Alison's Diary; George Clooney is in town. His side parting doesn't do it for me. Mind you, my big bum and bad attitude won't do it for him, either.

Byline: ALISON CRAIG

Monday

Speed walk during lunch break for thigh-firming purposes. Grab the dogs and friend Joan and off we went. We got wet as there was a river and we couldn't get over it without taking a running jump. Next thing the dog is spotted rolling in something revolting and by the time we get home the dog smells to high heaven. Not good. Put on my pink frilly Christmas rubber gloves, grab the dog and put her in the shower, where she stands shivering with splayed toes as shampoo her with L'Oreal cos she's worth it. After 15 minutes of scrubbing I release her and she runs round the house like a lunatic trying to dry off. As she hits the kitchen she leaps about wagging her tail and knocks over a pint of milk. This is going to smell worse than the dog. Not good at all. In fact, now she has dried she stinks like a fox poo. I may have to move house.

Tuesday

Met Lynne Cross an, publisher extra or din a ire, in The Waterfront in Edinburgh. Decide we could both be supermodels if it wasn't for food. We agree we are on a diet before horsing down a great steaming plate of carrot and coriander soup, followed by another starter. Waistbands straining, we then have coffee and laugh our heads off.

Presumably laughing uses calories in which case I would be eight stone if hung around with Lynne. She is always trying to get me to do after-dinner speaking and keep telling her she's the funny one. Weight Watchers going swimmingly have lost 2 lbs and am delighted with myself. Pop into H&M to see if they have anything in the sale. Slope into the changing rooms. Bad move. The mirror in there is so cruel I am surprised the room is not strewn with depressed women sobbing. I replace all the clothes came in with, look in disgust at my rear view and wobble back to the car. For a huff.

Wednesday

George Clooney is in town. Oh, Dod. Big Dod, where for art thou? One Devonshire Gardens, Glasgow, apparently. Just as well it isn't Edinburgh or the girls and I would have been forced to stalk him. The side parting doesn't do it for me mind you, don't suppose a giant backside and a bad attitude would do it for him. Saw photos of him leaving the hotel, looking like a funny old man in a bad hat and silly specs. Even Dod has bad days.

Thursday

To the gym with Dynamite Di for a proper work-out with a trainer. Was quite happy to stroll on the walking machine but then the pace went up a notch or 12 and I was lying on the ground, realising have no muscles at all. Had the wobbly leg after an hour but felt strangely good, so took Di for a big coffee to celebrate. After that head off to Waverley Care to do some bits and bobs in the aftermath of the charity ball but before long hunger takes over. Go to Hurricane for a great steaming bowl of soup with croutons, bread and a salad lathered in dressing. Och well, I did go to the gym I deserve a treat.

Friday

Have a few folk round for haggis. Miles, the only Englishman in the company, takes his pipes and we have a wee skirl as the haggis is piped in. I bought two haggis for six-eight people as they never look that big. We have a great night which culminates in deciding to take up the pipes. I did learn the chanter with my dad when was 12 and every week we would go along for a lesson and every week neither of us had practised. Eventually, the teacher chucked us out. wish I had stuck in now it brings the hair on the back of my neck up every time I hear the pipes. In fact, now I am 40 it brings the hair up all over my face. Worrying. We speak nonsense and dance to 1970s' disco music until 3 am. Two of the girls get into a noisy game of table football which brings Louis and his friend down. He is annoyed to see his parents and their pals playing with his Scaletrix and putting money on who will win.

Saturday

Feel terrible. Everyone leaves and we go for a cycle. My legs are stiff from the gym but know I am doing myself good. We are out for an hour and a half, my bum is sore and my legs are wobbly, not just in texture I am unsteady on my feet because of the exercise. Get home and collapse in front of the telly. Shuffle into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. Discover a big tub of Revels. Can't believe Dave brought them into the house. confront him and he says they were supposed to be for last night but he forgot. I put them back.

An hour later am on the kitchen chair, getting them down, flipping open the top and grabbing handfuls. Look up Revels in Weight Watchers. A small bag counts for 3 1 /2 points. I must have the equivalent of 10 packets. Phone Dynamite and wish her luck as she is fire-walking for charity. When I point out we've just had Burns Night she gets a tad hysterical. Decide not to have any tea to counteract my badness. Am starving when go to bed. Wake at 3 am with a rumbling tum and make a foray to the kitchen for a banana, a yoghurt and a glass of milk... with a Revels chaser.