I have always said I would love to do a bootcamp.

Fine.

Call it a fat camp.

Call it a "please just make me healthy and make me lose weight camp"

Whatever you want to call it; I have never quite got round to doing it with one thing and another (glaring at you, Tabitha Webb online fashion site!)

So along with my friend Laura, we have decided to create our own.

We have decamped to Cornwall for 2 weeks and while we are here we have booked ourselves a trainer for 9am every single morning.

So here we are, with relentless rain and a desperate desire to sleep in and be idle, but our new found trainer ‘Jonno’ is having none of it. He is a young and enthusiastic 23 years of age and very unsympathetic to the moanings of overworked, overtired mothers, and so we find ourselves 1 day in with our arses already well and truly kicked.

I say this because last night, 16 hours after our first training session, I woke in a panic thinking my body was seizing up and something terrible was wrong with me – 20 minutes of panic attack later and I realised I had just pulled every single muscle in my body.

To be fair it was slightly self induced as I did pretend I was really rather sporty and could do anything, no problem – arrogant and now suffering.

Christ, not a good start.

My husband, with the ever-supportive friend Laura, assure me this is a good thing and training straight again today is the best thing for me…I am just off to Asda to get some Nurofen.

Yup, even I go to Asda in Cornwall.