colonic irrigation.

To celebrate not being able to leave the loo, I cancel my gym membership. I have been a non-gym-going gym member for over a year and recently found out the local community centre does great classes for a couple of quid.

So I am turning into an exercising fruit bat - who would have thought it? All I need is the bum to calm down and I'll be off.

FRIDAY

Fall over. I was standing on the pavement and it's as if a wee leprechaun came up and kicked my ankle out from under me and down I went, smack on to my knee.

Ouch. Dave howks me upright, asking if I am all right. "Fine," I say, limping off hurt and not wanting to cause a fuss. When we get home I roll up my trouser leg to reveal the scabby knee of a 10-year-old boy.

It's ironic - I haven't had a drink for ages and here I am with what looks like a Rab C. injury.

SATURDAY

Since my dad's doctor said he looks 60 instead of nearly 80, my mum has been telling the world she has a toyboy.

As she is regaling her tale with glee in the golf club, another nosy member sitting at the next table overhears her and within hours she receives a call asking: "Come on then, who is he?" The grapevine never ceases to amaze me.

TURNING INTO A FRUIT BAT. I HAVE EATEN ALL THE STUFF I BOUGHT YESTERDAY AND IT'S LIKE COLONIC IRRIGATION. I AM NOW UNABLE TO LEAVE THE LOO

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