Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits - wonderful comforting words from an old philosopher for those of us for whom exercise is an exquisite form of torture.

My godmother used to say: "Never stand when you can sit and never sit when you can put your feet up". That's another pearl of wisdom which brought comfort to my aching limbs as I clutched my breakfast cup of tea after my daily early-morning visit to the gym, where I am actively encouraged to do the strangest things with the extremities of my ageing body.

I'm told it's for my own good, and I am sure it is true but it doesn't make me any fonder of exercise bikes or treadmills. Especially when I see other gym users doing their best to log up enough miles on the treadmill to take them twice round the world.

Now, I think I have found a way to get the last laugh. I shall sit in comfort and watch them torture themselves as I confidently lose my weight by just thinking about it. You think I jest? I do not, I promise you. The newspapers have been full of this new technique which is said to work, slowly but surely, by its happy discoverers.

You apparently sit and "think thin" while eating and drinking, quaffing the odd pint of the best or a bottle of the bubbly stuff, which may make you feel lightheaded but has never, as far as I am aware, been suggested as the preferred drink of the would-be slimmer.

But Christmas is coming and we must all do our bit to ensure the local off-licence is not put out of business by the local gym as we are encouraged to lose that extra pound or two in the run-up to the festive season. It is, I must say, an approach to a better, slimmer life which appeals to me immensely. When I was younger, I was slim and very energetic. I rode, skated, danced, walked, not to mention working, and in consequence I was slim. Now, the most energetic thing I do, apart from the sadomasochism in the gym, is go to watch ice hockey and encourage others to commit acts of horrendous violence on one another.

The most energetic thing about that pursuit is the distance I have to travel, since the City of Brighton and Hove still shows no signs of encouraging the building of a rink.

But just think of all the energy I could expend on "thinking thin" as I sit in the car, being driven to my entertainment. There is a whole couple of hours sitting watching and only exercising my vocal chords. I may disturb my slimming regime by the odd leap to my feet or a shout at the referee but that is probably only worth a few ounces in the grand scheme of things. Meanwhile, I can be certain my afternoon's entertainment has removed the equivalent of that Big Mac I had to get me in the mood to enjoy charming young and very energetic fellows battle it out for my pounds and ounces.

One question which has always puzzled me is where all that extra flesh goes when you lose it. I never see a little puddle of fat when I get up from my seat after a hard afternoon's slimming as I watch TV or munch the last of my Belgian chocs. I have a wonderful Christmas planned with all the best aids to slimming - turkey, roast potatoes, trifle - you name it and I'll find room for it.

What I shall do with all the excess if the "think thin" technique doesn't work, I haven't even begun to contemplate. Maybe there is someone I could sue for misrepresentation. After all, that seems to be what everyone else is doing these compensation-oriented days. I wonder if I should blame the farmer for the turkey or the Belgian chocolate maker? Oh well, I'll probably think of someone to blame. (But it won't be me!)