I WAS reading an article in the paper the other day about a new drug shortly to be marketed for slimmers.

It was, said the writer, based on an appetite suppressant used by an African tribe. Apparently this tribe chew a certain plant to dull both their thirst and their appetite when on long treks through the desert, treks which can last days.

I hope the irony isn't lost on anyone that a new super-drug to stop people feeling the need to stuff themselves has been developed from a discovery by a group of starving tribesmen and women who probably had no concept that somewhere in the world people need a substance which stops them eating even if there is food in abundance.

I'm glad to say they are now a little more aware, they are said to be considering suing the company for nicking their idea.

Later it occurred to me that for almost the whole of my adult life, and I'm sure this applies to a lot of us, I have either been thinking of starting a diet, just about to go on a diet, getting ready to begin a diet, being on a diet, thinking of coming off a diet; Failing on a diet. Or cheating. The latter can be inserted anywhere within the list except before starting a diet because there is no need to cheat then.

Let's look at this list which dominates a huge percentage of the population.

The catalyst to the first on the list is usually some traumatic event like catching sight of yourself in a shop window in that nifty straight skirt with a pleated bottom and realising you look like one of those bell shaped lampshades you used to make in evening classes in the sixties. Or trying on evening dresses and being unable to fit into anything other than a puce velvet tent which would look more at home in the window of an Indian restaurant. Even worse, when you're younger it's when someone asks you when the baby is due when you had it 18 months ago and its now walking. Or perhaps a small child in a supermarket tells its mother than 'the big fat lady' has just knocked it over when reaching for a tin of baked beans.

So dieting is on the cards and you swiftly move onto the next two on the list, working out your social engagements for the next week or so because you can't possibly begin a diet when you're going out to a party, being treated to a Chinese meal or visiting a stately home where they serve cream teas.

Having finally settled on a starting date you then move into the just about to start a diet binge which usually involves eating a whole six portion cream trifle, a Black Forest Gateau and a family sized drum of Haagen Das double choc chip ice cream washed down with that bottle of sweet dessert wine somebody gave you for Christmas and you hid in the back of the cupboard for occasions just such as these. (for men substitute a family sized Melton Mowbray Pork Pie, a giant packet of Nachos dipping chips with dips, six Lyons cup cakes and five pints of strong lager). This is the 'might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb' syndrome which means the first three days of the diet will be used up trying to shift that lot. But who cares.

And so onto the diet. Those initial pangs of longing, temptations, checking labels obsessively, counting calories with little electronic machines, boring friends, family and, if you can get them in a corner, strangers.

Annoying waiters by making them spell out what exactly is in the sauce or the soup. Being smug when people eat puddings. Trying on a pair of trousers which were two sizes too small last week and hoping against hope that they at least go up one leg. Which they don't.

Stage two, some weight lost, you keep examining your skirt band and hoping someone notices it is looser (cheats buy a bigger size and kid everyone, and themselves).

The diet is easier, and you boast you don't even like cheese, chocolate or butter any more and actually love the taste of lemon tea and low, low fat yoghurt, even the ones which taste like wallpaper paste.

Cheats just eat the wallpaper paste because it tastes better.

Stage three, an old friend greets you with cries of 'my God, you've lost a huge amount of weight' which should make you feel better but only makes you wonder how enormous you were before.

The not so friendly old friend remarks in a concerned voice that the trouble with dieting that it makes your face sag. You decide she's jealous but secretly check in the mirror for signs of falling cheeks.

Your friends can now be divided into those who are dieting too and are sympathetic but keeping an eye out to see if you're losing more than they are. Those who are failed dieters now hate you. Those who are just waiting for you to become a failed dieter so they can become friends again and those who have never had to diet and constantly tell you how lucky you are because they've weighed the same since they were 16 or is it six years or six months and can never put on an ounce . You hate them anyway.

In turn you divide people into those who are bigger than you and those who are smaller and are thoroughly ashamed when you meet someone who used to be thin and who is now considerably larger than you and you go home quietly triumphant.

The worst time is when you've lost quite a lot of weight but not quite enough. You tell yourself you could have a bit of a rest, couldn't you? Those little diet devils whisper enticements in your ear. Just a slice of bread with cheese. Just a tiny blob of full fat sour cream on the potato. Who will know if you eat a whole tin of cherry fruit pie filling so long as you wash off the label and recycle the can?

Give in and you're in the last stage. And boy can you find excuses. It was giving you headaches. You were beginning to look gaunt. You can't afford new clothes. You will begin again in time for Christmas or your holiday.

Here we go again, back on the merry-go-round. We'll all be beating a path to the doc's door to find out if the African diet plant is in yet.

Not me of course, unless they do it in double choc and sticky toffee pudding flavour.

I didn't write that . . .