In my dotage I am destined to be a barrell shaped, floral pinny wearing, big bosomed cuddly Grandma. Women of a certain age become elegantly slim  or, for want of a  better phrase, cushioned with love, and in my case, mayonnaise. So there is no hope for me. My fate is already sealed.

But for those of you who don't fancy yourself  as a geriatric version of Ma Larkin, there is an answer that doesn't involve sacrificing madeleines for breakfast. Or chucky egg butties when PMT threatens to swallow you up in a fit of the titty lip blues. There is  an old fashioned answer that won't mean paying exorbitant fees to posey gyms or jogging around the block, beetroot red and puffing like a steam engine.It's called elbow grease and trust me you can't buy it in the shops. Not even in  old fashioned ironmongers that sell bonkers things like carbolic soap and carpet beaters.

Gone are the days when housework took three hours a day, every day (if it does you are doing it wrong or suffering O.C.D), but that doesn't mean we can't, should we  be so inclined, throw ourselves, mind, body and oversized bum  into  turning our daily chores into an exercise class for one... So work up a bit of a sweat, go at a steady speed, don't sit down to debate the rights and wrongs of men with too many wives  on Jeremy Kyle/Jerry Springer, stretch more than you need to,  jig about with the hoover and your housekeeping music of choice and don't stop for a "rest". In short, think thin thighs as you pick up the kids toys, think toned arms as you dust the mantlepiece and try not to think of housekeepers knee as you scrub the kitchen floor.  Do the things you can't be bothered to do like cleaning out the cupboard under the stairs and getting in the bath naked and scrubbing the grouting with a toothbrush. Put your bum into it. Make a song and dance out of it. Take the rugs and bash the hell out of them in garden. It takes effort, but if the thought of  a perky bottom gets you through the daily grind, then I say all the better...

Make the bed - burn 39 calories. Mop the kitchen floor- 36 calories  banished.  Do the dishes-  burn 24 calories.  Pick  toys up-  and see  41 calories disappear before your eyes. Run up and down the stairs carrying and fetching, oops there goes a whopping  175 calories. And finally get out into the garden and deadhead the roses  and  consider yourself 36 calories thinner....

So erm, thats  39 + 36 + 24 + 41 + 175 + 36 = an extra slice of carrot cake for your elevenses...

And that my Darlings is the very reason why I'm gonna be  Ma Larkin and you are gonna be Jane Fonda, aged 70 and three quarters.