Not even designer clothes can mask the embarrassment of non-pedicured feet

After an enjoyable but hyper-indulgent, comfort-eating winter, I found myself 22lbs heavier, and reluctantly facing up to the thought that something had to be done before I go up a third dress size in as many months.

Having exhausted all other options of exercise (well I was exhausted just thinking about them) I had decided that my way forward was a far gentler approach, combining some sensible eating with yoga. How hard can that be?

Full of enthusiasm, and kitted out in my new designer gear (Lulelemon, imported direct from the USA), I dragged my reluctant and long-suffering pal Sam along for support at Wednesday night’s beginner’s yoga class.

Content in the knowledge that it would be a breeze, and that in little over an hour, we’d be well on the way to a trim size 8, we arrived early and were ushered into the intimate, warm, candlelit room. Liz, our very softly spoken, and extremely slim (Sam and I noted with encouraging nods to each other!) teacher showed us to two mats at the front of the room. We were advised to take off our shoes and socks and to lie down on our backs on the mats, and to practise breathing deeply – so far so good.

It was at this point, however, I wished I had gone for that pedicure after work that day. Just as the rest of the class began to file in, a subtle whiff of fromage feet took over where the jasmine incense sticks had once dominated. At least the pedicurist would have given me a warning. As we lay on the mats, taking deep breaths, I felt confident I had made the right choice in my quest for a slimmer me, the gentle, chilled out approach far more ‘me’ than the high octane environment of the gym. As I heard the disgusted sniffs of people still entering the room, not sure everyone would agree with me.