Eat, drink and be overweight. After months of prevariaction, Lucy Richardson finally sticks to her resolution and attends her first weight loss group

IF I was asked by TV stylist Gok Wan: "Do you look good naked?" my answer would be an emphatic "No!" After putting it off for months, no years, I've finally plucked up the courage to stand in line at a WeightWatchers meeting and step up onto the scales in full view of other tubbies.

I wore the lightest clothing I could get away with in sub-zero temperatures, removed my watch and left my necklace at home just in case they tipped the numbers over from one stone to another.

But when the digital numbers flashed up, my heart sank. To reach my target weight I will have to lose 30lbs, which when I say it out loud sounds terrifying.

I can't help but picture myself standing next to a wheelbarrow filled with lard.

Like most people I overindulged over Christmas and New Year but, if I'm honest, the weight has been creeping on for a long time. I've just turned a blind eye.

The Ferrero Rocher that broke Santa's sack was a photo of me taken on Christmas Day. I usually remember to breathe in when I feel a zoom lens approaching, but I must have been too busy concentrating on my glass of bubbly. The shot revealed a double chin and a super-sized muffin top.

Deleting the offending image in a flash, I cringed and bowed my head in shame.

I had to lose weight.

MY husband and I lost weight for our wedding four years ago but the contentment of having snared a partner led us down a path of indulgence. I tell myself I'm healthy but I know I'm not really. Although we don't order in take-aways our evening meals could adequately feed four, not two. And although our nights out on the razzle are rare, there is always a bottle of wine open at home.

Although I love the 1950s hourglass look, I think I might be pushing it a bit.

The clothes I can get into feel tight and the ones I can't stare angrily at me like spurned friends from the bulging rail in my wardrobe.

If I was trapped in Trinny and Susannah's mirrored changing room they would shake their heads at my midriff and find themselves with more than just an inch to manhandle.

Instead of shedding pounds I spent money on passion-killing "magic" pants and tights that promised to flatten bums and tums. They work, but they're not an ideal solution.

Denial is the ally of the podgy person.

I still tell people that I've just had a baby, but Maisy's two-and-a-half now.

You hear about all these elusive women who lose all their baby weight "running after" their little ones but I've never found it difficult to out-toddle a toddler. And I had hoped that breastfeeding would help me lose weight but I'm sure that I ate more than ever to ensure I had enough milk.

Playgroups and coffee mornings are lifelines for new mums where cakes and biscuits are mandatory but it's easy to tell yourself you've earned a second slice after only two hours sleep. Maisy's third birthday is in July and my aim is to bare my arms with pride and not recoil at the photos of her party.

So, determined to get fit and healthy for the New Year, I nervously crept into my first WeightWatchers meeting this week.

After filling in a registration card and paying for the class I waited in a very tentative queue to be weighed. There was no eye contact or idle banter between new members. They had put their heads above the parapet and were confronting their fears, but didn't look comfortable doing it.

Suddenly it was my turn to be weighed, the moment of truth, the moment that had made my toes curl for weeks.

After the leader's pep talk I left the meeting armed with eating plans and full of motivation for the long slog ahead.

Now I can look forward to Maisy's birthday barbecue in the summer when the new svelte me will be able to enjoy a sausage or two. Low-fat, of course.

Watch this space