"SHE'S gorgeous," one woman observed.

"She looks even better in real life," another noted.

"I wouldn't say no," a watching middle-aged man slavered.

These onlookers - and probably many more among the watching throng - were assessing the physical merits of Countdown queen Carol Vorderman as she breezed into York Minster. She looked sensational in a scarlet dress and cream jacket.

Her smile filled the west door and virtually charmed the pants off male reporters jostling for an interview.

She was there to celebrate the life of her friend and colleague, Richard Whiteley, at the memorial service for him.

Ms Vorderman is one of the reasons my stomach is rumbling right now, why I was jogging through Acomb at 6.45am on Tuesday and why I haven't eaten a Topic bar for ten days.

I had what they call a moment of clarity as the Countdown hostess delivered her tearful tribute to old 'Twice Nightly' from the pulpit.

Her appearance was striking, a remarkable transformation from the cuddlier Carol of old.

The weight loss - more than two dress sizes - is apparently down to a gruelling 28-day detox programme.

Adding to the distraction was the lady sitting in front of me. How did the opera diva Lesley Garret acquire that beautifully contoured rear?

Such a contrast to the hulk next to me.

Squeezed against my shoulder was an enormous, 40-something hack from a local rival (sorry Mark). He was sweating buckets as he strived to keep up with Carol's speech.

I patted my own swelling paunch and saw the future. It didn't look good.

Our electronic scales confirmed my worst fears - I had crashed over the 14-stone barrier and was staring down the barrel of a baggier wardrobe.

One in four people in Yorkshire and the Humber region is obese, a study commissioned by Yorkshire Forward revealed this week. That is roughly 40,544 fat folk in the York area alone.

To avoid becoming number 40,545, I devised a simple diet strategy that I hoped would obliterate my burgeoning man boobs once and for all.

I replaced my lunch time snacks - a choice of Drifters, Star Bars and Quavers - with bananas and apples.

I have a large evening meal, drink wine instead of beer, and allow myself the occasional extra, usually a large cheese and ham sandwich before bed.

At weekends I'm allowed takeaways - but not after 10pm.

Of course exercise is vital to my overall programme. At present I do ten press-ups every other day, and jog round the block twice a week.

The plan is to lose a stone before Christmas but success has so far been hard to come by. I've put on half a pound in two weeks.

However, the temptation to stuff my face was made easier to resist this week after some painful memories were revived that still make me retch.

I read an article about the amazing feats of Japanese eating champion Takeru Kobayashi who recently retained his world hamburger-munching title in some style. He managed to polish off 67 of them in just eight minutes to win the $10,000 prize in Chattanooga, Tennessee. He has previously eaten 49 hot dogs in 12 minutes.

The story reminded me of an occasion I stupidly tried to emulate the character Paul Newman played in my favourite film, Cool Hand Luke, in which he was challenged to eat 50 eggs in an hour. A group of friends - at least I thought they were - bet me I couldn't consume 30 hard-boiled eggs at the rate of one a minute.

My pal's front room was packed, the audience egging me on so to speak, as I downed the first few in quick succession.

By the time I'd finished egg number 19 it was a case of regrets all round. Let's just say we should have had a bucket on hand. Egg white is surprisingly aerodynamic.

Anyone thinking of attempting the feat themselves (and I really advise against it), should know that my system was clogged up for a week. Doctors will know what I mean.

I think the condition is known as being egg-bound.

Updated: 10:25 Friday, December 02, 2005